Page 31

"Thank you for bringing me here. I know it costs you."

I hold my response and watch the flames climb. Their heat provides a constant buttress, reinforcing the strong, careful boundaries I’ve built around my heart.

"Is this where they died?"

Every muscle in my body locks. I stand abruptly while brushing ash from my hands hard enough to redden my palms.

"We're done with questions."

Serenity's eyes narrow at my tone, though she chooses to respect the boundary. She’s a smart woman. The crackling fire commands the room, filling the quiet room with a safety far greater than words.

"Your powers are becoming more unstable," I say, forcing my voice back to professional neutrality. "If you can't control them, you need to compensate with physical skills."

"I can handle myself."

"Those assassins in your apartment would disagree." I step into the room's open floor, pushing the coffee table out of the way to create a sparring area. "Think about the motel visions. That level of power demands everything from you. What happens when your energy drains? When the foresight floods you all at once? When an enemy strikes without warning?"

She stands firm, tension radiating from every line of her body. "I've survived this long."

"Luck runs out," I warn while gesturing to the open floor of the cabin. "Show me your defensive stance."

"This is ridiculous."

I hold my ground, waiting. "Humor me."

She sighs but rises from the couch, exuding the same fluid grace I've seen in her fighting style. Her stance is decent—balanced, hands positioned correctly—but her weight distribution screams amateur.

"Better than I expected," I admit and circle her slowly. "But you're too rigid. Combat flows like water, not stone."

"Poetic for a mercenary."

I step closer to adjust her shoulder position with light guidance. "Bend your knees more. Good, now⁠—"

She explodes into motion, attempting a takedown that would work on most opponents. I counter easily, catching her wrist and pivoting to redirect her momentum. She adapts quickly and uses my grip against me to spin free.

"Not bad." I approve despite myself. "Again."

We fall into a rhythmic pattern of attacking and countering before resetting. She's faster than I anticipated, her investigative work apparently requiring more physical confrontation than I assumed. Sweat beads along her hairline as she exerts herself, eyes bright with concentration.

"You telegraph your strikes." I block another attempted grab. "Your shoulders tense before⁠—"

She feints left and drops low, sweeping my legs unexpectedly. I stumble, genuinely surprised, and she takes advantage. Her momentum carries us both down, her weight settling across my chest as she pins my wrists to the floor.

We freeze in place.

Her face hovers inches above mine, breathing hard from exertion. Dark hair curtains around us, creating an intimate gap that blocks out everything else. Her scent fills my lungs—lavender and lightning, magic and woman.

My wolf stirs, recognizing something that locks my whole body into a dangerous state of want. Mine, it whispers, the possessive instinct so strong it takes genuine effort to suppress.

Her pupils dilate as she stares down at me, lips parted slightly. The room crackles with a sudden electricity that originates from somewhere other than her magic.

She scrambles backward, breaking contact like I burned her.

"Good," I manage and sit up slowly. "You learn fast."

She retreats to the couch, grabbing a water bottle from her bag and holding it against her flushed neck. "Where did you master a fighting style like that? And give me the real story. That looks like highly specialized, elite training."

"Pack combat." I stay on the floor, warming up muscles that ache from more than simply the sparring. "Wolves learn to fight before they learn to read. My father had me drilling takedowns at six years old."