The energy shields never help with slow attacks. They block fast and brutal attacks, but nothing about this is fast. I’m not even sure this is an attack or even training.
Whateverthisis, it’s slow, and sensual, anddammit.
I struggle, wrapping my legs around his, attempting to buck under him, and gods, I can’t think. Everything feels sexual, and the way the friction rubs at just the right spot has me curling my toes. He groans when my legs wrap around his waist as I thrust up again, still pathetically telling myself we’re supposed to be training. I’m breathless, and I’m hot, and quite frankly, way too turned on for this to actually work. We both know that it’s all a front at this point.
Accepting the truth and defeat, I relax under him, my body going soft and pliant. “Nobody is getting this close. Not when I have you, remember?” I smile with all the practiced sweet patience possible. “I promised to be a good girl.”
He huffs, a groan hidden in his breath, muttering what sounds like a curse.
“Now be a good little prince and get off me.”
He chuckles and shifts over me, making me gasp when I feel his growing erection against my thigh. I let my legs fall to the side, the cool air of the gym informing me of how exposed I truly am.
He releases his grip on my wrists, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer as if he’s reluctant to let me go. Supporting himself onhis forearms, he leans closer, whispering another challenge, “Make me.”
A soft huff of air leaves me as his gaze lingers on my lips.
We inch closer, the distance closing ever so slowly. Every heartbeat is a challenge and a question lingering between us, urging us to close the distance, seeing who’s brave enough to move first. My tongue brushes over my bottom lip, wetting it in anticipation. My head is screaming at me that he’s supposed to be my rival, but somewhere deep inside, my soul is screaming something else—my destiny. The war between them feels like it’s tearing me apart. For now, just for this moment, I silence everything and focus only on the present. Destiny can wait.
His hand gently glides down my arm, causing my skin to erupt in goosebumps. My white locks cascade out around me, framing my face. He picks up a single strand of hair, allowing his fingers to brush through it tenderly. His touch travels down over my ribs and along my back, bringing us closer.
As we lean in, so close we’re sharing air, the world around us fades to a distant blur as if time itself has been suspended. Just as our mouths are about to meet, the sound of voices echoing in the hallway shatters the spell between us. My heart sinks.
I catch his gaze, both of us sharing a fleeting moment of unspoken longing before his jaw ticks, and his mask snaps back into place. In an instant, he pulls away, both physically and emotionally. He stands quickly, adjusting his clothes.
The swift shift sends a chill coursing through me, leaving me acutely aware of his absence, both his body and vulnerability. My breath whooshes out of me as tears threaten to spill over.
“Lesson over,” he states, his voice steady, yet tinged with an unnameable emotion, turning as he avoids my gaze. His body language suggests he’s struggling to walk away, but his mask of indifference is firmly in place, and behind it lurks the distant, arrogant prick.
“Don’t go,” I plead, my thoughts becoming words on my breath.
His eyes shudder closed, his fists clenching at his sides, before heshakes his head, walking away from me. “I have to, Raea. Trysten will be training you from here on out.” His voice grows distant and cold. “I’ll tell him to connect with you. Training starts tomorrow. We can talk tomorrow at breakfast.”
I watch him disappear, something in my heart cracking. The absence of his warmth is a sudden, sharp ache, leaving me trembling in the cavernous silence of the gym.
fourteen
. . .
I'm up before dawn,inwardly groaning from the pounding in my head. Outside, the sky is still a deep shade of indigo. I quietly change into my running gear, handle my business in the bathroom, and slip out the door, taking painstaking measures not to wake Aolyn.
Aolyn, Ciara, and I had spent hours last night talking about boys and crushes, the latest drama circulating between dorms, and my complex and all-consuming Bond with Anders. Much to their delight, I recounted the basics of what happened in the gym. They both pestered me, insisting that Anders and I needed to sort out our differences—preferably in the bedroom. Just as Aolyn was about to dig deeper into my "experience" in that area, Ciara swooped in, changing the topic to my Bond with Kellan.
As I step outside into the crisp morning air, I feel...alive, as if every cell in my body is awake and charged with energy. I need a solid run to kickstart my day. Last night, my dreams were a relentless blend of Anders pinning me down, followed closely by visions of Kellan holding me, and then Jensn leaning in like he was about to kiss me. Each dreamscape was a torturous hell I couldn't wake from.
The air hums around me as I stretch and warm up my muscles. I bend low, laying my cheek against my knee, the tight pull in myhamstring reminding me I need to stretch more. Last night, I skipped it, opting for a long, cold shower.
I groan when I feel the distinct shift in the atmosphere. It's different from the familiar energy of Baedyn. I turn and see Anders stalking toward me, his gaze fixed on me, clad in nothing but athletic shorts and running shoes. My pulse quickens as I stand straight, rolling out my ankles.
“Why?” I whine. “I just want to be alone.”
I don’t mention that I also need to process everything that happened between us last night. He walked away. I begged him to stay, and he just walked away and left me on the damn floor. I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment or hurt that upsets me more.
He shrugs, coming to stand beside me. “I need a run. And I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. It won't happen again.”
His words cut deeper than they should. Tears prick the back of my eyes as a fresh wave of hurt crashes into me, leaving me utterly confused. I should be happy we didn’t kiss. I keep telling myself that I don’t want this, and I certainly don’t want him. I swallow my feelings and shove them into another mental box, a skill that’s becoming far too easy lately.
“You look at me as if you're deciding whether to kiss me or kill me.”
