Shadowed Ground Read Free Page B

questions. You don’t get to ask anymore.” He feinted to her right with the needle, going wide. She couldn’t help it; she tensed and drew into herself. “Wrong. Stay loose. You just made yourself the perfect target. Shake yourself, like this.” She copied his loose-limbed bounces. “Now. I’m going to try to prick you with this, and you’re not going to let me.”
    “But why… Ow!”
    “No questions.” He struck her right forearm. The needle barely touched her, but she felt it. She glared.
    He struck her again, grazing her in almost exactly the same place. “Come on, Chloe. Move, or this will go badly for both of us.” He moved to stick her again, and she dodged him. He nodded approval.
    Then he began to strike in earnest, and her world narrowed to two things: silver needle, and avoiding pain. He struck out again and again. She managed to dodge the vicious little needle about half the time. As much as each tiny bite stung, she could tell he was holding back. That knowledge turned her fear into building anger. A succession of quick stabs tore a loud yell from her throat. A little silver sewing needle. That was all it took to make her want to whimper and cry. She pressed her lips together to hold back her yelps. She blocked a strike with her forearm. It left a long stinging scratch on her skin. “Ow! That hurt!”
    “Dodge it, then,” came the pitiless reply. “Stay balanced. Ignore the pain.”
    He struck out at her again and again, wielding the needle like a whip. She moved from side to side, ducking his stabs and dancing backwards. But he was always faster. He followed her around the room, always an arm’s length away, his little needle poised to strike. “Easy for you to say,” she growled, stumbling in an effort to move beyond the tight perimeter he kept her in.
    “Move, but don’t move too much,” he cautioned, holding the needle at bay while she regained her balance. She was smarting in a thousand places and her skin shone with sweat. “Watch me. Watch me for the next strike, then the next.”
    She focused less on trying to get away from him. It was obvious she couldn’t. She watched for the swath of silver duct tape instead of focusing solely on the needle. After a few minutes she was hardly conscious of what she was doing. She watched for the lunge that told her the bite was on its way, dodging more of his swipes as her focus narrowed to him rather than escape. Her body moved without thinking. Time seemed to slow and there was nothing but attack and retreat between them.
    Watching his arm, trying to ignore the thousand throbbing stings, she moved slightly to the right, just as the silver duct tape began its swing. When the little needle moved in for its bite, she wasn’t there.
    She’d twisted left. Eliot’s right arm was extended mere inches from her. Enough, something inside her said anyway. She pushed into the curve of his body, his needle-tipped right arm already pulling back from its swing. Instead of toppling him, as she’d expected, she found herself held tightly in his arms. His grin was huge. “Now you’re getting the hang of it,” he said.
    “Son of a bitch!” she shouted, enraged. She kicked at his shins, her fists trapped against his chest, useless.
    “Not that you’re hurting me,” he said mildly, “but you are wasting energy you’re about to need.”
    “You let me go, you son of a…”
    “Almost every fight winds up on the floor. If you find yourself in a hold like this, instead of struggling, hook your foot behind the attacker’s knee and push. Go ahead. Trip me.”
    “But my arms,” she started to complain. His face darkened. She felt a foot behind her knee; they were falling before she finished the third word. He landed on top of her, holding his weight off her with the palms of his hands.
    Inches from her, blocking all light, his entire body radiated heat and anger. “You don’t get second chances.” His soft voice was velvet over steel. “Not when