Not just the sweat or the adrenaline—nah, it was the way he kept brushing up against her, the way his hand kept "fixing" her stance, chest pressed so close to her back she could practically count his heartbeats. And then there was his mouth, oh god, hovering a whisper away from her ear, feeding her instructions in a voice that was all gravel and heat.
Every so-called correction was basically torture. Straight-up temptation. Like, was he doing this on purpose? Because every time he touched her, her nerves went haywire.
"You hesitate," he growled, right as she fumbled—her blade clanged against his.
"I don't—" She tried to protest, but nope, he was faster. Hand shot out, grabbed her wrist mid-swing.
And then, everything spun. He twisted her arm, pulled her flush to his chest. The sword hit the ground. She was just—stuck there, breathless, heartbeat stuttering like it couldn't decide whether to race or just give up.
"You're lying," he murmured, lips so close she could feel every single syllable ghosting across her skin.
Her body? An absolute traitor. The air between them felt charged, like static before a storm—dangerous, magnetic, impossible to ignore. She should shove him away. Instead, she leaned in, lips parting like she'd forgotten how to say no.
One second stretched out—felt like forever. The almost-kiss. The almost-collapse. The wall she'd built started to crack.
And then, boom—
A howl shattered the moment.
Sharp. Loud. Not friendly.
He jerked his head up, arm tightening around her, already shifting into full Alpha mode as something rustled out there in the trees.
"Stay behind me," he snapped, voice suddenly all steel.
Her lips were still tingling from that almost-kiss, heart thumping hard for all the wrong reasons—and right ones too, if she was being honest. And with whatever was prowling out there in the dark, she started to wonder if she'd even get the chance to figure out what the hell she really wanted.