7. Sarod

7

SAROD

I slam my fist into the practice dummy, feeling the satisfying crunch of impact. Sweat drips down my face as I unleash a flurry of punches on this practice dummy, my green skin glistening in the sunlight. The upcoming zyrphix match looms large, and I need to be at my best. My muscles burn with each hit, but I push through the pain. This is what it takes to be a champion.

But fuck, I can't focus. My eyes keep drifting to Josie as she works in the garden. Her small frame bends as she pulls weeds, brown hair falling in her face. I growl and hit the dummy harder, trying to channel my frustration into my training. Why can't I get her out of my head? She's just a human, for fuck's sake.

"Harry!" I bark, my tusks gleaming as I bare my teeth in annoyance. "Get over here with my towel!" I need a break, need to clear my head. Maybe if I can't see her, I can finally concentrate on what really matters - winning this damn match and proving I'm still the best zyrphix player in the league. Fuck, I can't let some human girl mess with my focus like this. It's unlike me.

The servant scurries over, handing me a soft cloth. I wipe my face roughly, trying to clear my head. Sweat stings my eyes, and I can feel my muscles trembling from exertion. But it's not enough. I need more. I need to push myself harder, to feel the burn in every fiber of my being. Anything to drown out these unwanted thoughts.

"This dummy's shit. Replace it. Now," I growl, my tusks flashing in the sunlight. "And bring me something stronger. I need a real challenge." I toss the towel aside, clenching and unclenching my fists. "Maybe one of those enchanted dummies I got as a gift. You know which ones I'm talking about. Something that'll actually fight back, for fuck's sake."

Harry nods and hurries off, probably scared I'll take my frustration out on him next. Smart kid. I turn back to my training, rolling my shoulders to work out the tension, but my gaze is drawn to Josie again. She's moved on to pruning the flowers, her delicate hands working deftly with the shears. The sunlight catches in her hair, making it shine like polished wood.

Fuck. Why can't I stop looking at her? She's just a thief, a human. Not worth my time. I should be focused on my upcoming match, on proving I'm still the best zyrphix player in the league. But instead, I'm distracted by some tavern girl with dirt on her face and calluses on her hands. What the hell is wrong with me?

When Harry returns with a new dummy, I focus on developing my power and strength once more. Magic doesn't mean shit on the zyrphix pitch, it only hinders you more. Pure strength and raw brutality are what reign in the arena.

I throw myself back into training with renewed fury, my muscles straining with each powerful movement. My fists fly, pummeling the dummy with a ferocity that surprises even me. Each hit reverberates through my body, the impact jarring my bones, but it's not enough to drown out the confusion swirling in my head.

"Harder," I mutter to myself, gritting my teeth. "Focus, dammit."

I unleash a barrage of punches, my knuckles splitting against the unyielding surface. The pain is welcome, a distraction from my tumultuous thoughts. But even as I push myself to the limit, sweat dripping down my green skin, I can't shake the image of Josie from my mind. Her defiant eyes, burning with a fire I've never seen before, the way she stands up to me despite everything - despite who I am, what I am. It's infuriating. And intriguing. Fuck, why can't I get her out of my head?

I roar in frustration, unleashing a devastating combo on the dummy. It's not enough. Nothing's enough to quiet these unwanted thoughts.

I demolish this new dummy Harry brings with a series of brutal strikes. My fists tear through it like paper, stuffing flying everywhere. Fuck, I need a real challenge.

As I catch my breath, memories of Connie flood back unbidden. Her silky hair sliding through my fingers, her lips curved in that teasing smile. The way she'd look at me after a match, eyes full of pride and desire. Fuck, why can't I just forget?

"You're unstoppable," she'd purr, running her hands over my chest. "My champion." Her touch would ignite something primal in me, a hunger only she could satisfy. Or so I thought.

I shake my head, trying to banish the thoughts. That life's over. Connie made her choice when she walked out. She chose her ambition over us, over me. I shouldn't give a shit anymore.

But the memories keep coming, relentless as the tide. Lazy mornings in bed, her laughter echoing through the halls. The passion in her eyes when we'd argue, matching my own fire. The way we'd come together after, all teeth and nails and desperate need. It was toxic, but fuck if it didn't feel good.

I growl, frustration building like a storm in my chest. This is fucking pointless. Connie's gone, and I'm better off without her manipulative bullshit. So why the hell can't I stop thinking about her? Why does every memory feel like a knife twisting in my gut?

I growl again, deeper this time, and slam my fist into the broken dummy. The impact sends shockwaves up my arm, and I relish the pain. It's easier than facing the ache in my chest, the hollow feeling that's been my constant companion since she left.

Loyalty. That's what I gave her, what I thought we had. I would've moved mountains for that woman, fought armies bare-handed. And she threw it away like it meant nothing, like I meant nothing. Like all those nights, all those promises, were just words to be discarded when something shinier came along.

My knuckles are bleeding now, but I don't care. The physical pain is a welcome distraction from the mess inside my head. I want to hate her, to burn every memory of us to ash. But even now, some traitorous part of me still yearns for her touch, her scent, her fire.

My gaze drifts to Josie again. She's moved on to watering the plants now, her movements graceful despite the menial task. There's a strength in her I can't deny, a fire that reminds me of...

No. I can't go down that road again. Fuck that noise. I've been burned once, and the scars are still raw. But watching Josie, the way she carries herself with quiet dignity, it stirs something in me. Something I thought was dead and buried.

I clench my fist, feeling the ache in my knuckles. The pain grounds me, reminds me of the reality I live in now. A world where trust is a luxury I can't afford. Yet my traitorous eyes keep finding their way back to her, drinking in every detail like a man dying of thirst.

But as I watch her work, I feel something stirring. It's not just anger or resentment anymore. There's a pull I can't explain, a tension that crackles in the air between us. It's like a damn zyrphix match is happening in my chest, all chaos and raw energy.

I catch myself wondering what it would be like to run my fingers through her hair, to feel her small frame pressed against me. The thought both excites and terrifies me. My hands itch to touch her, to see if her skin is as soft as it looks. But I clench my fists, forcing the urge down. I've been burned before, and I'm not about to let some tavern girl get under my skin. No matter how much my traitorous body wants her to.

Fuck. What's happening to me? She's just a servant, a thief. A fucking thief! The girl who stole my chain from right under my nose! I shouldn't be feeling this way.

But as Josie looks up and meets my eyes, I can't deny the connection. The way my heart races, my breath catches. It's different from what I had with Connie, but no less intense. Fuck, it's even more powerful, like a punch to the gut that leaves me reeling. I've never felt this vulnerable, this exposed, and it scares the shit out of me.

I turn away, focusing on the remnants of the dummy. It's easier to destroy things than to face these conflicting emotions. My fists clench and unclench, itching to lash out, to feel the satisfying crunch of wood splintering beneath my knuckles. But even as I try to lose myself in the destruction, her presence lingers, a constant pull I can't ignore.

But I can't shake the feeling that something's changing, evolving between us. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that one step could send me plummeting into unknown depths. Part of me wants to retreat, to build my walls higher and stronger. But another part, a part I thought I'd buried long ago, yearns to take that leap.

And I'm not sure I want to stop it. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, leaving me breathless and off-balance. For the first time in a very long time, I find myself wanting something beyond the next game, the next conquest. I want something stable. Something true.

And it terrifies me as much as it thrills me.