Chapter 20
Serafina
My body slams against the hard stone floor of the training room.
Again.
A sharp sting radiates through my back, and I grit my teeth. My body slicked with sweat, I push myself up. My muscles protest as I grab my wooden sword, which rests on the ground a few feet away.
It’s the third time Jax has disarmed me. I told him not to go easy on me. I told him that wouldn’t help me learn, not really, and he agreed. But I know he’s still not giving it his all, which I suppose I’m grateful for, considering I can’t seem to land a single strike.
He grins. It’s such a boyish smile, a stark contrast to how he looks dressed in nothing but black fighting leathers.
His sleeves are pushed up, revealing his corded forearms, and his shirt hangs open, just like it had the first time I saw him in this room, revealing far too much of his muscled chest.
But that’s not nearly as distracting as the way his leather pants sit low on his hips.
The deep “V” of his abdomen disappears beneath the waistband, and I hate how my gaze catches on it, how my thoughts momentarily scatter.
It’s infuriating, really—the way he looks so effortlessly devastating, like he just rolled out of bed and decided to ruin me.
Shaking my head, I force myself to focus.
We’ve been at this for nearly thirty minutes, and everything already hurts, but at least I’m fully awake now. When he appeared at my door only two hours after my head hit my pillow, I was barely able to open my eyes.
Groggy and hardly coherent, I didn’t argue, knowing this is how it needs to be.
No one can see us.
Which means we can only do this while the rest of the palace sleeps.
“You sure you want to go again?” he asks, his voice smooth but laced with a challenge. He cocks his head.
“Oh, I’m sure,” I say, trying to remember all I’ve read on swordsmanship, which is quite honestly a lot.
I never imagined myself actually holding the weapon, not even the wooden version of one, but I was always fascinated with the art of it. The grace of it.
Willing the ache in my muscles away, I decide to try a different approach.
Up until now, I’ve been focused on speed and strength, but Jax is faster than me, he’s stronger than me, and my speed might be an advantage when faced with an average opponent, but not when I’m going up against him.
I need to be strategic.
The books I read said to focus on weak spots. To spend a few rounds observing your partner, seeing how they move, seeing where they leave themselves open and vulnerable.
Observe.
Learn.
Exploit.
Those three words become my new mantra, playing on repeat in my mind.
Jax circles me slowly, his gaze steady, his sword raised just enough to remind me that he’s ready to strike at any moment.
My eyes follow every small movement of his arms, his shoulders, his feet. He moves with precision, but there’s a rhythm to it, a predictability I failed to notice before. His left shoulder dips slightly whenever he shifts his weight before an attack.
There it is.
I exhale and wait.
He lunges, his blade slicing through the air. I pivot sharply to the right. When he brings his blade down, missing me, I maneuver behind him. He recovers quickly, spinning to face me, but I strike before he’s fully turned.
He holds up his weapon, blocking my attack, but the surprise of it forces him off balance, and he falls backward, slamming to the ground just like I’d done three times before.
His grin grows as he stares up at me.
Panting, I reach for his hand to help him back on his feet, and his eyes spark with something almost feral.
“Where did you learn that move?” he asks, gripping my hand and dragging me slightly forward as he pulls himself up. I stumble but keep my footing.
“I read about it,” I admit, trying to catch my breath without breaking eye contact.
“Read about it?” he asks, and I don’t quite know what to make of his tone.
I shrug. “I read a lot.” I take a moment to wipe the sweat from my hands on my thighs. “Well, at least about things I’m interested in.”
“And swordsmanship, that’s something that interests you?”
Is he serious?
“Absolutely,” I tell him, gripping the handle of my wooden blade and feeling the weight of it.
“I mean…just the idea of maybe being able to protect myself someday…Hell yeah, I find that interesting. Although, I never actually believed I’d hold a sword or be capable of wielding one. I still enjoyed learning about it.”
He tilts his head, studying me as always. “A reader and a fighter. That’s a dangerous combination.” He picks up his sword and twirls it between his fingers. “How about we take a step back and go over the basics?”
“Ready when you are.”
He grips the hilt of his sword. Angling his hand back and forth in a way to show me exactly how he’s holding it. I look down at my own hands and try to do the same.
He places his weapon on the ground and moves to stand beside me.
“Like this,” he says, his fingers brushing against mine, rough and warm, as he positions my hands exactly how he wants them. I nod, ignoring my quickening pulse. “Your stance is solid, but your weight is off. Don’t lean too far forward, or you’ll leave yourself exposed.”
He’s behind me, and before I can turn to face him, his hands find my hips, moving me exactly as he instructed. His touch is firm but gentle, and I can feel the heat of him even through my clothes.
“There,” he says, his breath fanning my ear, and I don’t dare move as his sage scent assaults me. “Now, you’re ready.”
He’s back in front of me, picking up his wooden sword and mirroring my stance.
“You going to attack me or not?” His eyes sparkle, and I begin circling him.
He lunges again, his strikes faster this time, but I can tell he’s still not using his full strength. Even so, I struggle to block each advance, but I manage to keep up.
My muscles scream in protest, but I can’t yield, not yet.
He lowers his sword, sweat dripping from his hairline, and I watch him closely, waiting for his next move.
His shoulder dips, and I dodge it, aiming my blade for his upper ribs, where I’d be able to puncture a lung if this were a real weapon.
He blocks it, but I strike again, this time going for his carotid artery.
He blocks it for a second time, raising a brow, momentarily pausing, but I don’t stop.
Instead, I use his moment of distraction to my advantage and spin so I’m behind him. I aim a quick jab at his left kidney, hitting my mark, and he grunts.
But then he moves too fast for me to react and sweeps my legs out from under me.
I hit the ground hard, the air knocked from my lungs. Before I can recover, Jax is on top of me, pinning me down with his weight. He straddles my hips, holding his wooden sword lightly to my throat with one hand while his other is braced beside my head.
We’re both panting, our chests rising and falling in unison. His golden eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes my heart race for reasons that have nothing to do with the fight.
“You go for the kill,” he notes, my mind barely registering his words. The feel of him, the heat of him, the way his gaze commands my attention. It’s too much and not enough all at once. “Remind me not to make you mad when you’ve got a real blade in your hands.”
And then, just as quickly as he pinned me, he hops to his feet, extending a hand to pull me up.
I take it, and my legs tremble as I rise.
“You’re quick, and you’re smart. That’ll keep you alive. Even without being an Essentari, you’d be able to survive the third trial.”
My breath stutters, and I shake my head.
There’s no point in pretending. If I survive the trial, it’ll be because of the flames.
He releases my hand.
“I thought we were done with that,” he says, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, his voice more annoyed than anything, and now he’s the one shaking his head.
“Done with what?” I cross my arms, hating how he can make me feel…I don’t even know one minute and then like I want to smack him the next.
“You know your way back.” He points at the entrance to the secret tunnels, the place right next to the vent I’d once used to spy on him.
“Done with what, Ryjax?” I call after him, but he’s already walking away, his sword dangling by his side.
“You doubting yourself.”
And the way he says it…it’s as if he’s mad at me, and then he’s gone.
Just gone.
My teeth grind. My fists tighten.
What the hell just happened?