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She cuts me off with a single look. And a gentle press of her foot on my stomach. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind me she’s the one with the power now.
I sigh like a martyr. “Okay, wow. That’s hot. Foot kink? Unlocked.”
She steps off me. I groan in protest and prop myself up on one elbow, brushing imaginary dust from my shoulder like I haven’t just been publicly humbled by the girl I’m hopelessly obsessed with.
“You didn’t even try to run,” she says, amused, folding her arms.
“I knew it wouldn’t matter,” I reply. “You always catch me eventually.”
There’s a flicker in her eyes. Something softer than the usual challenge. I see it. She knows I mean it. Not just physically. I mean shehasme. All of me. And she always will.
She sits beside me instead of walking away. Close, but not touching. I let the moment linger. Let the quiet stretch. Because this is the real prize. Not the chaos. Not the quips. It’s being near her, when she doesn’thaveto let me.
After a breath, I glance at her from the corner of my eye. “You know, if you do string me up in a tree, I request only one thing.”
She glances over, skeptical. “Dare I ask?”
“Angle me slightly west,” I say, deadly serious. “Better light for my abs.”
She groans, standing, but I hear the smothered laugh under it. That’s the real victory.
I follow her up, brushing grass from my back. “You love me.”
“I do,” she says, not missing a beat. “Even if I sometimes regret it.”
“That’s fair,” I say, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “But just remember—if you ever lose your way, just follow the glitter trail I leave behind.”
She doesn’t shake me off.
She leans into me.
And my heart, the feral thing it is, claws at my ribs like it’s trying to get closer to hers.
She shifts up into stance, eyes narrowed in challenge, mouth parted in that way that makes me think of things I definitely shouldn’t during combat training.
Which is precisely the problem.
Because we’re supposed to be training. And I’m supposed to be teaching. And her fingers? Just brushed my stomach while reaching for a fake grab, and now my entire brain has short-circuited and I’m seriously considering whether I can die from this level of arousal and shame.
So naturally, I do what any mature, responsible mentor figure would do.
Istumble backlike she’s slapped me. One hand dramatically pressed to my chest.
“Luna Veyd,” I gasp. “Are you feeling me up during combat?”
She blinks. Hard. “What?”
“Youtouchedme,” I accuse, pointing at her like she’s just committed high treason against the God of Boundaries—which, to be fair, is usuallyme, but that’s beside the point.
“That’s kind of the point ofsparring,” she says slowly, the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s trying very hard not to laugh.
“Was it?” I narrow my eyes, circling her. “Because it felt suspiciously intimate. There was… lingering. There was definite palm-to-ab contact. That was not regulation sparring.”
She snorts, and I take that as a victory. Because even if she does end up murdering me with Wrath, at least she’ll do it while smiling.
“I was trying to flip you,” she says.
“Well,mission accomplished—you flipped my entire will to fight,” I say, throwing my hands up. “Now I’m emotionally compromised. I need a support clone.”