Page 108 of X Marks the Stalker
His hands linger on my calves longer than necessary. When he rises, our faces are inches apart.
“Like this?” I settle into the proper stance, skin buzzing where he touched.
“Better.” His eyes lock onto mine. “Again.”
I run through the sequence, ending with the blade positioned where he showed me—angled upward beneath the ribcage, where it would slide between bones and puncture vital organs.
“You’re a quick study,” he says.
“I’ve always been good with my hands.” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.
“Focus, Novak.” But his voice rasps, giving him away.
We move to the next technique, a defensive maneuver against a larger opponent.
“That’s it,” he says after I twist out of his grip and position the practice knife at his kidney. “Perfect.”
Sweat beads along my hairline, heart pounding from more than just physical exertion. “I never thought stabbing could be so...”
“Intimate?”
“I was going to say ‘sweaty,’ but sure, let’s go with intimate.”
He retrieves a bottle of water from the nearby table and hands it to me. “How does it feel?”
I know he’s asking about more than just the knife work. I gulp down half the bottle before answering.
“Good,” I admit. “Too good. Shouldn’t I be more freaked out about all this?”
“You’re still processing.” His eyes dissect me. “The reality will hit, eventually.”
“Maybe.” I twirl the knife between my fingers, a move he taught me an hour ago. “Or I’m finally being honest with myself.”
“About?”
“About how long I’ve fantasized about hurting Blackwell. About how right this feels.” I study the knife’s edge, catching light like a diamond.
Xander steps closer, his gaze locking onto mine. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting justice, Oakley.”
“Is that what this is?” I ask, tilting my head. “Justice? Or are we just indulging our darkest impulses?”
His lips quirk. “Can’t it be both?” He watches me with laser focus, seeing parts of me I didn’t know existed until recently.
“And what does that make me?”
“Human. Complicated. Like the rest of us.”
“Even you?” I step closer, the knife still dancing between my fingers. “The stalker who screamed like a five-year-old when those red ants attacked?”
Color floods his face. “They were fire ants. Venomous.”
“Mmmhmm. Very dangerous. Super intimidating howyou jumped three feet in the air and danced around slapping yourself.”
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Not a chance,” I grin. “It’s tattooed on my brain forever. The great stalker Xander Rhodes, defeated by insects smaller than my pinky nail. The way you shrieked? My God. I think dogs in the next county heard you.”
He groans, but his hands find my hips, drawing me closer. “I prefer when you were afraid of me.”
