14. Laia

14

LAIA

M y breath comes in sharp bursts as I swing the wooden practice sword, my muscles burning with exertion. The past two days have been grueling, a constant barrage of training and survival drills. Irix dances around me, his movements fluid and effortless. His eyes gleam with amusement, a predator toying with its prey.

“You’re slow,” Irix taunts, stepping out of my reach. “Again.”

Frustration bubbles up inside me. I grip the sword tighter, my knuckles white against the rough wood. With a growl, I lunge at him, my movements clumsy and driven by anger and exhaustion. Irix sidesteps easily, his hand coming up to shove me back.

I stumble, my back hitting the tree behind me. The rough bark digs into my skin through my thin tunic, adding another layer of pain to the already burning ache in my muscles. Before I can react, Irix is on me, his body pressing against mine, pinning me in place. His breath is hot on my face, his grin predatory.

“You call that an attack?"His voice is a low rumble, filled with mockery. “You’ll need to do better than that if you want to survive.”

I try to push him away, but he’s like a wall of muscle and fur. Every inch of him exudes strength and power. My heart races like crazy, not just from the exertion but from the closeness of him, the intensity in his eyes.

“I’m trying,” I manage to gasp out, my voice strained.

“Trying isn’t good enough,” he snaps back. “You either do or you don’t.”

His wordspresses down on me as heavily as his body does. He’s right. In this world, trying means nothing without results. Eryndor’s shadow looms over every decision I make and every move I take. His cruelty fuels my desperation even more.

Irix’s hand tightens on my wrist, drawing my focus back to him. “Again,” he orders.

I nod, determination flaring within me despite the fatigue dragging at my limbs. If I’m going to survive here—if I’m going to prove myself—I have to keep pushing forward.

With a final deep breath, I gather what strength I have left and prepare to attack once more.

“You’re too tense,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Relax.”

My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears. His words should anger me, but instead, a flush of heat spreads through me. Every brush of his skin against mine leaves me breathless, the line between training and something far more dangerous blurring with every second.

Irix’s hands slide down my arms, his fingers rough but deliberate. “You have to feel the fight,” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear. “Let it in.”

My breath hitches as his hand grips my waist, pulling me closer. The air between us is thick with tension, every touch sending sparks of heat through my body. I know I should push him away and put distance between us, but something in me won’t let him go.

“Like this?” I manage to say, my voice barely a whisper.

“Yes,” he murmurs back, his breath hot against my skin. “Just like that.”

His other hand moves to the small of my back, pressing me tighter against him. The practice sword slips from my grasp as I lose myself in the sensation of his touch. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming—everything I shouldn’t want but can’t seem to resist.

“Irix,” I say softly, though I’m not sure what I’m asking for—release or more.

“Focus,” he says, though his own voice is tinged with something darker. His fingers trace patterns on my skin, igniting a fire within me that threatens to consume us both.

The world narrows to just us—the heat of his body against mine, the roughness of his hands exploring me with a mix of gentleness and possessiveness. It’s a battle of its own kind, one where neither of us wants to yield.

“You’re learning,” he says with a chuckle that vibrates through both our bodies. “But you’ve still got a long way to go.”

I should be focusing on survival, on the next move that will keep me alive. But right now, all I can think about is the way his touch makes me feel—alive in a way I’ve never felt before.

And maybe that’s its own kind of survival.

Suddenly, Irix’s lips crash against mine, the kiss hard and demanding, his body pressing me harder against the tree. I gasp, my hands coming up to grip his shoulders, my mind spinning as my body responds to him in ways I can’t control.

The kiss is a battle in itself, a clash of tongues and teeth, both of us fighting for dominance. My body is on fire, my heart racing as Irix’s hands roam over me, claiming me with every touch. Each stroke of his fingers sends sparks of heat through my veins, igniting a desire I can’t suppress.

I try to push him away, but my resolve crumbles under the intensity of his kiss. His hand grips the back of my neck, holding me in place as his lips devour mine. There’s nothing gentle about this—nothing soft or sweet. It’s raw and primal, and it leaves me breathless.

When we finally break apart, both of us are panting, our foreheads pressed together. Irix’s eyes are dark with desire, his lips curling into a grin.

“Now that’s more like it.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through me. This is dangerous—this pull between us—but I can’t deny the way it makes me feel. Alive. Wanted.

Irix pulls back slightly, his gaze never leaving mine. His hand lingers on my waist for a moment longer before he steps away entirely, leaving me leaning against the tree, trying to catch my breath.

There’s a wildness in his eyes that mirrors the chaos inside me. And for the first time since I escaped Eryndor’s grasp, I wonder if maybe—just maybe—I can survive this new world after all.

Because here, with Irix’s touch still burning on my skin and the taste of his kiss lingering on my lips—I feel more alive than I ever have before.

But what does that mean for me? For us?