5. Chapter Five
Present Day
My fists pound into the punching bag with enough force to shatter a skull.
I know this for a fact, thanks to Coach allowing me to try one day. It was a complex moment, realizing that I’m capable of terrible things, but also understanding the weight of responsibility of this power underneath these calloused knuckles. The constant choice between kindness and destruction.
A choice I make every single day.
Sweat flies into my eye, stinging. Lungs heaving, I allow myself to disassociate into the exertion. It’s been almost two weeks since Kyrielle left me standing in the living room, feeling like a piece of rotted hydra dung.
I was needlessly cruel; she simply came over to help. It was a betrayal of my perception of self and how I treat people in general, but especially women. I could blame my father, but he didn’t make those words come out of my mouth.
No, that was all me. Every ugly inch.
I sent an apology text, but it went ignored. Last week, she was here in the gym. The second she spotted me, a door swung shut in her hurried escape. Who can blame her? Certainly not me.
“What’d it do?” Coach Richor’s grating voice hovers over my shoulder.
It takes a moment for me to catch my breath before I can speak. “What?”
“The punching bag. You’re pounding it like it fucked your sister.”
I cast him an irritated look. “That’s inappropriate.”
“Take a break.”
He’s probably right, but my frustration is hitting its peak. My self-flagellation isn’t over yet. I doubt it’ll ever be. “I’m fine. Just working things out.”
“Take a break.” His tone signals that he won’t be asking again.
I shove the punching bag violently, then step away, letting it swing. Hands on my hips, I try to catch my breath. It feels like a raging inferno wants to escape, shattering through my sternum to burn anything in the way.
I was so mean.
This is why I can never find anyone to stay in a relationship with.
I get in my head and push people away before they get hurt. Or they hurt me.
Even when they ordered me food because they worried about me. That Satyr restaurant was delicious.
Goddess, this guilt is consuming.
“Speak it.” Coach’s voice is low. The fighters around us drift away, sensing a moment they don’t need to be around for.
I shake my head. Sweat smatters the floor, dripping from my limbs. “It’s fine. I did something shitty, and the guilt is eating me up. Nothing a good punching session can’t fix.”
Coach appraises me with milky white eyes. As a regenerator, he’s fairly non-descript, minus the red streak in his black hair. But his presence is something unmistakable. Impossible to confuse with another regenerator.
“A woman?”
“Yes,” I clip. Since Kyrielle trains here, I’m not interested in risking her reputation by over-sharing in the wrong place. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”
Coach bobs his head thoughtfully. “You’re done for the day. Go take a walk. It’s a nice day for it.”
Fresh air does sound appealing. “Thanks, Coach.”
He turns away without another word. I grab my belongings, wiping away sweat with my towel. No one interrupts me on the way out — probably sensing my mood. A soothing breeze caresses my damp skin the moment I shove open the door.
I smile. Coach, as usual, is right.
The walk is short but satisfying. By the time I reach the backdoor again, I’m feeling a little better. Maybe on the way home, I might try to find a nice thermal to coast on. It can always help center me when—
A flash of orange catches my attention, becoming my sole focus.
She’s walking toward the gym, laughing with another female boxer.
Her hair hangs in a long curly ponytail.
Tight gym shorts hug her thick, muscular thighs.
Even though she’s short, she’s strong. It was the first thing I noticed when we first met, and the first thing I wanted to sink my fangs into.
The urge never left. Now, as each step bounces her full breasts, I yearn to sink into her body like it's a haven. A place to just exist without a worry in the world. When the past doesn’t matter because all that matters is the present.
When our eyes collide, I swear hers contain actual fire. I cringe when she looks away. The silent message is clear: Go away. Maybe I should leave it alone. Trying to apologize again is more about assuaging my guilt.
But I can’t let this go.
“Kyrielle!” I call out, jogging. “Wait up.”
The few people outside pause at the sound of my voice. She gives me a nasty look, but now that I’ve called her out, she can’t deny me without stirring up rumors. Is it manipulative? Fortuna smite me, but I don’t care.
The female boxer excuses herself when I stop short in front of Kyrielle. Her cheeks flush from anger or embarrassment; I don’t know. When she crosses her arms, it makes her cleavage more prominent. My eyes stay glued to her face.
“What do you want?” she hisses through clenched teeth. She’s trying to look happy, but I know it’s a mask. I do the same, a fake smile pinching my cheeks.
“I want to apologize for how I acted when you came over.”
Her arms tighten a little more around her chest. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. You were trying to be kind, and I was awful. It was uncalled for. I get it if you don’t want to speak to me again; please know that I feel awful about it.”
“Good.” Her mouth thins; her eyes harden. “But you do grasp that in order to apologize to me, you had to manipulate the situation. At the gym.”
“I know, I’m—”
“This is my safe place, Trinte.” The smile drops from her face. “If you jeopardize my reputation here, if you make it uncomfortable, I’ll go straight to Coach to tell him what you’ve done.”
Blood drains from my face. This apology isn’t at all what I intended. In fact, I feel worse, but that isn’t her problem. Holding up my hands, I take a step back. “You’re right. It won’t happen again.”
Her jaw grinds, her irises turning to chips of citrine. “Glad to hear it.”
Not willing to endure the awkward experience of following each other into the gym, I take off in the other direction. The further I get, the more I realize that the only solution right now is the sky.
When I’m close enough, I launch myself into the air, preferring wings over tears.
***
The Speed Dating Event
Why did she have to be number eleven?
I loath watching Kyrielle walk away, although the visual is tantalizing. A plump ass like that deserves to be worshipped. When I catch other men looking, I have to resist the urge to snarl.
Once I confirm she’s seated, I go searching for seat twenty-three. My first date’s already situated — a well-endowed Mermaid in bi-pedal form. Like me, she has scales on her legs, but her upper body is scaleless dark skin.
She watches me hungrily, like she’d prefer to mount me instead of speak to me. If Kyrielle hadn’t just entered my life, I’d probably would've let her.
Pretending to be interested, I smile and take a seat. “Hello, I’m Trinte.”
“Minelli,” she says, voice deep and raspy. Their voices are better underwater.
The Satyr hostess taps the mic. “And your time begins now!” A small bell is rung. Conversations explode around us, making it hard to think or hear.
Minelli looks me over. “So, what do you do?”
“I’m a Dragxi.”
Her nose curls. “Seriously? Do you get paid well for doing that?”
I co-own the top company in Gondora with my brother, Fynn, but she doesn’t need to know that. “No, actually, I’m pretty broke all the time.”
She grimaces, taking the lie at face value. “Oh, and you’re here? Speed dating?”
“Sure. Broke guys deserve love, too.”
Minelli sits back in her chair, putting distance between us. “Um, yeah. Sure.”
Am I self-sabotaging? Maybe. But I have to wait over a dozen dates to be in front of Kyrielle again. It’s a dozen opportunities to get even more annoyed. Dating has never been my thing. Once you reach a certain point, people expect you to open up. To share your past.
I’m really not interested.
But I’m also at the age where I’ve come to realize that this isn’t sustainable. While I’m not looking for a woman to heal me, it’s probably important to get out there in a different way. Clubbing can only take you so far.
When the bell rings, it’s a relief. Minelli won’t even look at me as I stand. That’s fine.
The next date is a red-headed Vampyre. When I act grossed out by blood, she stops speaking. For the third, I pretend to enjoy adding spice to everything, including milk.
By the fourth, I can’t stop trying to sneak peeks at Kyrielle. It’s impossible to say, but I think she’s miserable. She frowns at one guy and even wrinkles her nose at another. It’s the cutest nose. The urge to stand up, grab her, and lick the tip is overwhelming.
When she’s finally next to me, I can barely sit still. Every time I glance at her, we lock eyes and share a smile. The Elf in front of me is fuming, but won’t say anything. A little part of me feels bad, but all I can focus on is getting to see Kyrielle’s smile.
The bell rings; I let out a sigh of relief. The Elf stands, hurling a nasty look at me before stalking out of the bar. Apparently, I was her breaking point.
I tend to have that effect.
“Hello again,” Kyrielle says, grinning. In her hand is a martini. A drink I did not buy.
“Where did the beer go?”
She frowns at my mostly full glass. “I drank it. Why didn’t you drink yours?”
“I was too distracted waiting for you to sit across from me.”
Kyrielle laughs like she thinks I’m telling a joke, but when I don’t smile, her mouth drops. “Oh.”
Diving right in, I ask, “How long have you lived in Gondora?”
A little taken aback by the change in topic, she startles. “Huh?”
“I get less than three minutes. I like to make every second count.” I wink.
Her cheeks flush. “Are innuendos inappropriate at a speed dating event?”
I lean forward, subtly inhaling her soft scent. Keeping my voice low, I say, “The difference between a joke and a promise is intention.”
Matching my volume, she murmurs, “And what is your intention?”
I trail my gaze from her lips down her slender neck to her extremely generous breasts. The dress is fighting for its life, keeping her wrapped in some semblance of propriety.
It’d look better on the floor.
When she swallows hard, I smile. “With you, I have a few intentions.”
The tension between us is ready to snap. Kyrielle licks her bottom lip. My focus homes in on the pink wetness of her tongue.
Giving a coy smile, she whispers, “Share one?”
“I have every intention of kissing you tonight.”
Instead of pulling away, she leans closer. “Exactly where? Here?”
She taps her lips, and I shake my head. “This isn’t the kind of kiss for an audience.”
Her breath hitches. “What kind of kiss is it?”
“The kind that ruins you for every other man.”
At this, she chuckles. “That’s very confident of you.”
I cock my head, appraising her with predatory intent. There’s nothing I want more than to lay her out here on this table and get on my knees. The thought pulses through my cock in a deliciously painful way. “I am very confident that kissing you will change my life.”
The way her lips part with shock might be my undoing. “And if I’m not confident? I mean, a lot of guys think they’re good kissers. A lot of them aren’t.”
“Only one way to find out,” I tease, widening my smile. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
She looks at her almost finished martini. “I’m going to need another drink first.”
I peer down at my glass. “I’ll need a refresh.” I notice two empty stools at the bar. “Do you want to sit at the bar?”
Kyrielle is already standing. “Let’s go.”