Chapter Twenty-Nine
I'm walking back from History class the next afternoon when Caspian falls into step beside me without asking, his shoulder brushing mine. Every student we pass stops and stares. Something in my chest pulls tight and I know the incomplete bond is trying to form, trying to connect us as Julian and I are connected.
"Training. Tonight." His voice carries just enough that nearby students hear. "Private session. Seven pm."
My stomach flips. "I can train alone."
"You can. But you won't." There's a roughness in his voice that wasn't there a moment ago. "If you're under my protection, I need to know you can defend yourself when I'm not there."
It's logical. Reasonable. Also completely transparent.
"This isn't about training," I say quietly.
"No." He doesn't bother denying it. "But we're going to train anyway. And whatever else happens..." He leans closer and his breath ghosts across my ear. "That's between us."
Heat floods through me and I hate how my body responds to him, how just his proximity makes my pulse race and my thighs clench together. The memory of his hand around my throat in the Dominion meeting is burned into my brain.
"Seven pm," he says again, then walks away before I can argue.
I watch him go and know I'm going to show up, know I want to show up despite every reason I shouldn't.
The private training room is in the Dominion wing. He texted me the room number an hour ago, nothing else. Just:Room 7. Don't be late.
When I arrive at the right door, the incomplete bond flares in recognition. He's inside. Waiting.
The room is exactly what he promised - mats on the floor, weapons on the walls, enough space to do damage. No random students wandering past. Just us.
Caspian is wearing training clothes that do nothing to hide the muscles underneath. He's taping his hands and doesn't look up when I enter.
"You're late."
"By two minutes."
"Still late." He finishes with the tape and finally meets my eyes. "Warm up. Then we spar."
I drop my bag and start stretching, hyperaware of him watching. I can feel his attention tracking over my body as I move through the motions.
When I'm done, I turn to face him. "Hand to hand?"
"Hand to hand." He moves to the center of the mat. "No shifting. No weapons. Just you and me."
I join him and we circle each other slowly. He's bigger, stronger, faster. I know this. But I've learned to be unpredictable and that's my only advantage.
He strikes first, testing my reflexes. I block and counter, aiming for his ribs. He deflects easily and comes at me again, harder this time. We trade blows, neither of us landing anything solid yet, both assessing and learning how the other moves.
Then he gets serious.
He's fast for his size and when he moves, it's with the violence of a male trained since childhood. He catches my wrist mid-strike, uses my momentum against me. I'm spinning. My back hits his chest and his arm wraps around my waist, pinning me against him.
"Dead," he says against my ear. "If I wanted you dead."
I can feel every inch of him pressed against me and the contact sends electricity racing down my spine. His chest rises and falls against my back, both of us breathing hard from the exertion. I should reverse out of this hold, should use the technique he taught me weeks ago.
Instead I go still.
His arm tightens fractionally around my waist and I feel him inhale, scenting me. "This is where you counter," he says, voice rougher than before.
I turn my head and look at him over my shoulder. "Is it?"
