44. Chapter Forty-Four

“I fucking hate you, Kieran,” Arken groaned, those golden doe eyes brimming with murderous intent as I held out my standard-issue pocket watch.

I grinned as I glanced down, still counting the seconds.

“Might I remind you that you asked for this?”

The only reason that either of us were here right now, borrowing an empty training room at the Elder Guard’s headquarters after my shift ended, was because somebody got it in her head that she had to test into a third-year course as a first-year Conduit.

“I asked for help with strength and endurance training,” she grumbled. “Not cruel and unusual punishment.”

“This is hardly punishment,” I countered—though I could think of a number of ways that I could punish her, given the opportunity. I bit the inside of my cheek, attempting to cast out that particularly distracting, admittedly recurring train of thought. “I’m going easy on you, Asher. Thirty more seconds, you’ve got this.”

“You’ve got this,” she mimicked in falsetto, rolling her eyes as she continued to hold the plank position, albeit a smidge shakily as the seconds ticked by.

We were focused on core work today—arguably the most vital element of prep training for something like Physical Arcana… and she absolutely hated it. Which, in all honesty, only made this more entertaining for me. I fucking loved that sharp and wicked tongue of hers. Especially when it was pointed in my direction.

“Keep that energy up, you little brat, and we’ll go back to running circuits.”

If there was one thing Arken hated more than core work these days, it was cardio. More specifically, running. But I think that had more to do with the fact that we had to run outside, which of course came alongside the risk of being both sweaty and perceived by the general public.

She swore under her breath, and then furrowed her brow, fixing her gaze to the floor with a shaky exhale.

“Ten. Nine. Eight… Aht—Lift those hips back up. There we go. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. Aaaaaand one,” I said, chuckling beneath my breath as she dropped unceremoniously to the training mat beneath her. “Nice work, Little Conduit.”

“Nice work, Little Conduit,” she mimicked again, the high-pitched, snarky tone making my palm twitch. “Can we go back to sparring exercises now?”

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” I purred, snapping the watch shut and shoving it back into the pocket of my trousers. Though I had shed my coat, I was technically still in uniform.

“You’ve already got me on my knees, Captain,” Arken crooned back. “What more do you want?”

Fucking Hel, she was such a little menace. As time went on—the more comfortable Ark and I seemed to get with one another—the closer she and I seemed to drift towards slipping casual flirtation and innuendo in damn near every conversation. We had kept our promise, though—we’d kept things platonic. But Fates above, when she said shit like that…

Keep it in your pants, asshole.

Yeah, yeah. I knew the rules. I wrote the damn book.

“Is that typically how you show gratitude?” I smirked anyway.

“Depends,” she replied with a grin.

“On?”

“Precisely how grateful I’m feeling.”

I snorted.

“Get your ass up if you wanna spar, harlot.”

Arken groaned as she pushed herself up, hopping to her feet. As much as she liked to whine and complain her way through these training sessions, there was an ever-present glimmer of ambition in her eyes, too. I knew she’d meant it when she said she wanted to be stronger. Truth be told, I don’t think the woman even realized how strong she already was. The minute we got her body caught up with her arcane potential, the Little Conduit was going to be unstoppable. An absolute force to be reckoned with.

I nodded towards the striking bag hanging in the corner of the room, reaching into my other pocket and tossing her a pair of hand wraps.

“Let’s start with positioning again. Go throw some punches at the bag, show me how much you remember from last week.”

“And here I was hoping that you’d be my striking dummy today,” she teased.

“You get mad at me when I’m your target, Ark.”

“Only because you hold yourself back.”

I snorted. “I have to, and you know it. I’m not gonna toss you around like a ragdoll.”

Arken shrugged. “Maybe I’m in the mood to get thrown around a little.”

“Will you shut up and get in position?” I groaned. Gods, she was such a tease—and truly in rare form today.

The devious creature simply giggled, traipsing over to the striking bag with a spring in her step that suggested she knew damn well what she was doing to me. I shook my head, taking a swig from my waterskin as I observed.

As Arken threw her first few punches, her stance was decent. A bit wide, maybe. When my gaze drifted over the lower half of her body, I was briefly lost to a moment’s worth of self-indulgence. In my defense, it was a damn fine view. Gods, those thighs. Coated in the soft, supple leather of the training leggings I’d bought her, every last curve of Arken’s generous hips, her ample thighs, and that frustratingly flawless ass of hers were on perfect display.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I forced my eyes to flick back up and— oh, fucking Hel.

Without really intending to, my eyes had zeroed in on her neck, the elegant and pale length of it exposed as she had tied her dark curls back in a high, perky ponytail. What I hadn’t quite expected was the way a single droplet of sweat, trickling down from behind her ear, would send a pulsing wave of heat to my core. I typically had better self-control than to re-interpret her breathlessness, her pinkened cheeks, or any amount of sweat from these training sessions for my own deviant devices, but my mind was feeling rather… creative at the moment. Arken’s tongue had been filthier than usual this afternoon.

I couldn’t help but wonder if that had anything to do with the fact that she’d inadvertently caught me taking someone home for the night last week—when she and Laurel had decided to try out a new tavern, stumbling into one of my domains of distraction.

Ark had been a bit dry with me the next morning, but I’d honestly thought very little of it at the time. I hadn’t really interpreted it as envy, considering it took me all of five seconds to get her laughing again, comfortably back in her good graces. Platonic agreements aside, today’s attitude felt a bit less like envy, and more like retribution.

Two can play that game, Little Conduit.

A few short strides took me from where I’d been observing, to mere inches away from Arken’s personal space. Gently, I kicked at her left angle with the side of my boot.

“A little too wide. You want your feet planted even with your hips, under your shoulders—to keep you balanced,” I instructed.

Arken stuck her tongue out at me, but complied without any additional sass. Biting my own tongue, I attempted to actually focus on helping her now, as opposed to undressing her with my eyes, and so I continued to inspect her posture, her positioning, and the way she moved while beating up the striking bag.

I wasn’t trying to teach her how to fight, per se—that would be the job of her Physical Arcana instructors. That said, a bit of boxing would help her build endurance and some muscle—and she would need both in order for her body to contend with arcane combat.

“Aht—” I said sharply, catching her left fist before it struck the bag. “What did I tell you about tucking your thumb in like that?”

I spread Arken’s small hand out flat with my own, the size and color contrast between us a bit comical. I curled her fingers back, guiding her thumb atop her fisted fingers, not beneath them.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, brow furrowing. “Sorry.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t apologize to me,” I scoffed. “Apologize to your fuckin’ wrist when you break it.”

Arken sighed heavily, clearly frustrated with herself over such a simple, minor mistake… and I thought my perfectionist streak was vicious. I shook my head, more to myself than anything else.

“C’mon. Let’s just walk through the basics again, alright?” I told her, taking on the instructional tone that I knew would distract her enough to listen. Like clockwork, the tension in her brow eased and her eyes flicked up to me with focus as she nodded.

“Non-dominant leg in front. Toes toward the bag. Yep, good,” I said, walking slowly, circling her like a hawk. “Dominant leg back, toes towards me. Lean back more.”

From behind, I stepped forward and slid one hand around her waist, splaying my fingers firm against her stomach, guiding her… trying to disregard the sharp little intake of breath she’d pulled when my hand met the fabric of her sleeveless top. Also trying to disregard the way the scent of her sweat intermingled with that lemony sunshine of her hair, and those vague notes of earthiness I’d come to associate with her, like moss and rainwater and freshly tilled soil.

Focus.

“Always fall back to the dominant leg, shift your weight here when you need that center of gravity,” I explained.

Her ponytail tickled my chin a bit as she nodded, and I took a step back, if only for my own sanity. I’d been far too close to her neck, my tongue too tempted to taste the salt of her exposed skin.

Fucking focus.

“Elbows up,” I said, nudging one of her arms into a more appropriate angle. “Bend your knees a little more. There we go, atta girl.”

The corners of her mouth crooked upwards, shy acceptance of my praise. I couldn’t lie to myself, I was somewhat proud of my ability to get Arken out of her own head lately. Sometimes, it seemed like she just needed someone to help keep her in check—or just an alternate outlet for frustration, so she wouldn’t beat herself up over stupid little things. I’d gotten pretty damn good at reading her signals, jumping in when she needed that redirection.

“Alright, you remember how to strike?”

Arken nodded again, biting her lip. I took another step back to observe as she followed through the range of motion for a straight punch, slowly at first, warming up.

“Almost,” I murmured, briefly returning to my position behind her, placing one hand on either side of her waist, just above her hips.

“Remember, you’ve gotta shift your hips like this,” I explained, applying gentle pressure to show her how to move.

Arken huffed a small but light-hearted sigh. “Who knew that such simple calisthenics had all these rules,” she teased. “Isn’t this just supposed to be alternative cardio?”

“Yeah, but it’s best to form good habits now. When you actually start training for Physical Arcana, it will be harder—you’ll have to control your muscles and your Resonance in tandem. Might as well make sure you get it right now, that way you don’t have to retrain your brain and body later.”

“Fair enough,” Arken murmured, a fresh wave of determination passing through her expression.

I knew Arken was like me, in that anything worth doing—anything worth investing our time and effort into—was worth doing correctly. And she worked best when she understood the nuance behind every rule, the reasoning behind each step.

“As you pivot that foot back and turn your knee, twisting your hips the way I just showed you—that’s where you create power. Momentum for the strike.”

“Right.”

With a steady breath, Arken applied everything we’d just reviewed, her fist meeting the striking bag with a heavy thump.

“Good. Just like that,” I encouraged, earning me another shy smile. “Gimme another thirty of those, and then we’ll move on to some alternative moves.”

“Variety is the spice of life, Captain,” Arken teased.

So they said. But as Arken continued her assault against the black leather bag, I couldn’t help but agree to disagree.

I could watch her do this all damn day.