Mo
As we walk back along the path to the cabin, I steal glances at Archer. The sharp line of his jaw, the way he moves with this controlled demeanor that should be intimidating, but no longer scares me.
“Something on your mind, little omega?”
I bristle at the name. “Just wondering how long before you guys show your true colors.”
He laughs. “Still waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
“Can you blame me?”
“And yet, here you are. Not running.”
“Maybe I’m just biding my time.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
We reach the cabin, and my eyes go straight to the side yard, where Darius is chopping wood. Shirtless. Of course, shirtless. The male must have an allergy to shirts.
Each swing sends the axe clean through, and the wood splits with a crack I feel in my teeth. Sweat traces the line of his spine. The muscles across his shoulders bunch and release, bunch and release, and I stand there like a goddamn idiot, rooted to the spot, cataloging every movement like I’ll be quizzed later.
He pauses. Wipes his brow with the back of his hand. Looks up and catches me staring.
The world goes very still. His eyes hold mine, and the air between us pulls taut, and for one terrible second, I forget every reason I’m supposed to hate him.
Fuck.
Neither of us moves. Then he scowls, tosses the axe aside, and storms off toward the tree line without a word.
“Well, that was dramatic,” I mutter, after a beat, trying to ignore the hammering in my chest.
Archer clears his throat beside me. “How about I teach you some self-defence?”
“What?” I say, trying to refocus on something other than Darius’s retreating back. “From you?”
He nods. “Could be useful.”
I consider it for about half a second. “Why not? Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”
He grins, and it’s the kind of grin that’s all teeth. He turns toward the cabin and calls out, “Elias! Get your ass out here. We need a practice dummy.”
I snort. “Fitting role for him.”
Elias saunters out with an easy swagger. Silas appears behind him and takes a position on the porch, leaning against the railing, watching us.
“First,” Archer says, turning to me, “you need to know that you’re safe here.”
I give him a look.
He ignores it. “The techniques I’m going to show you are about making you feel strong and giving you confidence—and not because you’ll need them here.”
“Right,” I say. “Because I’m so safe.”
Archer steps closer, and I have to tilt my head back to look up at him.
“You are,” he says.
“Fine. Show me what you’ve got.”