When Theo lands on his ass for the third time he sits up and rubs his ribs where a bruise is already forming.
“You’ve proven your point, Malice,” he says, eyes narrow.
Khortland and Aerin spar on the adjacent mat while Emrys walks Reyna through the basics of stance and balance. The Human surprised Malice—not struggling as much as he expected during the workout. Her grit is exceptional; she’s almost as hard-headed as the Princess. Almost.
“And what point would that be?” Malice asks, looking down at the male with his hands on his hips. They both are sweaty, shirtless, and panting. Malice may have taken down Theo three times in a row, but the Mer has proven to be an exceptional fighter, fluid in his movements, lithe, and faster than someone of his size should be.
The Mer lounges, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his arms. His nonchalance reminds Malice of Khortland. Butwhile Khortland’s is nearly always a façade, Malice isn’t certain Theo’s is.
“That in the hierarchy of Aerin’s bond-mates you are the strongest.” Theo smiles up at him and for a second Malice forgets he loathes him.
“That was never in question,” Malice grumbles.
Theo’s features morph as he bats his eyes at him. “Can we be friends now? Pretty please?”
Malice doesn’t let the way his chest loosens at Theo’s antics distract him from the fact that he loathes him.
“No,” he replies sternly, turning away from the Mer to watch Aerin and Khortland. Khortland is throwing a flurry of punches that Aerin expertly blocks and dodges. Aerin pulls to the left during a particularly forceful punch. The momentum sends Khortland stumbling. Malice catches him at the edge of the mat, straightening him before letting go.
“Don’t let your eagerness get the best of you, if you think you’re winning, you’ll lose.” Malice hands the panting Fae a fresh towel.
“I’m rusty,” Khortland admits, wiping the sweat from his face roughly. “No reason to train in Zeneith.”
“There is always a reason to train,” Malice replies. Aerin, sensing the end of their workout, sighs happily as she drops down onto the mats. Khortland and Theoden are quick to join her. They stretch while complaining about aching body parts that will be healed by tonight.
Malice claps a hand onto Emrys’s shoulder.
“I’ll take it from here; go cool down,” he orders. Emrys pulls off the mitts and passes them to Malice.
As he slides by, the Wolf leans down to speak lowly. “You look good like this,” Emrys whispers, licking from Malice’s neck up to his ear.
Malice shrugs him away, unsure what to think.
“Go,” he bosses, swatting at him with the mitts. Malice misses, the Wolf already out of reach.
Malice pulls one mitt on and turns to face Reyna. The Human has a knowing look in her eyes.
“What was that?” she asks.
“What?” Malice replies, yanking the other mitt on. She looks to Emrys pointedly. “It was nothing.”
“He licked your neck!” she hisses.
Malice gives her a deadpan look. “Punch the gloves, Human.”
Reyna throws a punch. It’s weak and she moves her body too much, ruining her balance.
“It makes sense, you know,” she says, taking too long to reset before punching the other glove, even weaker, with her non-dominant hand.
“What makes sense?” Malice grumbles, moving one glove into a hook position. Reyna swings and almost falls over after her glove collides with the mitt. “Haven’t you ever punched something before?”
Reyna glares at him, putting even more effort into the next punch, which is still weak at best, pathetic at worst.
“Wolves mate within subgroups in the pack,” Reyna explains, resetting again. Malice moves the mitts, and she throws another punch. “Usually designated by bloodline and the Alpha.”
“You’re losing your footing too easily,” Malice remarks. Reyna throws another punch and stumbles, as if to prove him right.
“So, if you’re bonded-mates with Aerin, I think by proxyyouare a part of the pack.”
