Chapter 3
The fight ended the way all sparring matches with Constantine eventually did—suddenly, completely, and without mercy.
Duke came in high, Darius low, their movements synchronized, but Con moved like liquid steel.
His spear was a blur—one strike caught Darius’ weapon and twisted it out of his grip, the next swept Duke’s legs out from under him before either brother realized what had happened.
They hit the mat almost in unison, grunting as the air rushed from their lungs.
For a moment, neither moved. Only the sound of their quick, ragged breathing filled the room.
Con lowered his spear, leaning on it casually, the ghost of a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You’re both good,” he said, voice even. “But you’re still telegraphing every move. You need to think like predators, not soldiers.”
Duke let out a low groan and rolled onto his back, one arm flung across his chest. “Been a long time since I got schooled like that,” he muttered. “I feel like a greenhorn again.”
Con’s eyes glinted gold. “You are,” he said flatly.
The twins exchanged a look and laughed under their breath—half pain, half admiration.
They climbed to their feet, smoothing their clothes.
Their pride was dented but not broken; that much I could see.
There was respect in their eyes now, the kind that only came from having their asses handed to them by a man who’d mastered every weapon a hundred times over.
They stepped out of the ring, shoulders squared despite the exhaustion. Con followed, the muted scrape of his boots steady and unhurried. He rested the spear against the railing and began listing corrections with that focused authority that made him impossible to argue with.
“Your balance is off-center when you pivot,” he said, nodding toward Darius.
“You’ll need to strengthen your stance before we advance to live weapons.
Work on grounding your back foot.” He turned to Duke.
“You favor your dominant arm. Stop relying on brute strength. Power is nothing without precision.”
Duke nodded, still breathing hard. “Yes, sir.”
Con’s gaze softened slightly. “You don’t need to call me that.”
“After that beating, I kind of do,” Duke said with a grin.
Quiet laughter came from Val’s corner, but it died abruptly when Lilah spoke.
She’d been watching Con with her head tilted just slightly, her eyes following every line of his movement since the fight began. A hint of a smile curved her lips as she ran a hand down the braid over her shoulder.
“I’d love to go a round or two with you,” she said, voice low and suggestive, each word drawn out deliberately.
The comment hung in the air like static.
Darius and Duke immediately looked away, pretending to inspect their spears. Val and Quinn—ever the opportunists—found the weapons wall suddenly fascinating, studying blades they’d seen a hundred times before with exaggerated focus.
Con didn’t move. For a long moment, he just looked at her—expression unreadable, the flicker of irritation behind his calm the only giveaway.
“If you’re asking for training,” he said finally, his tone clipped, “I’ll oblige. But I won’t go easy on you. The twins are fledglings. You are not.”
Lilah’s smile didn’t falter. “I wouldn’t want you to.”
A muscle ticked in Con’s jaw, the smallest tell that she was getting under his skin. It wasn’t desire—no, that was something different. This was the kind of annoyance only arrogance could provoke.
He picked up his spear again, the motion fluid and precise, and set it against the wall with an abrupt click. “Then you’ll report here tomorrow at dusk,” he said without looking back. “Wear armor.”
Lilah’s smile widened, clearly mistaking the cold professionalism for challenge. “I always do.”
Con turned away before she could say anything else, his shoulders tight, jaw set.
I caught the brief glimmer of something in his eyes—exasperation, maybe even discomfort—and it made me want to smile.
He hated this kind of attention, though he’d never admit it.
To everyone else, he was untouchable—an apex predator, the perfect warrior.
But I knew better. Beneath that iron composure was a man who didn’t play games. Especially not those kinds.
Val muttered under his breath, “This is going to be fun to watch,” and Quinn elbowed him hard enough to make him wince.
Con ignored them both, gesturing for the twins to follow him toward the exit. “You’ve done enough for tonight,” he said. “Rest, and return at first dark. We’ll begin weapons endurance drills.”
The twins gave quick nods, relief and pride mingling in their exhausted faces. As they walked out, Val and Quinn trailed after them, whispering quietly, their amusement barely contained.
Lilah lingered a moment longer, her gaze still fixed on Con’s retreating form. I caught her expression—curious, intrigued, and far too self-assured—and felt something twist low in my chest.
He turned his head just enough to meet my eyes before leaving the room. For a heartbeat, the noise faded, and the look he gave me was quiet, steady, grounding.
Then he was gone, leaving only the fading echo of boots and the buzz of training lights overhead.
Lilah finally exhaled, her voice a lazy drawl. “He’s as cold as they say.”
“Only when he wants to be,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.
But inside, I was already certain of one thing.
Tomorrow, when she stepped into that ring with him, she’d learn the same lesson every warrior eventually did.
You don’t flirt with Constantine Vonhof.
You survive him.
The training floor had quieted, the scent of sweat and iron fading into the low drone of the ventilation system. Most of the death dealers had dispersed to their quarters, leaving behind only the ghost of footsteps.
I was gathering my jacket from the railing when I heard her voice—smooth, casual, but carrying that thread of curiosity that always meant trouble.
“Cassara?”
I turned to see Lilah approaching. She’d unzipped her jacket, the dark leather framing a throat as pale as marble. Her braid had loosened, a few fiery strands slipping free to catch the light. She carried herself with the easy confidence of someone used to turning heads.
“Got a minute?” she asked.
I nodded, warily. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”
She came to stand beside me, folding her arms and glancing toward the now-empty ring where Con had trained the twins. “I wanted to ask you something,” she said lightly, but her tone had that edge—the kind that wasn’t really a question but a probe. “About Constantine.”
My gut tightened, though I kept my face neutral. “What about him?”
She smiled, still studying the ring. “He’s…
different. I’ve seen my share of commanders, but he doesn’t act like any I’ve met.
He’s too controlled. Too still. Even when he fights, it’s like the rest of us are moving through water and he’s walking on air.
” She turned her gaze back to me. “You trained under him, didn’t you? ”
“Among others,” I said carefully.
“But mostly him.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “You’ve done your homework.”
She shrugged, the motion lazy. “Everyone talks about it. About how close you two are.” Her voice dipped, almost playful now. “But I heard you’re not exactly the long-term type, so I figured that was just rumor.”
My jaw tightened, though I kept my tone even. “Rumors usually are.”
Lilah laughed softly. “You don’t have to be defensive. I’m not trying to start gossip. I’m just… curious. He’s not like the others, and I like a challenge.”
I met her gaze, steady and unreadable. “Then maybe you should ask him those questions.”
She arched a brow, clearly amused by my restraint. “So you’re not warning me off?”
“I don’t warn people,” I said, forcing a half-smile. “I let them make their own mistakes.”
That earned a low laugh, one that lingered too long. “Interesting philosophy.” She tilted her head, assessing me. “You really don’t care, do you? I mean, if someone else takes an interest in him?”
Something in her tone made the back of my neck prickle. I wanted to walk away, to shrug it off with a clever remark, but my throat felt tight. “You’ll have to excuse me,” I said finally, my voice lower than intended. “It’s been a long night.”
I left before she could answer, her soft laughter following me out of the training hall like smoke.
The corridor beyond was quiet, lit by flickering sconces that lined the stone walls. My boots echoed as I walked, each step heavy with a weight I couldn’t quite name. When I got to the staircase that led to the upper levels, the sound of her voice was still in my ears.
I wasn’t angry, not really. Lilah was bold, charming, confident—all the things I’d once been accused of.
What she’d said shouldn’t have bothered me.
But the thought of her looking at him like that—seeing what I saw every time Con stood his ground, every time he moved with that effortless precision—sent something painful through my chest.
Jealousy.
The realization hit like a slap. I almost stopped walking.
It was so foreign, so absurd, that it took me a full minute to name it. I wasn’t jealous. I didn’t get jealous. I’d trained myself out of it centuries ago—cut that weakness out along with the rest of what made me human. But now, the word echoed in my mind, bitter and unfamiliar.
I reached my suite and shut the door behind me, leaning back against the heavy wood. The air in my quarters was still, scented with sandalwood and steel polish. My weapons gleamed on the wall, my coat hung where it always did, and yet everything felt off—too small, too quiet.
I crossed to the window, looking out over the courtyard where the snow had begun to fall again, the flakes glinting like fragments of silver under the night lamps. Somewhere below, I knew Con was still awake, probably reviewing drills or pushing himself harder just to quiet the noise in his head.
And Lilah… she’d be thinking about him, too.