And yet—according to everyone else—I’m “improving”.
Translation: Cade punches slower now, so I at leastlooklike I have a fighting chance.
Between him barkingagainlike it’s his favorite word, Iris on the sidelines with snacks and heckling things like, “Have you tried fighting with a mouthful of popcorn, sugarplum? Builds character.” And, Archie offering play-by-play commentary about how I dodge like a “panicked chipmunk,” it’s basically been a week condensed into two days.
The worst part? Most of what they’re saying isn’t wrong.
Iamgetting stronger. At supernatural speeds. Something I wasn’t sure I liked at first, but now? I can shift faster, summon my energy no matter my mood, and—in my finest moments—land a punch that actually makes Cade grunt. That first, gloriousumphstill replays in my head like a victory anthem.
I thought this routine would continue endlessly until the next inevitable attack, but Cade surprised me after training this afternoon, telling me that we’d be taking a break from physical combat. That the two of us needed to talk about “other ways” to enhance my abilities.
A fact that has my stomach twisting almost painfully, and Liz insisting I’m about to go on a date with mymate.
That particular word hasn’t been brought up much, but it also isn’t ever far from my mind. Especially with the voice in my head.
Just be thankful I haven’t humped him yet, Wolf says, perfectly deadpan.
I nearly choke on my own spit. She’s serious. Which is terrifying and, oddly, reassuring. Mostly because I know she’s had plenty of opportunities to hijack my body and throw us into the bond headfirst. The fact that she hasn’t yet feels like a miracle.
A memory is forced into my thoughts. One of his sweaty chest pressed against my back as we trained. It flashes through my mind, heating my skin and making me shudder until I’m forced to roll my neck. A pathetic attempt to rid myself of pent up—and denied—emotions.
Shifter shits, quit doing that, I snap at Wolf as my heart continues to race and my libido turns up to a hundred.
Just reminding you of what we could have every night.Her tone drips with smugness, and I canfeelher smirk curling through my bloodstream.
It’s infuriating and unfair. Because even as I grumble, I let the memory linger. My palm drifts to my chest, and for a dangerous moment, I wonder just how far my imagination would take me if I let it.
Why pretend when you could be ravaged by the beast himself?Wolf presses, all sly temptation.
Sometimes I think she says things purely to torture me. Other times, I’m convinced I actually confuse her with my stubborn reluctance. Because after all those hours of close contact with Cade, I can’t explain my restraint, even if I wanted to.
Maybe tonight will bring you answers,she muses, haughty satisfaction curling through every syllable as I drag a brush through my hair.
“Yeah,” I murmur to my reflection. “Maybe.”
Steam billows around me as I step out of the bathroom, my new robe wrapped tightly around me, my magically dried hair falling around my shoulders. I’m already rehearsing which clothes will scream “not a date, but I still want you to think I’m hot” when I freeze.
Liz is perched in a chair by my window like a gargoyle in leggings. Arms folded and expression proud.
“Really?” I clutch the robe tighter around me. “Do you ever knock, or do you just materialize in people’s rooms like a judgmental vampire?”
Her dark eyes flick over me once before she smirks. “You’re the one walking around half-naked. Don’t blameme if Cade gets distracted and forgets what the wordtrainingmeans tonight.”
I gape, first at the short, pink silk, then back at her. “It’s not like I’m leaving my bedroom in this.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve seen the way the two of you circle each other. It’s lesssparringand moremating dance.” She stretches like she’s settling in for a show. “So, what’s the plan? You going to put on jeans that screamI can kick your ass,or a dress that whisperscheers to easy access?”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “You haven’t said a single thing about my mate bond with Cade in days. Why are you suddenly Team…”
“Team RoCa!” she cuts in, eyes lighting up like she’s been waiting to say it aloud. “Yes, I’m absolutely Team RoCa. And the only reason I’ve kept quiet is because you were too busy not dying. But now that you’re finally done looking like roadkill, maybe it’s time you stop pretending you don’t know what you have with him.”
Someone else recently asked me something similar, and it has me wondering…
“Did Iris send you here to spy? Is she hiding behind the door with a fanny pack of snacks and commentary?”
Liz chuckles low in her throat. “Please. Iris would have brought a whole charcuterie board and narrated every outfit choice. I came on my own.”
She’s not wrong about that.
