Page 31

“Take whatever suits you,” I instruct. “Today you’ll spar, but not against illusions. A Trolvor or Zonak might volunteer, or I might do it myself in a controlled capacity—if you prove disciplined. Understood?”

She bristles a bit at my condescending tone, but moves to examine the weapons, testing a short sword’s balance. I watch her from a few paces away, noticing how her posture shifts, more confident than the day we first met. She has no formal training, but she wields tenacity that can’t be taught.

As she tests the sword’s heft, I circle her, evaluating. “Not too heavy?”

She shakes her head. “I used bigger knives in the kitchen, though that was for cutting meat, not Trolvors.”

“Fair enough. Show me your stance,” I say.

She sets her feet, raising the blade. It’s serviceable, though rough around the edges. I tap her elbow, forcing it to angle downward. “Keep that in. And your weight more balanced, or a strong blow will knock you off your feet.”

She adjusts, annoyance flickering in her gaze, but obeys. “Better?”

“Marginally.” I step back, letting her swing a few slow arcs. Each pass generates a soft whoosh of air. “We’ll practice forms, then move on to a real opponent. I suspect you’ll learn faster if you’re threatened.”

She snorts. “Everything here is a threat.”

A cold smile. “Welcome to my world, mortal.”

Time blurs as we fall into a rhythm of drills. I instruct her on footwork, parrying angles, and how to harness momentum rather than brute force. She picks up the concepts quickly, forging her own style from scraps of knowledge. My corrections are curt, occasionally accompanied by a sharp whack to her forearm if she drops her guard. She hisses but doesn’t break. Each bruise reminds her, no doubt, that I’m not coddling her.

Eventually, sweat beads on her brow, her breathing ragged. “I can keep going,” she insists when I pause.

I arch a brow. “We’ll see.” Without warning, I whirl, launching a feint at her shoulder with a conjured blade of chaosflame. She yelps, pivoting to parry. Sparks fly where the energies collide with her short sword. She stumbles, nearly toppling.

“Focus,” I bark. “Your enemies won’t announce their attacks.”

She grits her teeth, regaining balance. Then, unbelievably, she counters with a thrust that almost snags my side. I dodge, impressed despite myself. “Better,” I allow.

A tense hush follows, both of us locked in the moment. My chaos blade still crackles with black fire. She holds the short sword, eyes shining with fierce determination. The fortress training hall hushes, lesser demons presumably cowering behind arches or in overhead galleries, watching unseen. The tension is thick enough to cut.

I move again, a lightning-fast slash aimed at her flank. She blocks but the impact jostles her. She recovers, swinging a backhand that collides with my forearm. The metal clangs, sending a jolt up my arm. I grunt in surprise. She actually struck me.

She pants, sweat trickling down her temple. “Satisfied?”

A surge of contradictory emotions ripples through me—annoyance at being touched by a mortal’s blade, and a strange pride that she managed it. My tail lashes, wings rustling. “Not yet.”

We clash again, exchanging blows that spark off the basalt floor. Her muscles strain, her stance faltering from fatigue. I press the advantage, forcing her to yield ground. With a final sweep of my flaming blade, I knock her sword aside, stepping into her guard. We’re chest to chest, her heart pounding, mine thrumming with an odd excitement.

I seize her wrist, twisting the short sword free. It clatters to the floor. She grimaces, trying to wriggle out of my hold. My free hand grips her waist, preventing escape. Another flash of proximity—too close, too charged. My breath stutters.

Her eyes lock on mine, silver shimmering with adrenaline. My chaos blade sputters out, leaving only a faint glow from the torches. We stand in shadow, bodies pressed together in the hush of the training hall. My horns angle over her head, tail swirling across the floor. The tension from earlier roars back, a blazing inferno demanding release.

She swallows, lips parted. “Why did you—stop?” she whispers, voice shaky.

I can’t answer immediately. The contract tugs at me, a reminder of my precarious state. Yet the magnetic current between us defies logic, dragging me into this moment. My gaze drops to her mouth, the soft fullness of her lips. The faint taste of possibility lingers on the air, as if one movement could spark a near-kiss again.

My heart clenches, an unexpected surge of longing slicing through me.She’s a mortal, a rebellious mortal, I remind myself. But the fortress wards flicker overhead, swirling with a storm of emotions. I tighten my grip on her waist, nearly drawing her flush against me. Her breath catches, a strangled hitch that matches my own.

I waver on the edge, mind screaming caution. My body, fueled by centuries of suppressed desire and the electric thrill of her defiance, urges me forward. She sees the conflict in my eyes, I know she does, because a flicker of empathy crosses her face. She’s not immune to this pull either—her pupils dilated, pulse fluttering beneath my fingertips.

With a snarl, I yank myself back, releasing her abruptly. She staggers, nearly falling without my support. My wings snap out, forcibly shutting down the moment.

“This is pointless,” I growl, turning away, chaos flame hissing from my claws. “You fought well enough. That’s enough for one day.”

She stands there, chest heaving, eyes wide with a mix of shock and something else—disappointment, maybe? My own heart thrashes, a tempest under my ribs. The fortress wards swirl in confusion, reflecting my state. I spin on my heel, refusing to meet her gaze again.

“We’ll leave at dusk,” I bite out. “Rest up. Don’t question me.”