The next hour blurred into a rhythm. Magic drills. Combat drills. More magic. My control might still be rough, but every now and then, I surprised myself. Surprised him.
That was when his grin changed, turning less smug. Whatever it was, it made heat spiral low in my belly.
“Catch,” he said suddenly, and tossed a small leather pouch at my chest.
I caught it magically—barely—though it smacked into my collarbone before I got it to hover in front of me.
If catching pouches was a metaphor for catching feelings, I was already fumbling spectacularly.
He lifted a brow. “Better.”
Another toss. Another catch. Then three in quick succession, one of which bounced off my shoulder before I could snatch it from the air.
“Try harder,” he teased, and Pherin’s chirp echoed the same sentiment in my mind, but with patient indulgence, like a mother urging a toddler to keep at it.
I focused. The next throw came fast and low, and I snagged it midair without blinking.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Trew said.
I was still riding that small victory when something whistled through the air toward my back. Instinct and magic kicked in before thought could catch up. I spun, lifting my hand, and snatched a blunt training knife from the air before it hit my shoulder.
My pulse roared.
Trew’sgrin went slow and wolfish. “You. Are. Spectacular.”
Gavelle ruffled his feathers, like he was claiming credit. Pherin fluffed indignantly against my neck, and I had the absurd thought they might be arguing.
We moved on to more complicated drills. Trew guided my stance, my focus, and sometimes my magic itself. When his hand closed over mine mid-cast, our powers brushed, warm, sparking, almost physical. My breath snagged in my throat.
“Feel that?” he asked, his voice dipping low.
“What does it mean?”
“I’m not going to tell you—yet.”
I lifted one brow. “Tell me now.”
“Make me.”
I huffed, not quite ready to attack him.
We got back to work.
Once, I lost control of a floating ball entirely, and it zipped past his head like a spear. He caught it without looking, turned it over in his hand, and stepped in close enough that the heat of him bled through my tunic.
His eyes locked on mine. “Careful where you aim, Minx. You might hit something worth keeping.”
The words slid over me in a shiver I couldn’t suppress.
By the time we stopped a few hours later, sweat was sliding down my spine, and my hair had plastered itself to my skin. My muscles ached in the best way, my chest still rising and falling from the last drill.
Pherin stayed firmly on my shoulder, her cute feathers puffed in what I was pretty sure was pride.
Trew crossed to me slowly with a mix of satisfaction, amusement, and something else in his eyes I wasn’t ready yet to name.
He brushed a damp strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering.
“You’re dangerous now, Minx,” he said softly.
