“I was hoping you’d ask,” he said with as carefree a grin as he could muster.
9FLICK
I was hoping you’d ask. The words were an endless cycle through Flick’s mind as she flipped through the ledger. What did that mean? Did it mean Jin was as interested in her as she was in him?Never mind that, Flick scolded herself, as she realized that asking him to show her how to use the brass knuckles also meant asking him to touch her.
She focused on the words in the ledger again, using the tribute invitation as a guide beneath each of her mother’s lines, and to remind herself of how little time they had before the event.
Beside her, Jin was carefully decoding segments of the ledger into Ettenian using her cipher. It was hard not to watch him work, the way his eyes narrowed in focus, the way he murmured beneath his breath, his lips a sullen pout, and the ease with which he gripped a pen, dipping it into an inkwell like a master.
She glanced at the brass knuckles again, remembering his mention of her lighter, reminding her yet again that others might not notice her, but Jin did. He always did.
And at some point between bringing her on board to help them infiltrate the Athereum and the catastrophe of that night where everything had fallen apart, he’d gone and bought her a gift. She hadn’t thought he’d ever properly looked at her lighter. He’d always see the fire and seize up until she’d tried to stop fiddling with it whenever he was around. But the brass knuckles were the same finish, with little grooves she could run her nails across whenever she was feeling anxious.
For as proud as she was for giving the lighter back to her mother, she also missed its reassuring weight in her pocket and the distraction its many textures provided.
Did he know he was giving her more than a way to protect herself? She looked up to find him watching her, his expression soft, as if yes, he did indeed know.
“Did you find something?” Flick asked.
“I think so,” Jin said. “A fortress. They just recently finished the construction of it on Ceylan. By they, I mean the Ram. It would be a good place to store vampires, no?”
Fortresses were meant to protect assets from outsiders. It was absurd for the Ram to build a fortification on an island she had colonized, stolen, and plundered for her own needs.
“Arthie won’t be too happy to hear that,” Flick said.
“No,” he agreed, “she will not.”
“But a fortress would be massive. If the vampires are there, how would you even find them?”
He pushed the ledger toward her. She’d memorized the cipher by now, and barely referenced it as she read through the portion Jin pointed out, trying her best to ignore his eyes on her. She ran her fingers over the ridges of the brass knuckles.
“Ah, there’s a facility inside the fort,” Flick said, gesturing to the text. “A sanatorium. See:Deliver to Siwangs at sanatorium.”
“A what? How did I miss that?” Jin’s eyes widened as he reread the lines. “Felicity, you are a master. The sanatorium, then.”
Flick pressed her fingers against her lips before they could flare in a smile that was far too wide to be decent. His expression faltered, a weight settling above his brows. He was worried about his parents, she knew.
“Is there anything more? Since I apparently can’t read?” he asked, masking his anxiety.
Flick skimmed a little further and shook her head. “Nothing more on the sanatorium, no. There are several guard stations within, however, so it won’t be an easy entrance and exit.”
“It is a fortress, after all,” Jin said. He didn’t look fazed or concerned—no, he looked like he didn’t want to dwell on that just yet. He glanced at the time. “We’ll let Arthie know. Shall we work on those brass knuckles, then?”
Oh. Wasthatwhat he wanted to do instead? Flick bit her lip.
He laughed and rose to his feet. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Her cheeks burned as she followed him to the bed where he stacked the pillows to create a makeshift training dummy.
“It’ll take a lot of practice, but in a pinch, something is better than nothing, eh? Mainly of note: The power of a blow isn’t fueled by your arm or your hand.” He curled a fist and dropped it as he moved closer. She saw the bob of his throat before his hands settled on her waist. Flick forgot to breathe. She felt each press of his fingers as acutely as though her skin was bare, burning hotter and more satisfying than any flame from her old lighter.
“It comes from your hips, from the weight of your body,” he said, and she didn’t know why, but the way his voice grew hoarse and cracked in the end filled her with utter delight.
He guided her movements, instructing her to twist forward, sliding his hand down the length of her arm, straightening her wrist before he closed her fingers into a fist. Where was she supposed to find the strength for a blow when she could barely stand on her own legs that were suddenly made of jelly?
She mimicked his movements, her fist connecting with the stacked pillows with a fraction of his force.
He stepped behind her, his form molding to hers. She felt his words against her ear more than she heard them. “Harder, love.”
