I reached down and put a hand on the bend of his knee, shaking it lightly. Much as I wouldn’t mind getting another look, I was wary enough to recognize that if Feish was nervous, I’d be smart to take it careful.

This deep sleeping, though, it was more than a little ridiculous. I clapped my hands together, shouting his name as I did. That did the trick.

Only I wasn’t expecting him to grab me.

15

Crash grabbed me by one arm and flung me across his bedroom so fast, there was no way I’d have been able to avoid it if I’d even tried. That’s what I got for waking the grumpy blacksmith up. There was a moment of perfect suspension where I knew I was flying, and I knew the impact was going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

My only thought was so, this was why Feish hadn’t wanted to wake him up. Damn, he was a grump.

There was a roar of anger, a jolt of pain, and then Feish was babbling rapidly while the room spun around me.

The last thing I remembered was Robert whispering demon in my ear. Which was my only explanation for what happened next.

A looming figure came toward me, my eyes fuzzy with the blow, and I was up and slashing with both knives before I even realized I was moving, the movements flowing through me as if I knew what I was doing.

“Easy. Breena, easy.”

I blinked up at Crash and the blades I had crossed at his throat. His image came into focus. “Morning,” I said.

“You mind dropping the knives?” He arched a brow at me in a perfect lift that I envied.

I slowly lowered them, managed to slide them into their sheaths, and then wobbled back on legs that were not steady. “Who ate your bowl of sunshine this morning, thundercloud?”

Feish gasped. “Don’t make it worse!”

Crash grunted, but he didn’t yell. “I was up late working. And yes, I sleep deep and wake poorly.”

He stepped forward and then he picked me up. Not like over his shoulder, but like you see in the movies, scooped up like he was going to walk me across a threshold, and oh my God, it was as good as you might have imagined. I felt tiny, and feminine, and . . . he gave a grunt. “Been building muscle, have you?”

“Put me down.” I bit the three words out.

He carried me out into the main room, set me on a stool, and pushed a cup of tea toward me. “Not poisoned, I hope?”

Feish touched my elbow. “No, it will help with the head knock.”

The head knock. I lifted a hand to the bump on the back of my head which felt as though it was growing even as I palpated it. “Damn.”