Chapter 27 Touch and Tension
TOUCH AND TENSION
Isprawl across my bed, my stomach twisted in knots as I read Griffin’s text.
Griffin: How was the rest of your day?
I now understand Scarlet’s concern for me taking D&C. I also learned Edmond’s possessive over his books.
I flex my fingers, debating if I want to ask him. If I want to continue whatever this is. I don’t have to overthink it though, because my crystal link vibrates with another message.
Griffin: Edmond’s a possessive shit over all the archives. If you need anything, ask Holden or Kai. Kimber’s doing your training, right?
Do I have you to blame for that arrangement?
Griffin: Are you ready to punch her yet?
A dry laugh bubbles out of me, unexpectedly.
Only if I knew how to charm myself to be invisible afterward. Is there one?
Griffin: Depends. Are you still considering climbing out your bedroom window?
The question has my gaze slipping to the dark, reflective panes.
Am I opening my mind to you this far away?
Griffin: It doesn’t seem so. I haven’t heard your thoughts all day.
Then, absolutely not.
Griffin: Make no mistake about it, Bondmate, I’d still be able to find you.
I’m relieved he can’t hear my thoughts as my stomach flips.
That sounds suspiciously like a threat.
Griffin: Then I’d suggest you don’t test it.
I reread his reply several times, realizing I’m in way over my head.
Griffin: Kimber pushing you means she sees potential. Try not to take it personally, and let Daire know which area of your body she’s training so he can alternate to keep you from getting fatigued.
Griffin: We’ll do more stretching and massages when I get back.
Recalling the weight of his body, his gentle but firm touch, and the way he looked at me has my heart catapulting and every nerve in my body tingling with anticipation.
Then the memory of our fight sends my mood cold, leaving me to question whether these messages are an attempt to get to know me or merely learn what they want.
I can’t deal with this right now. I silence my crystal link, move the stack of books I use as an alarm in front of my door in case anyone tries to open it, and bury myself in the sea of blankets.
I wake up to a series of messages from Griffin that were sent late into the night.
Griffin: I know it’s probably annoying to hear you have potential when you feel like you’re constantly playing catch-up. But you do. Don’t let Kimber or anyone else convince you otherwise.
Griffin: I hated training when I was younger. Water Elementals are supposed to be calm and focused. I was neither. My instructor said I had the patience of a wildfire. I failed almost every drill.
Griffin: Eventually, I stopped trying to be what they wanted and figured out what worked for me. That’s when everything clicked. You have a ton of power. You just need to find your own path.
I stare at the screen as his words sink in, wanting to believe him, to see him as an ally, despite every warning against trusting him—any of them.
Maybe that was your fire element. Sometimes it makes me feel a little crazy, too.
A new message appears almost instantly.
Griffin: Everyone struggles. Some just hide it better.
I close my eyes, clutching the crystal link to my chest.
After a long pause, I send one more message.
What kept you going?
Griffin: The need to prove them all wrong.
His admission lands somewhere I wasn’t expecting. I set the crystal link down and get up and dress for my morning training with Daire.
Daire looks up as I step into the gym, his amber eyes warming slightly.
I try to ignore the impulse to smile at him as I duck my head and head for the red mat. He stretches with me, though it’s clear he’s been down here for a while.
“Your left hip’s a little tight,” he says, not hiding the fact that he’s studying me. “You favor it.”
“I hurt it.” The admission costs me, but if I want to be as strong as I hope, I know it’s a necessary price.
Daire tilts his head slightly. “What happened?”
“I tore my hip flexor.”
“Does it still hurt or is it habit?” His tone is clinical but his eyes are watchful, like he’s going to find the answer without my words.
“I don’t know,” I finally admit before a soft, dry laugh blows past my lips. “All my muscles are sore.” Constantly.
His mouth quirks. “That’s fair.” He shifts positions, demonstrating a different stretch. “Try this instead. It’ll target the flexor without putting strain on it.”
I mirror his movement, and immediately feel the difference—a deep pull without the sharp edge of pain.
“Better?”
“Yeah.” I hold the stretch, breathing through it like Griffin taught me last week.
“Good.” He watches me for another moment, then stands, offering his hand. I take it, and he pulls me up. “We’re going to do something different today.”
My stomach drops. “Different how?”
“I’ve been pushing you hard to see what you’re capable of. Now I know.” He heads toward the weights where a circuit that looks deceptively simple is set up.
We begin with the resistance bands, and then controlled movements.
“You’re thinking about it too much,” Daire says as I wobble through a single-leg deadlift. “Your body knows what to do. Trust it.”
“My body’s never done this before.”
“It’s kept you alive through things that would have killed others.” His voice is matter-of-fact, no pity in it. “It knows how to adapt. Let it.”
I try again but overcorrect and nearly fall over.
Daire’s hand shoots out, steadying me with a firm grip on my waist.
“Do I get subtracted points for lacking grace?”
He smirks. “Have self-deprecation jokes always been your way of dealing with uncomfortable situations?”
“Who says I’m uncomfortable?”
His silence challenges me.
“I also excel at avoidance.”
He laughs, low and warm, then steps closer as I repeat the drill. “How’d you tear your hip flexor?”
“Basketball,” I tell him. “I hurt it during a game, and my adrenaline was too high to know if it was when running or if I’d jumped wrong, or landed wrong, or turned too fast…” I start to lift a shoulder but stop as my balance shifts.
He stabilizes me again. “You’re getting it. Try again.”
I focus less on the mechanics and more on the feeling of balance. “There.” Daire’s approval is quiet but unmistakable. “Feel the difference?”
I do.
He nods. We cycle through exercises, and unlike our previous sessions where he pushed relentlessly, today he adjusts. When my hip starts to fatigue, he modifies the movement. When my form slips, he demonstrates again rather than demanding I push through.
“You’re different today,” I say during a water break, the observation escaping before I can think better of it.
Again, he prods me with a single look.
“Less…” I search for the word. “Intense.”
A huff of amusement escapes him. “I’m always intense, Spitfire.”
But he’s not. When they don’t think I’m watching or times when I arrive at the gym early, they’re more relaxed, teasing and laughing. I try not to care, try not to wonder about those other sides of themselves they don’t trust me with.
“You’ve already survived hell.” His voice is quiet. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.” He sets his water down. “My job isn’t to break you down. It’s to show you what you’re already capable of.”
The words land somewhere deep, settling into those same cracks from last night.
“Ready for the next circuit?” he asks.
I nod, and this time when we start, I pay attention to what he’s doing—not just the exercises, but the way he teaches them.
How he demonstrates first, letting me see the full movement.
How he stands close enough that I can feel his presence but not so close I feel crowded.
How he corrects with his hands, adjusting my shoulders or hips with gentle pressure that guides rather than forces.
“You’re holding your breath again,” he says during planks.
“It helps.”
“It doesn’t.” He drops to the mat beside me, matching my position. His breathing is steady, controlled. “Listen. Match me.”
I focus on the rhythm of his breath—in through his nose, out through his mouth. Deep and even. After a few cycles, my shaking eases slightly.
“Better,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice even though I’m staring at the floor.
When the circuit is finally done, I collapse onto my back, muscles trembling but satisfied. Daire lies beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. “How’s the hip feel?”
I do a mental inventory. “Tired.”
“We’ll keep strengthening it.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, both catching our breath. The gym is warm with exertion.
For the first time since I arrived, I don’t feel like I’m being tested.
I feel like I’m being trained.
I continue the same routine for the next three days: morning workouts with Daire, rides to and from Thornhurst with Scarlet, evenings soaking and studying, shielding with Kai, and then reading about prophecies and bonds with Edmond and Scarlet.
Eventually, I retire to my room, where I read more of the Origins of Elementals and exchange messages with Griffin until I fall asleep on the edge of my ginormous bed.
I don’t know how to feel about it being Friday. If I’m excited for the time off, or not.
I make my way downstairs for breakfast alone. Scarlet has resumed morning tidecast practices, so I message Kai to request a ride.
My nerves multiply when I find Holden in the dining room, drinking coffee while reading something on his crystal link. He’s wearing a black button-down and black slacks, looking every bit the hot professor that too many whisper about.
I freeze, debating my escape, but his dark brown eyes lift to mine before I can move.
I force myself forward, reminding my limbs how to function as I slide into the seat across from him.
“Good morning,” Lief says cheerfully, setting both coffee and tea in front of me. The coffee here is revolutionary—my favorite part of breakfast, alongside Gwen’s moonberry tarts.
“I thought we talked about me getting my own breakfast,” I say, twisting to look at him.