CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Ailsa
THE SKY HAD turned that strange, bruised shade of dark blue when the last of the day bled reluctantly into night, clouds hanging low and heavy as though the air itself had thickened. There was a weird charge to it like the world was holding its breath.
We’d barely been training for twenty minutes when Davien started snapping about God only knew what and just… left. He’d gone cold and distant before abruptly stalking off.
Since I’d used the only weapon in my arsenal against him two nights ago, he’d been even colder than usual with me.
I had wanted to test his boundaries because I’d noticed his eyes on me when he didn’t think I’d realised.
But I had noticed how they lingered just a little too long, and I’d definitely noticed the hard on that night.
He could say what he wanted and act as aloof as he desired, but I knew beneath it all he was at the very least attracted to me on some level. And I wasn’t above using my sexuality to fuck with him if that’s what it took. I needed to figure out how to get one over on him, and then how to escape him.
After he’d stormed out that night, I’d taken the opportunity to rifle through his things, but all I’d found were police reports on some thing that was killing humans. Did he think that was connected to me?
I’d also made a mental note of all of his weapons and phones. If I was going to make a run for it, I’d need to be smart about it. I couldn’t risk him catching me. Or the Ninth—the big, scary organisation he refused to tell me much about except that they were bad—or anything else that was after me.
“Care to tell me where we’re going?” I called to him, after he didn’t slow down as we neared our room, and instead veered off in the opposite direction of where we were staying. “Or why?”
“Into open space,” he replied without looking back, slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder. “I think being in a concrete jungle might constrict your abilities, and I think you feed off fear and danger so we’re going to try something different.”
I rolled my eyes, though a small part of me begrudgingly acknowledged the logic. Whilst I didn’t like the idea of fear and danger, he had a point—not that I'd openly admit that to him. The only times my power had manifested were in situations of life or death, quite literally.
“Whatever you say.”
After walking for at least half an hour, maybe more, I was already feeling more tired than I wanted to admit, while he clearly—obviously—didn’t look affected in the slightest. He’d marched us to an open green space in the middle of a park.
“Won’t those beasts appear if I use magic?” I asked, folding my arms as I eyed the open space.
“That’s what this is for,” he said, pulling a long pointed blade from his bag.
A fucking sword.
The metal caught what little light remained, and was etched with markings I didn’t even pretend to understand. He twirled it once in his hand like it was nothing.
“We were caught off guard last time,” he added. “That won’t happen again.”
He looked at me, really looked. Through hooded eyes, something dark and unreadable settled there, and before I could even process, he moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
He launched himself at me without warning, and I only just managed to dodge, instinct dragging my body out of the way just in time as he passed where I’d been standing a second before.
“Focus,” he snapped. “That was too slow.”
“I am focused,”
“Not enough.”
He came at me again.
And again with no pauses, no explanation.
Just attack after attack, forcing me to react, to move, to keep up.
He nicked the side of my arm and still didn’t slow.
This didn’t feel like training anymore.
It felt like punishment.
For what, I had no fucking idea.
Every near-miss, every stumble, every millisecond I hesitated, he capitalised on it, pushing harder, faster, driving me back into the damp grass.
“Stop trying to think,” he barked. “React.”
“I am—”
“Too slow.”
I barely blocked the next movement, his grip catching my wrist and twisting, forcing me down before releasing me just as quickly.
“Again.”
Rain hit my skin, light at first. I hadn’t even registered when it started.
I was too focused on him, on trying to keep up.
But it grew heavier.
Fast.
Cold droplets soaked through my clothes, slicking the ground beneath us and the scent of mud filled my senses.
He didn’t care, he just moved faster and harder. At some point, his shirt had disappeared. I didn’t see when or how.
He was a flash of skin, rain droplets tracing the refined lines of his body.
“Come on,” he pushed, circling me now. “I know you can do better.”
My chest rose and fell sharply, frustration building, coiling tight beneath my ribs.
“I can’t,” I snapped, backing away from him, my hands raised more in frustration than defence. “You keep pushing and pushing like there’s something to find,” I shook my head. “There isn’t. I don’t know how to do any of this.”
His jaw tightened and something flickered behind his eyes.
“Arghh—why do you insist on fighting me on every fucking thing?” He bit out, dragging a hand though his rain-soaked hair.
“Because you’re acting like I chose this!” I shot back. “As if I want it!”
“It doesn’t matter if you chose it,” he snapped, stepping closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. “Fate chose for you. You can either face it and make peace with who you really are—or fucking die! Those are the options, Princess.”
I scoffed, the sound hollow even to my own ears. I was unable to think of a comeback because as much as I hated it—he was right. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to die but I really hated that stupid nickname. “Stop calling me Princess.”
“Earn it.”
Something in me bristled.
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And you’re wasting time.”
That did it. Something in me snapped, and this time I moved first.
Anger sharpened my movement, driving me forward as I shoved into him, putting everything I had behind it. He met me easily of course—he always did—but this time I didn’t stop.
We clashed. Hands, bodies and momentum. It wasn’t like before, it wasn’t controlled. It had become personal.
He blocked, redirected, and countered every movement with that same irritating precision but he was using words as weapons now too.
Taunting me.
“Too slow,” he laughed.
I shoved at him again.
“Predictable.”
I swung and he caught my wrist.
“Weak.”
“Pathetic.”
And that word… It landed.
He twisted using my own momentum against me, and suddenly I was on my back again, the wet grass cold beneath me, his weight pinning me down. His hand caught both of my wrists, forcing them above my head, his knees braced against my thighs to keep me still.
“Is this it? He asked, breath steady, gaze locked on mine. “Is this really all you can do?”
My chest rose and fell sharply, rain hitting my face in heavy drops now, the storm above us building in a way that felt impossible to ignore.
I struggled against his hold.
But it was useless.
He was so much stronger than me.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I stopped struggling, stopped fighting his impossible strength, lifted my head and pressed my lips to his.
It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was deliberate, calculating and the only move I had left.
And it worked.
For a fraction of a second, he froze, and that was all I needed.
My knee drove up hard between us.
Straight into his groin.
He swore and his grip loosened just enough.
I twisted free, flipping us in one sharp movement, my body moving on instinct more than thought.
I was on top now.
My full weight pressed down against his chest, my knee digging into his throat, holding him there.
My breath came out fast, uneven, my heart hammering in a way that felt too loud, too alive.
Behind me, the storm surged. Wind whipped through the open space, rain lashing harder now, almost violent in its intensity as the air crackled.
Charged with me at the centre of it.
He slowly lifted his eyes to mine, and I felt the subtle shift of his throat as he swallowed beneath the pressure of my knee. My chest heaved from the exertion, lungs burning, but in that moment, it felt like the rest of the world fell away and my heart stopped beating.
For the first time since I’d met him, he looked at me with something that wasn’t disdain or disappointment.
But it was gone in an instant and his lips spread into a slow, almost coy smile. I realised then he’d lured me into a false sense of power. And before I could react, his hand snapped to my wrist, the other bracing my hip, and in one fluid, devastatingly efficient movement, he flipped us once more.
The ground hit me hard.
Cold.
Wet.
I was once again pinned beneath him, mud seeping through my clothes, the breath knocked from my lungs.
“Very good, Princess,” he said, voice low. “ You nearly had me.”
Rage flared, hot and immediate.
I spat at him.
I fucking hated his guts.
My spit landed right on his top lip, and his tongue darted out in an instant, licking it up. He then broke out into a full, unrestrained, loud laugh so rich it caught me completely off guard as he pushed himself off me and stepped back.
I lay there for a moment, staring up at him. His huge, daunting frame was outlined as lightning split the sky behind him, illuminating the sharp and brutal lines of his body.
And, weirdly, for the first time I truly appreciated how dangerous he could no doubt be. He’d been holding back all this time, and the thought formed a knot in my stomach.
He wasn’t winded, hurt or bruised.
If I couldn't hold my own against him, I had no chance of survival.
I pushed myself to my feet, wiping rain from my brow, forcing my legs steady beneath me.
“Again,” I ground out.
He turned his back on me, not even having the decency to look at me when he said. “Not tonight. We’re done.”
The rain came down harder, pooling at our feet, soaking everything through as if the sky itself stood in solidarity with me, refusing to ease.