And now?
Now we fight.
Hits land. Sweat slicks. Breath shortens.
He’s stronger, but I’m faster.
The field has gone still, every eye is on us. But I only feel him; his power, his restraint, his control cracking at the edges. The air between us ischarged, humming with something more than combat and skill.
The push. The pull. The heat.
Every strike says what we haven’t:
Mine — You left.
His — I had to.
Mine — You don’t get to run now.
I don’t know why, but it feels like he’s fighting more than just me. When we finally break apart, when the rhythm slows—it’s not silence. It’s aftermath.
I force a smirk. Brush hair back from my face. “Is that all you’ve got, Fire Warlord?”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t tease in return. He just looks at me.
And that feels worse. Because I don’t know what he’s thinking. And we both know this isn’t just a sparring match.
I see my chance.
A shift. A breath. A sliver of space in his perfect stance.
I leap, twisting midair, my legs hooking around his neck. Locking tight. And then I drop.
His eyes widen. Slightly. Just enough for me to see it: surprise. The bond surges, sharp and hot, a flare I can’t ignore. I caught him off guard.
And then—he goes down.
Gasps ripple through the field. Lyra whoops. Fenric whistles.
For one breathless second, I think I’ve won.
Then Thane moves. His hands clamp around my thighs. He rolls. And before I can shift away, before I can evenbreathe—I’m on my back. Pinned.
His weight is solid. Inescapable. Hot. Too close.
His forearm presses lightly across my collarbone—not enough to hurt, just enough to say: you’re not getting up.
And then—he looks at me. Everything else disappears. Smoke-gray eyes, golden flecks burning. That look hits like a bruise I didn’t know was still healing.
And then the bond surges. Not soft or gentle. A jolt. Sharp and alive, like lightning under my skin. Not pain. Recognition.
Thane’s grip tightens just enough to tell me he feels it too. His eyes hold mine for a heartbeat too long, like he’s on the edge of saying something—then the shutters slam down. Whatever’s in his head, he won’t let me near it.
He lets go and pushes off me. Stands. And completely out of character, doesn’t offer his hand. No words. No smirk. Just turns his back on me.
Not just leaving the spar—leaving me.
The bond hums, like it wants to close the space, but he’s already walking away.
