“And a violent alpha, driven by his instincts?”
“The same. And then a powerful bodily stun. If he’s operating on instinct, slowing his mental faculties wouldn’t accomplish much. If I stopped an alpha trying to attack me dead in his tracks, the inertia might very well carry him right into me. But if I slowed him first, I could gain some distance and then stun. Does that make sense?”
His lips quirk upward in a faint smile. “What do you think? Does it?”
I purse my lips and then finally nod. “It does. As an omega, my best bet will always be to weaken anyone attacking me just long enough to escape, put up a shield, and find someone I trust.”
“Your instincts are sound. Shall we begin casting then? We’ll start with the combinations we just discussed and then add in an additional sigil to amplify the power of your spells.” He shoves away from the board and snatches his scribe off the chalk tray. I watch, curious, as he casts what appears to be a warding charm over the blackboard.
At my arched brow, he whirls and casts a stunning spell so quickly, his golden scribe is practically a blur. It strikes the warding and the spell protecting the board absorbs the stunning spell, leaving only a trace of shimmering magic where it struck.
“Were you paying attention, Miss Rose?” he asks archly.
“Of course,” I scoff.
“Then you caught the posture and footing? You want to put the strength of your body, your own inertia and power, behind these spells. The right movements will focus your intention and make your spell more effective. So, you’re certain you saw what I did?” he challenges.
The bastard, I think, without the venom I used to feel toward him. He cast the spell so quickly, I didn’t have time to register what he was doing until it was done.
He shakes his head. “I’ll slow it down for you. Pay attention. I won’t dismiss you for the night until you’re casting each of the four main stunning spells.Idon’t have an early morning class. Do you?”
Saints, but I love the challenge in his voice. A challenge I can’t resist. And yet, I’d fail if it meant working on spells with my imperious professor late into the night.
“Dominant foot forward. You want to power into the spell, directing it with your body just as much as you do with your scribe. Casting elbow back, you want to thrust your hand forward and propel the spell toward your opponent using both the strength of your body and the strength of your mind and magic.”
He steps aside and waves me forward. “Sisteire corporeus,” he says, and I flick my scribe through the shapes of the sigils as I take my place before the blackboard, tracing them a few more times before I take a deep breath, step back on my left foot, tuck my elbow back, and call my magic.
I cast and my spell goes wild, striking the corner of the blackboard and the stone behind it.
“Dynamic casting is about focus and follow-through. Envision where you want the spell to strike. Your body will follow.”
I nod, determined, and try again, and again. Saints, but it shouldn’t bethishard.
“All the casting you’ve learned so far has been very static,” he says quietly, walking over to me. “I would guess the only casting you’ve done that’s this active is the shield work you’ve been doing.”
“You heard about that?”
“I walked by your practice room the other day on my way to one of the laboratories in the basement of Saint Aldric’s. Your progress is impressive. Think of this spellwork as the same.” He strides over until he’s at my side. “May I?”
My breath catches in my throat, and I try to shove down the thrill that courses through me, making my blood sing in my veins, a resoundingyes. I force a nod and he steps behind me, setting a hand on my left hip, guiding me backward until my weight is on my back foot.
We both realize his mistake immediately. The impersonal touch brings us closer together, lets me catch his scent, the heat of his body behind mine. His fingertips brush the crook of my elbow and I shiver, wishing his touch would stray, wishing his hand at my hip would tighten, pull me back against his hard body and my perfume scents the air, heady and sweet.
Irresistible to the alpha behind me. I turn and catch the flare of his nostrils, the way his pupils are blown so wide they blot out the blue.
His hand does stray, down to mine. He takes it in his, whirls me around until we’re toe to toe, forcing me to crane my head up to look at him, and oh,saints, I could just pop up on my toes. My breasts, already aching at their tips, would brush against all that indomitable alpha strength, our lips would brush…
He turns away sharply, just as his scent fills the air, potent and intoxicating, but neither of us step away. Not just yet. There’s something electric between us, something both instinctual and more than just instincts.
Something inevitable.
“Fuck, the things you do to me,” he groans, finally stepping back. He runs a hand through his hair and swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
I clench my hand around my scribe until my knuckles go white and my nails cut crescents into my palms. “Maybe this was a bad idea. These lessons.”
He goes to his desk, rifling around through a stack of papers, but I see it for what it is: a way to distract himself from the same need that throbs inside of me. “I’ll endeavor to conduct myself more professionally,” he says tightly. “And refrain causing you any more discomfort.”
“Is that how you think I feel? Discomfited? Saints, the only discomfort I’m feeling is from how badly I don’t want you to refrain.” The words leave me, dangerous but true, before I even consider the consequences.
