C H A P T E R T W E N T Y – F O U R
C H A P T E R T W E N T Y – F O U R
Olwyn
T he training room is dimly lit, the early morning light filtering through the narrow windows, casting long shadows across the floor.
The air is thick with the scent of sweat and exertion, the remnants of yesterday’s session still lingering as I step onto the mat, tightening the straps on my training boots.
The room is stifling, and I have taken off my full sleeve leathers, opting for a skinsuit which leaves my arms bar e? —able to breathe.
“Ready?” Altair asks, turning to face me. His gaze roams over my face, my arms… my chest. His unscarred eye is pitch black, but there’s a glint of challenge in it that makes my pulse quicken.
“As always,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
We begin with the usual drills—basic blocks, strikes, and evasions. I do my best to keep up, blocking his attacks and countering where I can, but it doesn’t take long before he starts to push harder, his strikes coming faster and with more force.
“Predictable,” he mutters as I block another one of his strikes, frustration creeping into his voice.
I scowl, my irritation flaring. “Predictable? I’ve been training for a few months with Iolas and only weeks with you! How many years have you been at this, Altair?” My voice sharpens, carrying the bite of frustration and exhaustion. I dodge his next strike, barely, my muscles already burning. “And, in case you’ve forgotten, you’re a vampire. Superior strength, speed—the whole damn package. Meanwhile, I’m only human.” I grit my teeth and deflect a low kick aimed at my legs.
Altair’s eyes narrow, and he steps back, lowering his hands. “Stop,” he commands, and I halt, panting slightly from the exertion.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.
“You’re holding back,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “You’re too focused on what you think you should do, instead of just… doing.”
I frown, not understanding. “I’m trying to anticipate your moves, to predict your attacks. Isn’t that what you’ve been teaching me?”
“Yes, but you’ve become too reliant on that. You’re not letting yourself be free. You’re not letting your instincts guide you. You’re predictable. And predictability will get you killed.”
His words hit me hard, a blunt assessment of my skills that feels like a slap to the face. But beneath the sting of his criticism, I know he’s right. I’m playing it too safe, too cautious.
“What do you want me to fucking do then?” I ask, almost tantruming like a petulant child.
Altair’s lips twitch as his eyes narrow, but his tone remains calm. “Stop thinking so much and just… act. Let your instincts take over.”
“I don’t know how in this environment,” I tell him.
“What did you do that day in Avantra when you ran from Mikael?”
The memory of what he did to his own guard back then makes me want to smil e? —a much different reaction to that day. Maybe being around vampires means I am becoming desensitised to violence?
But I think about it. I didn’t do anything with much thought I just…
“Acted.”
“Exactly. You acted based on your adrenaline. On your instincts.”
That was because I had been sca r? —
Scared.
The realisation hits me like a boulder. The reason I don’t act on instinct when training with Altair and Iolas. The reason that lifesaving feeling doesn’t run through my veins.
I’m not scared of them.
They won’t hurt me.
“I want you to surprise me,” he says.
I swallow hard, his words settling in. Surprise him? How am I supposed to do that when every move I make is scrutinised, analysed? How do I break free from the patterns we’ve established?
“Again,” he commands, stepping back and raising his hands. “And this time, don’t hold back.”
I nod, ridding myself from my confusing revelation and steeling myself as we begin again. Altair moves with the same precision as before, but now there’s an added intensity, as if he’s daring me to break the mould, to do something unexpected.
I try to push myself, to be quicker, more aggressive. To try and burrow into how I found those instincts during our first session. I switch up my attacks, feinting and dodging, but Altair sees through every move, blocking and countering with ease. The frustration builds inside me, a gnawing sense of inadequacy that I can’t shake.
“Too slow,” he mutters as he sidesteps another of my strikes.
I growl in frustration, feeling the anger bubble up inside me. “I’m trying!”
“Don’t try,” he snaps, his voice sharp. “Do.”
The words are like a trigger, tickling something in the back of my mind, and something snaps inside me. I don’t think—I just move. I lunge forward, feinting to the left before spinning to the right, aiming a punch at his side. But he’s faster, his hand darting out to catch my wrist, twisting it just enough to force me off balance.
And then, without warning, I let my body take over. I twist in his grip, using the momentum to spin around, and before I can second-guess myself, I wrap my fingers in his hair and… press my lips to his.
For a heartbeat, time seems to freeze. Altair’s grip on my wrist loosens, his body tensing in surprise as I press my palms to his warm chest. The room falls silent, the only sound the pounding of my heart in my ears. My lips move against his, soft yet demanding, the heat of the moment eclipsing everything else.
And then, just as I’m about to pull back, he responds. His hand releases my wrist, sliding up to cup the back of my neck and into my hair, pulling me closer as he deepens the kiss. His tongue brushes against mine and he groans, the sound rumbling in his chest. His lips are warm and firm, and the electricity that sparks between us is like nothing I’ve ever felt. The tension, the frustration, the anger—it all melts away, replaced by a flood of raw, unfiltered need .
But I’m not done surprising him yet.
As our lips part for a breath, his eyes open, and before I can fully comprehend the light colour of both , I use the moment of distraction to shift my weight again. I hook my leg behind his and push forward with all my strength, using his own momentum to send him off balance. His eyes widen in realisation, but it’s too late—he’s already falling.
I follow him down, so that when we hit the mat, I’m on top, straddling his hips and pinning him to the floor. His back hits the mat with a solid thud, but I don’t give him a chance to recover. My hands press into his muscled shoulders, holding him in place, and I lean down, my breath hot against his ear.
“Spontaneous enough for you?” I whisper, a smirk playing on my lips as I pull back to meet his gaze.
Altair stares up at me, his chest heaving beneath mine, dark eye bright with a hint of blue.
His surprise has melted into something else—something darker, more dangerous. His hands grip my thighs, not pushing me off, but holding me there, anchoring me in place. The look in his eyes makes my heart skip a beat, my pulse quickening as I realise just what I’ve done.
Realise what I can feel hardening beneath me, almost right where I know it would feel good.
“That,” he says, his voice rough, “was definitely unpredictable.”
A shaky laugh escapes me. There’s no regret in his gaze, no anger—only a heat that makes my pulse quicken all over again.
“Maybe spontaneity suits you after all,” Altair says with a smirk, his tone teasing but his eyes serious. My breath hitches as his hands roam further up my thighs, and I can feel the slight tightening of his fingers, and I resist the urge to roll my hips. “But I’ll expect you to at least land a punch next time.”
I laugh breathlessly, feeling a mix of nervousness and something I try to suppress before he senses it. “Deal. Just don’t expect me to use this tactic on anyone else.”
He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. It makes me want to rub my thighs together. His nostrils flare. “Good,” he rasps. “Because I might get a little jealous.”
My eyes roll before I can remember who lies beneath me. “I’m yours, remember.”
He sits up so suddenly I would have fallen back if it weren’t for his hands holding me firmly at my waist. I tense, but he isn’t hurting me. His lips hover over mine. I could tip forward an inch and my mouth would touch his again.
Where his sharp canines press into the swell of his bottom lip.
“Careful with your words, Olwyn. A declaration like that might entice me to kiss you again. And my heightened sense of smell informs me how much you might just enjoy that.”
I want to deny it and tell him he’s wrong. But Gods know he isn’t.
“And what if I were to kiss you again?” I boldly ask.
His breath shudders, eyes closing before he seems to pull control over himself. His eyes are completely black when he opens them, and a tingling sensation climbs up my spine as I suddenly feel like I am speaking to some dark creature, and not Altair.
“I think you’d find yourself spread out on this mat, with me buried so deep inside you, you wouldn’t be able to walk from this room when I was finished.”