23. Surrender
Chapter twenty-three
Surrender
Over the next couple of weeks, we bounce around from village to village. Oberon is typically tied up in meetings during the day, leaving me to alternate my training sessions between Zander and Ash. Both males push me in very different ways.
Zander, calm, quiet, and controlled, always tests my physical limits on the sparring field.
Despite his unrelenting style, I can feel myself improving.
And, begrudgingly, I find myself warming up to him as well.
He wears a tough exterior, perhaps a necessity in his line of work, but I notice the icy walls around him starting to crack, slowly, as he begins to let me in.
Ash, in contrast, pushes me mentally. His focus is to help me unlock my magic, and the process feels like a constant battle.
Clearing my mind is easy enough now, and I can always feel the magic pull just beneath the surface, just out of reach.
Every time I think I might finally catch up, the horrors of my past rise up, blocking me.
Oberon tells me I’ll have to face those ghosts and stop running from them.
But that part of the journey doesn’t come easily.
Still, I can feel progress, a sense that I am getting closer, even if only by an inch at a time.
At night, I sleep in my own room, undisturbed by Oberon’s presence.
The nightmares still come, but they aren’t as frequent or as suffocating as they have been.
Maybe it is the constant mental push from Ash forcing me to confront the things I’ve buried.
Or maybe it is just the simple reassurance of knowing Oberon is nearby, always just a room away.
“They want you to look,” Oberon told me.
The thought doesn’t make facing them any easier.
I know he is right. It is a comfort, and even the smallest sense of peace feels like a gift with how hard I am being pushed during the day.
I throw on my leathers, preparing for the day, swinging open the door to my room, not paying attention.
OOF.
It feels as though a wall collides with my face as I run directly into Oberon, leaning against my doorframe, arms crossed.
“Good morning,” I manage, stepping back and raising a brow at him. “You’re usually off before dawn, buried in some meeting.”
“No meetings today,” he replies with his usual clipped tone, not bothering to elaborate.
I step past him, glancing up at him, my curiosity piqued. He doesn’t give anything away. He simply follows me down the stairs, his presence looming in the background.
As we enter the dining area, he pulls out a chair for me at the table, then takes a seat himself, settling in. He doesn’t say a word at first. Instead, he sits with his chin resting on his fists, elbows propped up on the table, staring at. I try not to squirm under his gaze, but it is no use.
The rest of the team trickles in soon after, each of them taking their usual seats. Ash plops down with a grin, looking more like he’s just woken up from a nap than ready for the day, while Zander sits quietly, his usual air of mystery surrounding him.
Oberon breaks the silence. “Ash and Zander have the day off today.” His announcement is authoritative, but there is a hint of mischievousness underneath.
I shoot him a look, one eyebrow arched in disbelief.
He just smiles back at me like he is enjoying some private joke.
Then he turns his attention back to me. “You’ll be training with me today,” he adds, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Let’s see if either of these idiots managed to teach you anything. ”
A flush creeps up my neck at his words, and a sudden wave of anxiety washes over me. It isn’t the training that bothers me. It is the idea of embarrassing myself in front of him. For a moment, I forget to breathe.
Ash, ever the distraction, breaks the tension first. “Sweet, I know exactly what I’m doing today,” he says with a gleam in his eye, clearly more interested in whatever mischief he has planned than anything to do with actual work.
Oberon shoots him a hard look. “No getting into trouble,” his voice steady but carrying a warning. “We still need these alliances, and we’ve made little progress on that front.”
Zander rolls his eyes in response to Ash’s antics, clearly unimpressed.
Ash grins, unbothered. “One, you’re absolutely no fun,” he teases. “And two, you wound me, thinking I’d cause trouble.” He leans back in his chair, flashing a grin. “My good buddy Zander and I are going to go find some completely legal, above-board activities. No trouble at all.”
Zander’s expression remains flat, his tone deadpan. “I do not wish to be a part of whatever it is you are planning to do, Ash.”
Ash leans forward, winking. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Plus, I need a wingman.”
Zander’s eyes narrow slightly as he crosses his arms, clearly not amused. Oberon, on the other hand, glares at Ash with an intensity that says, ‘Don’t test me.’
Ash raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, no need to give me that look,” he says, grinning even wider, clearly delighted by the tension. “I’ll behave. . . .”
Oberon doesn’t smile. Instead, his gaze shifts back to me, the weight of it almost too much to bear.
“Let’s make sure you’re ready for what comes next,” he says, voice carrying the unspoken promise of how hard he planned to push me today.
The rest of the team may have their banter, but I know with Oberon, there are no shortcuts.
After we finish our breakfast, Zander and Ash wander off, leaving me with my thoughts. I can’t help but wonder what kind of fun they’ll be having in the village, enjoying the simple freedom I can’t quite bring myself to embrace.
Despite my lingering curiosity, I follow Oberon, feeling the familiar tension in my chest as we walk back to the training area where Zander and I have spent countless hours.
He waves me forward with a casual flick of his hand, his voice low and commanding. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
A knot tightens in my stomach, nerves threatening to take over. I advance, but every step feels like it is under a magnifying glass, his focus making my skin burn.
I know, I can’t take him. Hell, he knows I can’t take him. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.
The moment I lunge, he moves faster. I aim low, feigning left before pivoting to the right, hoping to slip past him, but he sees it coming. Before my foot even plants, he turns into me, cutting off my escape with a sharp step forward.
I barely have time to shift before his hand shoots out, catching my wrist. I twist, trying to break free, but his grip is like iron.
I jerk back, using my momentum to pull away, but he uses it against me.
In a single fluid motion, he yanks me forward instead of resisting, sending me off balance.
My foot falters. That single misstep is all he needed.
He is behind me in an instant. His arm comes around my waist, pulling me flush against him as his other hand wrenches my captured wrist behind my back.
I buck, trying to throw him off, but he holds firm, his grip calculated, his stance unwavering.
Every time I struggle, he adjusts effortlessly, as if he has already anticipated every move I might make.
I throw my head back, aiming for his face, but he evades just in time, his breath warm against my ear as he exhales a quiet chuckle.
My next instinct is to stomp on his foot, but before I can, he shifts again, maneuvering me so seamlessly that it feels like I am walking right into the trap myself.
I am caught, and the worst part isn’t the position I find myself in, but how natural it feels.
The way his body molds against mine, solid and sure, makes me feel safe in a way I don’t want to acknowledge.
The heat from him seeps into me, his breath steady, unshaken, as if he could hold me there forever.
I push the thoughts from my mind, trying to focus on the battle at hand, but every inch of me seems to respond to him.
When he finally releases me, the tension between us still crackles, and he readjusts his stance with the quiet authority I am beginning to admire. “Again,” he says, his voice laced with determination.
After a few failed attempts, the heat starts to get to us both. Sweat starts to bead down his forehead as he removes his shirt, tossing it to the side.
My body betrays me, a rush of heat flooding my chest, my breath hitching at the sight of the muscles shifting under his skin.
How am I supposed to focus on sparring when everything inside me wants to just look at him?
The fine line between discipline and desire is starting to blur, and I hate myself for it.
Without warning, he is upon me quicker than before.
A swift kick sweeps my legs out from under me, and I hit the ground with a thud.
Before I can even process the fall, he is there, on top of me, pinning me down with his weight.
His bare chest hovers above mine, and the proximity, the strength of his hold, leaves me breathless and frozen, caught between the fight I should be waging and the intense sensation of his body so close to mine.
I can't think. Can't move. His scent, the warmth of his skin, and the feel of him pressing down on me all short-circuit my mind.
Then, his voice, low and teasing, whispers in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re not supposed to be enjoying this.” His wicked grin is evident even before I feel the flicker of it against my skin.
It feels like a warning, but his grin says something else entirely, something that sends my heart into overdrive and makes the air feel thick between us.
I don’t know whether to push him off me or pull him closer, and the fact that I even consider the latter makes my stomach twist with confusion and desire.
The battle isn’t just physical anymore. It is something deeper.
“I am not,” I snap, but the words feel weak, even to my own ears. I am, and we both know it.
“Tsk, tsk. I can smell your . . . excitement,” he teases, his voice laced with something dangerously playful. The words strike me like a physical blow. My face flushes, but I force my expression to remain unreadable, the heat crawling up my neck despite my efforts to suppress it.
I can't let him see how much his proximity is affecting me, how much his words are unraveling the thread of control I am desperately holding on to.
With a sharp breath, I gather what little composure I have left. I use his body weight against him, rolling him off me with a practiced move. He lets me. Of course, I can’t move him unless he wants to be moved.
“I surrender,” he purrs, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. His hands, warm and firm, settle on my thighs.
I freeze, my heart suddenly racing in a way that has nothing to do with the sparring match.
As I sit up, his eyes still lock on me with that knowing gaze, I realize just how much worse the situation has become.
I am now seated on him.
Not the victory I had in mind, not the dominance I thought I would feel. This is worse.
His smile deepens, a slow, wicked curve of amusement. The corners of his mouth tug up, and his eyes gleam with something I can’t quite place.
In one swift, almost casual movement, he lifts us both as if I weigh nothing, his strength completely overwhelming me.
My breath hitches as my body instinctively presses closer to his, the heat between us unbearable. His hands never leave my thighs, keeping me locked in place as we stand, his tall frame towering over me, that damn grin never faltering.
This position, him holding me off the ground by my thighs alone, his fingers resting tightly on my ass, the tips of each finger just barely brushing the inside of my thighs, so close to the heat swelling inside of me, my body aches for the slightest movement.
His finger resting so close that it is the only thing I can think about, the only image I can picture.
I can’t shake the primal need for release.
It is too much, too close, too dangerous.
He lets out a deep, throaty laugh, one that rumbles through the air and resonates in my chest. It is raw, unrestrained, and completely unlike anything I have ever heard from him before. The sound takes me off guard.
It takes my breath away, and for a second, I forget why we are here, what we are doing. The entire world fades away so that only the two of us remain in this moment. He smiles a genuine smile, melting my insides. The look on his face like this, I want to keep it, to hold it tight.
My pulse races, my skin alive with an awareness I can’t ignore. And in that fleeting moment, I wonder if he can sense it too.
Reality snaps back as he loosens his grip and lets me slide ever so slowly down his body.
Close—so close I can feel his bare skin under me, his breath rising and falling as I slide down his torso, until my feet are planted back on the ground, and he takes a micro-step back just enough so that our bodies are no longer pressed together.
He turns away, crossing the space to where his shirt lies discarded in the sand. With an easy movement, he picks it up, shaking it off before slipping it back over his head. The fabric clings briefly to the sweat on his skin before settling into place, hiding the sharp lines of muscle.
I look away quickly, trying not to notice as heat rushes back to my face.
You ready to leave?” he asks, his smile still lingering on his face.
“Leave?” I blink, confused. “I thought we were training.”
“I surrendered, remember?” he replies, a teasing note in his voice.
“Where are we going?” I ask, still unsure of what is happening.A low chuckle rumbles from his chest before he grins devilishly.
“It’s a surprise,” a smirk curling his lips.
Before I can respond, he takes my hand, his touch sending a strange warmth through me, and leads me further into the endless stretch of sand.