Chapter 8 #2
He turned and walked towards the tree line without waiting for her response. She stood in the bloodstained snow and watched him go, her heart pounding with something that had nothing to do with fear.
The next day dawned clear and cold.
She woke to find him already outside, going through what looked like a combat drill of his own—movements far more complex than anything he’d taught her, his body flowing through strikes and blocks with lethal grace.
She watched from the cabin doorway for several minutes before he noticed her presence.
“Training in one hour.” He didn’t slow his movements. “Go and eat first.”
She ate. She stretched. She went through the basic stances he’d drilled into her over the past days, warming muscles that had grown accustomed to the work. When the hour passed, she found him waiting in the clearing.
“Today we work on defense against a larger opponent.” His voice was clinical, as if yesterday hadn’t happened.
As if he hadn’t transformed into something ancient and beautiful right in front of her.
“You’re small. You’ll always be fighting someone bigger.
You need to learn how to use that to your advantage. ”
“How?”
“Speed. Leverage. Knowing when to yield and when to resist.” He moved into position across from her. “Attack me.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Attack me. Don’t think about form—just try to hit me.”
It felt ridiculous. He was twice her size, and he’d literally fought off a pack of predators yesterday while she’d watched helplessly from behind a tree. But he was waiting, patient and expectant, so she lunged.
He deflected her easily, redirecting her momentum so that she stumbled past him. “Again.”
She went again. And again. Each time he turned her attacks aside with minimal effort, never hurting her, just demonstrating how easily her strength could be negated.
“You’re overextending.” He moved behind her, adjusting her stance. “When you commit to a strike, you leave yourself open. Smaller fighters can’t afford that.”
His hands were on her hips again, correcting her position. The familiar surge of heat rushed through her body, the awareness that prickled along her skin wherever he touched her.
“Try again. This time, don’t fully commit. Strike and retreat.”
She struck. He caught her wrist and in that moment, she saw her opening.
His weight had shifted forward to intercept her attack. His stance was stable but not braced. She remembered what he’d taught her about leverage, about using an opponent’s momentum against them. She dropped her weight and twisted.
It shouldn’t have worked. He was stronger, heavier, and far more experienced. But she’d surprised him—she saw it in the flash of his eyes, felt it in the way his grip loosened for just a fraction of a second.
She hooked her foot behind his ankle and pulled. They went down together.
The snow cushioned their fall, but the impact still drove the breath from her lungs. She had a moment of dizzy triumph—I did it, I actually unbalanced him—before she registered their position.
He was on top of her.
His body covered hers completely, pressing her into the cold ground.
Somehow he’d gotten one hand behind her head, protecting it from the fall, and his other hand was braced next to her head, preventing his full weight from crushing her, but they were still close, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.
His eyes had gone golden again. That molten glow she’d seen during the transformation, filled with something fierce and hungry.
Neither of them moved.
She could feel the tension in his body—the restraint, the control, the desperate battle he was fighting against whatever instinct screamed at him to take. She felt his heart pounding against her chest, felt the heat of him even through their layers of clothing.
He’s going to pull away, she thought. Like he always does. He’s going to apologize and retreat and pretend this didn’t happen.
She kissed him instead.
Her hands came up to frame his face, pulling him down the last few inches between them, and she pressed her lips to his.
For one terrifying heartbeat, nothing happened. He went rigid above her, every muscle locked, and she thought I’ve ruined everything, I’ve pushed too far, he doesn’t want—
Then he kissed her back. Hard, fast, and devastating.
One hand fisted in her hair while the other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her up against him even as he pressed her down into the snow. His mouth moved against hers with a hunger that stole her breath and sent lightning cascading through her veins.
This was nothing like the careful kisses she’d imagined in her sheltered fantasies. This was raw, consuming, primal. He kissed her like he wanted to devour her whole and couldn’t stop himself.
She didn’t want him to stop.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.
Her body arched up to meet his, chasing the heat, the pressure, the intoxicating friction of his weight against hers.
When his teeth grazed her lower lip she made a sound she’d never made before, a whimper that seemed to snap the last thread of his control.
He growled against her mouth. Actually growled, a low rumbling vibration that she felt in her chest, and then his lips left hers to trail fire down her jaw, her neck, the sensitive hollow of her throat.
“Ember.” Her name on his lips was barely human, rough and raw and desperate. “We should… I can’t…”
“Don’t stop.” She pulled him back to her mouth, kissing away his protests. “Please don’t stop.”
He didn’t stop.
His hands slid beneath her coat, beneath her shirt, finding bare skin. The contact was electric—his hot palms against her cold back, making her gasp and arch into him. His thumbs stroked the delicate skin just above her hips, and she thought she might come apart from that alone.
She’d never been touched like this. Never known this kind of wanting, this all-consuming need that burned away everything but the desperate desire for more.
More. Now. Here.
The cabin was a hundred meters away. The bed was a hundred meters away. Too far. The snow beneath her was cold but he was hot, so hot, and his hands were everywhere—stroking her back, cupping her breasts, tracing patterns on her skin that made her tremble.
“Rykan,” she gasped.
“Tell me what you want.” His voice was rough in her ear. “Whatever you want, I’ll—”
“You.” She fumbled with his clothing, clumsy and urgent. “I want you. Right here. Right now.”
He stilled above her, his golden eyes burning into hers as he processed her words.
She saw conflict warring with desire, restraint battling instinct.
Before he could object, before he could move away, she pulled him back down into another kiss.
She lost herself in the taste of him, the feel of him, the overwhelming rightness of him surrounding her completely.
She’d never felt less fragile in her life.