Page 123 of Powerless

“You’re right about that.” She exhales a shaky laugh. “My father taught me to shoot with both hands and after my injury in the Trial, I figured I should practice more with my left.”

And with that, she doesn’t hesitate before pulling back and firing the arrow, hitting far outside the bullseye with a soft thud. “Don’t. Say. A. Word,” she mutters through clenched teeth, not bothering to look at me as she grabs another arrow angrily.

“I wasn’t going to say a thing,” I say with mock innocence.

“Liar. I can practicallyfeelyou smirking.”

My lips are against the shell of her ear, and I am, in fact, smirking. “I can’t help it when I’m right.”

She’s still fiddling angrily with the arrow, her voice deceptively sweet as she says, “Well if you keep smirking like that, I’m going to turn around and point this arrow at your heart.”

I smile at her sentiment, my fingers continuing to draw circles across her stomach. She takes another shallow breath, about to pull back and fire when I mumble, “Yeah, well at least you might be able to hit my heart, unlike the bullseye—”

I’m not surprised when I feel the hard jab of an elbow sink into my stomach. The air whooshes out of me, but as soon as I catch my breath I’m laughing. Paedyn huffs and I tug her closer to me, using this game as an excuse to hold her, touch her.

Her head rests on my chest as she examines the target, breathing deeply. And I’m doing the same. My chest heaves, the feel of her against me almost too much to breathe properly. We fit together so perfectly, soright. I can hardly think, or breathe, or move when my fingers glide across her skin, her waist, her body.

Then, she lifts her head, lifts her bow, and lets the arrow fly. Bullseye. But barely. I lean down and rest my chin on her shoulder once again, admiring the arrow that finally made it to its mark. “It’s about time, Gray.”

“Let’s see you do any better,” she scoffs, pulling away as I reluctantly let her. I sigh and grab an arrow, settling it onto my bow. I fire quickly, hitting the ring closest to the bullseye, swearing under my breath. Then I grab another, determined to make the arrow land where I want it to.

Something brushes my arm, a whisper against my skin.

My head whips to the side, eyes crashing into blue ones below. She looks up at me through her lashes, eyes burning into mine, full of fire. Her hand hovers just above the exposed skin on my arm, teasing without touching.

“What are you doing, Gray?” I ask, turning my attention back towards the target.

“Distracting,” she says slowly, drawing out the syllables. Her hand brushes my arm again, lightly. So lightly.

I smile. “Darling, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“No,” she says coolly, “I don’t think I do.”

The tips of her fingers meet my skin. She lets them trail down my arm, stopping at my wrist before making their way back up, painfully slow. Her fingers find their way under the sleeve of my cotton shirt, climbing up and up and—

Gone.

Her touch vanishes, leaving me aching for her to lay her hands on me—

That’s when it hits me.

She’s right. She doesn’t need to do anything more to distract me.

The mere thought of her being so close and barely touching me has my head spinning. I’m melted by the promise that her fingers gave me, promise of more, promise ofsomething. Nothing. She won’t lay her hands on me. Instead, she’ll drive me mad by teasing me with her touch, only to pull it away, leaving me wanting more. Leaving me cold without the fire her fingers trail along my skin.

I exhale, noticing how shaky the action sounds, how shaky my body has become. I pull back the bowstring as another finger traces under my forearm, grazing my skin.

My arrow lands two whole rings away from the center but my mind is elsewhere, on the phantom touches making their way up and down my arm. I don’t remember grabbing another arrow, but it’s nocked onto my bow when I look down.

Slowly, so damn slowly, she lets her fingers slide over my skin, heavier than before. A single touch has never made me feel so on fire. And she knowsexactlywhat she is doing. She knows that barely feeling her at all will drive me mad in a way I can’t explain, in a way I’ve never felt before.

“You’re a cruel, little thing, you know that?” My voice is deep, desperate.

“But I’ve barely laid a finger on you,” she says softly, emphasizing her words with a single finger tracing up my forearm.

“Exactly.”

Maybe I did it on purpose. Maybe I chose todistracther because I knew she was too stubborn to not do the same to me. Maybe I did it all just because I wanted her hands on me too. Because it was an excuse for me to hold her, for her to hold me. And now that she isn’t, I’m craving her touch. Craving her.

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