Chapter 10 #2
Across the room, two figures move fast enough, the mirrors blur them.
Jasper and Nyx are already in motion, dancing around the mat.
All the men are dressed in the same usual training attire; fitted black shirts with tactical pants.
Jasper attempts a sweep on Nyx, but Nyx shifts his weight just enough to let it pass, countering with a wrist trap that spins Jasper halfway around.
Jasper quickly recovers and drives forward again.
They’re not fighting, they’re reading each other.
Nina and I move to the bench and sit as she begins to wrap her hands.
I finish wrapping the last of the fabric around my hands, the cotton is strategically threaded between my fingers, tightening around my knuckles, grounding me into routine.
Jasper sees me first, his focus breaking for half a second.
I look away as Nyx pushes him off balance.
“Hold.” Jasper’s voice echoes across the room, snapping my head back to them.
His eyes are settled on me, and Nyx follows his gaze.
He doesn’t smile. But his attention stays on me a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Nyx drops his hands and steps away. Jasper approaches carefully, stopping a few feet from me instead of crowding me like last night.
He wipes the sweat from his brow, kneeling down. “Florence.”
I cross my arms over my stomach, leaning back against the wall. “Morning.”
He exhales. “I owe you an apology.”
Nina doesn’t look up, but I know she’s listening. Greer flails her mug around as she holds her phone to her ear. “I’ve got it covered,” she argues to the caller.
I look back to Jasper as he continues, “I shouldn’t have gotten close like that yesterday. I overstepped.”
I raise my hand, offering a small smile. “You didn’t do it intentionally.”
A groan breaks free from the security guard behind as Bear slams him. Again.
Jasper ignores it. A muscle ticking in his jaw. “That doesn’t make it okay.”
He means it. I can hear it in his voice.
“I forget sometimes you live in readiness, not comfort,” His voice is softer now.
I meet his eyes, holding them for a heartbeat. “I don’t mind comfort,” I respond quietly. “I mind not knowing what’s coming.”
He nods, relief easing his shoulders. The sincerity is real, and that feels like the problem. He reaches over carefully, brushing his knuckles lightly against mine. Slowly enough that I could pull away if I wanted to. But I don’t.
A pair of training gloves land in my lap, snapping us out of our conversation. I look up to see Nyx standing with his hands on his hips. “You’re up,” he says to me.
Jasper stands, turning to Nina. “Want to warm up with me?”
Nina stretches on her tiptoes, nodding, as I slide the gloves on and follow Nyx to the mat.
He doesn’t rush me, no, Nyx just waits. Not even in a fighting stance. His eyes don’t track my hands or feet the way most partners are supposed to. He’s tracking me.
I scoff. “You’re not moving.”
“You haven’t decided how you want to start,” he replies.
Most opponents try to overpower first. Frowning, I step in and reach for his wrist, intending to redirect into shoulder control. He lets me have it for half a second at least.
Nyx doesn’t break my hold, but shifts, changing the angle.
My arm follows his movement, my center of gravity pulling forward instead of sideways, and suddenly I am the one off balance.
My back meets his chest, his heart thrumming against it.
He takes a half step back, separating us.
But I still feel it somehow, like my back is sizzling like a live wire.
His arm swoops around my waist to stabilize me before I can fall.
My muscles lock instantly, my breath hitching.
I brace, waiting for the strike. But it doesn’t come.
Instead, his grip eases. Not loosening, but softening.
My body doesn’t know what to do with that.
Neither does my head as everything I’ve learned slips away.
I’ve spent years teaching myself that a man’s hands are something to watch, anticipate and survive.
Nyx’s are refusing to make me feel any of those things like I need them to.
Which is annoying me. The man looks like death given a pulse.
Half the time he’s carrying enough weapons to start a small war.
Even off duty, the number of blades and hatchets hooked to his belt should be unsettling to a woman.
He should put me on edge. But he doesn’t.
Not once in three years have I questioned him standing at my back.
Not once have I wondered what he’d do if I turned around.
But right now, with his arms wrapped around my waist, I’m questioning a lot of things. And that’s what’s terrifying.
I swallow, a bead of sweat dripping down my temple.
“You brace yourself before you’re hit,” he whispers near my ear.
My jaw tightens. “Everyone does.” My nostrils flare, a blanket of red threatening my vision.
“No, only when they see it coming,” he says calmly.
“You do, you can’t see it but react anyway.
” His hand shifts slightly, not holding me in place, but steadying me.
As if he expects me to choose whether to move or not.
I twist out and shove him off, creating further distance.
“You hesitate when contact isn’t violent,” he adds.
I snort. “That’s not hesitation.”
“It’s anticipation,” he replies, his tone low.
I circle him. “You’re reading too much.” I bounce on my toes, tossing my braid over my shoulder.
“You catalog exits in every room,” he counters. “You stand where you can see doors. You flinch at fast movement but not gunfire. You don’t trust quiet.”
I feel like I’m in Ana’s office right now.
I lunge to interrupt him with a leg sweep. He blocks me easily but doesn’t counterattack. He catches my forearms, guiding rather than forcing, pulling me into close range again. Our shoulders nearly touch and my pulse jumps automatically with my vision.
“Strike already.” I snap. “Stop analyzing.”
He doesn’t. Nyx only lifts his hand, slow enough that I could stop him and rests it briefly against my shoulder. My skin twitches beneath. It’s not force, no control. Just contact. And I’m frozen. He watches me carefully, scanning my face.
“There,” he says softly.