THIRTY-ONE #2
The restraint.
The heat simmering just under the surface.
I blink, heart stuttering once.
Rian notices.
“Distracted?” he teases, raising a brow. “Should we take five?”
“No,” I lift my chin, my grip tightening on the blade. “I can do this.”
Because if I can’t hold my focus with Thane watching and Calryx trying to yammer on in my head, then what chance do I have against a Fellborn?
I force my breathing to even out while anchoring my feet.
Again, I think. I’m ready.
Rian comes at me fast, but I’m already moving. I parry high, twist low, and force him to pivot hard to avoid my strike. He grunts in surprise, and I use it. I press forward, relentless.
Blade.
Step.
Breathe.
Flow.
Wind whips around my boots as I shift my weight. I guide it, not with effort, but instinct. The magics listens now, not as something I wield, but as something moving with me.
The air seems to carry me where I already intend to go. I move faster without even realizing it.
Rian counters, but I’m inside his guard before he finishes the motion. I slap the flat of my blade against his hip, light and controlled. A mark. A point.
“Two,” I say through clenched teeth, breath catching in my throat.
He backs off, laughing, chest heaving.
“Alright, alright. Gods, remind me never to underestimate you again. Clearly you’ve improved significantly since we last sparred.”
He twirls his blade once, resetting his stance.
“Looks like I need to up my game.”
I offer a tight smile, though my focus doesn’t waver. “You’re welcome to try.”
My eyes flick to Thane.
He hasn’t moved. But I feel a shift in him, like a ripple across still water.
Admiration.
Desire.
A dangerous heat coiling beneath the surface.
My pulse spikes, but I don’t let it show.
Instead, I turn back to Rian and lift my blade again. “One more?”
Rian nods once, resetting his stance. “One more.”
He moves fast—no warning, no pause—and this time, I’m just a breath behind. His blade taps my side. A sharp sting.
“One,” he says, grinning.
I grit my teeth and press forward. We clash, steel on steel, footsteps shifting through dust. He spins, pivots, strikes again. I block, but not fast enough. His blade clips my thigh. Light. Clean.
“Two.”
Damn it.
I steady my breathing and shake the frustration from my limbs.
Don’t react. Reset.
I watch his footwork now. His weight. His rhythm. I wait for the opening.
When it comes, I take it.
I duck low, slide under his guard on my knees, and land a sharp tap against his ribs.
“Three,” I mutter, breath ragged.
He backs off, laughing. “You’re dangerous, Thalor.”
I offer a smug smile, lifting my blade again. “I’m just getting started.”
Movement at the edge of the training ring draws my attention. Thane steps forward, silent as a lion stalking through tall grass, his gaze locked on me.
Rian lowers his weapon with a knowing look. “Looks like I’m being replaced.”
I turn toward Thane, my heart already thudding. He draws his blade in one fluid motion and meets my eyes.
“Again.”
His version of hello.
I’m reminded of the hundreds of training sessions where that single word followed every mistake I made. Every fall. Every misstep. Every fumbled maneuver.
This time, I won’t fumble.
Thane steps into the ring like he owns the ground beneath us. His eyes find mine and hold. And beneath that stillness, a restless heat smolders like a fuse waiting to be lit.
I bite my lip and forcibly redirect my thoughts.
Gods, this man can derail my concentration with a single look.
We are sparring.
Not fucking.
A distinction I really need to remember right now.
Rian steps back without a word. Even Valen shifts slightly, sensing the change in the air.
Thane steps into the ring. He rolls his shoulders and settles into his stance, relaxed but coiled like a storm held in check.
I swallow hard, fingers tightening around the hilt of my blade. I make a face at him and narrow my eyes. He will not throw me off.
I won’t let him.
His gaze remains fixed on mine, amused and infuriatingly calm, as though he already knows how this match ends.
The air between us crackles. Not with magics, but with tension. Tight. Tangible. Every inch of me is braced, not just for his blade, but for him.
He inclines his head ever so slightly. “Well?”
Valen and Rian exchange a look, clearly missing whatever just passed between us. Rian lifts an eyebrow while Valen adjusts his grip on his staff and shrugs.
I raise my blade. “Come find out.”
Then we move.
Our blades meet with a sharp clang, force vibrating up my arm. He’s faster than Rian. Stronger in his strikes. But never reckless.
Every movement is precision forged in fire.
I block, pivot, strike. He dodges easily, but his eyes never leave mine.
Each clash of steel sends another jolt through me. Not just from the impact, but from the way he watches. His gaze follows every movement with an intensity that makes me feel seen in places far deeper than my sparring skills.
My breath quickens—not from exhaustion, but from something else entirely.
We break apart and begin to circle again.
“You’re holding back.”
The challenge in his voice curls through me.
“So are you,” I shoot back.
A faint smile ghosts across his lips.
“I won’t hurt you,” he purrs.
My traitorous body responds to his voice before my brain can catch up. I curse under my breath and grit my teeth.
I will not let him distract me.
“Then stop fighting like you’re afraid to.”
That does it.
He comes at me harder this time. Still controlled, but closer. Closer than necessary. Our blades lock, faces inches apart, breath mingling.
His voice drops, barely audible over the ringing in my ears. “You think I’m afraid of hurting you?”
I don’t look away. My heart slams against my ribs. “I think you’re afraid of what happens if you let go.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Everything stills.
Shit.
I feel it hit him.
The memory of this morning.
His hands gripping my skin. His breath ragged against my neck. The moment his control slipped and the shadows answered, pouring from his fingers like a second heartbeat pulsing between us.
The way I didn’t flinch or pull away. I chose to stay.
Because, in that moment, he wasn’t a warlord. He wasn’t the Fire Clan’s weapon or the council’s protector. He was just Thane.
Raw. Unguarded. Real.
And gods, I felt it.
The power thrumming beneath his skin. The fear in his grip. The way he held me as though I was the only thing keeping him tethered.