Moonlight poured in, painting the training hall all ghostly and silver—honestly, it felt like the place belonged to someone else at this hour. Way past when we should've called it quits, but Lucian? Guy didn't budge. He just stood there, arms folded, eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
"You're distracted." His words snapped out, clipped. But underneath—yeah, he was rattled. Not that he'd ever admit it.
I shot him a look, wiped the sweat off my face. "Maybe I would focus if my trainer wasn't glued to my shoulder 24/7." Sarcasm was the only thing I had left, flimsy as it was. I clung to it anyway.
Lucian's gaze narrowed. Next thing I knew, he closed the gap between us in three strides—loomed over me, moonlight catching the angles of his face, turning him half-statue, half-shadow.
"You want me to stop?" That voice—low, dangerous, like a dare.
Silence. My heart thudded so loud it was almost embarrassing. I mumbled, "Yes." Lie. My body was screaming the opposite, traitor that it was.
His jaw twitched, like he was chewing on words he didn't want to spit out. Then—bam—he snatched the training sword from my hand and chucked it. The clatter echoed, way too loud.
"Again," he barked, shoving another wooden sword at me. "If you can't get your head together, you're dead weight out there."
I gripped the blade, jaw tight. We went at it—sparring faster, harder, him pushing me back, never rough but never gentle. He kept at it until my back hit the wall.
My sword wobbled. His arm shot out, pinning both me and the weapon to the wall. Suddenly he was right there—close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him, smell the sweat and moonlight and whatever that electric thing was between us.
"Tell me you don't feel it," he said, voice all raw edges.
Sword slipped, hit the floor. I barely breathed. "Feel… what?"
His eyes burned, searching mine, so close to breaking. His hand hovered by my cheek, shaking. For a second, I thought he'd finally close the gap. Finally.
But he tore away, pacing like some wild animal, muttering, "This is a mistake. I can't—won't—cross that line."
And just like that, it was like the whole room stretched out between us. My chest hurt with all the things I couldn't say. Wasn't rejection, not really. Just fear, all tangled up.
But I saw it—his hands still shaking, his breathing ragged. He wanted this. Wanted me.
So I whispered, not sure if he'd even catch it, "Then why's it feel like you already did?"