Chapter 15

A s the days went on, Liana’s skills snowballed.

The Katánian commander tested her, and she met every challenge head-on.

Her movements became fluid and graceful. Her strikes amped in precision and intensity.

She sparred with Khiron’s spirit, learning to anticipate Kaxim’s every move, to counter his attacks with lightning-fast reflexes and unwavering focus.

With each step, her rapier’s blade speed improved, her footwork cleaner, and her purpose more apparent.

What also increased was her admiration of her trainer.

He moved with efficient grace, purpose, and discipline.

She yearned to achieve an iota of the self-mastery he possessed. To discover serenity in simplicity and strength in restraint.

She vowed to pay closer attention to his fighting techniques and manner of conduct. Perhaps then, she, too, might attain tranquility of spirit.

What didn’t help, however, was that the man was so fokkin’ attractive.

His muscles tensed beneath his shirt when he lunged, and the fabric stretched tight over his biceps.

Under his gruff, sour nature, she sensed a kindness, even a gentleness, when he dealt with her.

His voice dropped to a timbred burr at times that almost always caught her in a soul lurch.

When they practiced mid-air battle techniques, he shed his chest piece so his wings would unfurl without hindrance. His chiseled muscles rippled as he moved with fluid grace, purposeful and precise.

She found herself wanting to lick his honey-gold skin. She imagined running a finger down his face and stroking the scar that snaked along one cheek.

She wondered what it’d be like to run a hand over his biceps, stroking the hard curves and contours. To thrust her hand through his damp and tousled hair, kissing his rugged and irresistible face.

A faint scent of sandalwood and musk hung wafted from him, adding to his enticing allure.

Deep and velvety, his voice was like music to her ears as he gave her instructions. And every time their swords collided, the sharp clang echoed through the ground like a sensual rhythm.

His hands, massive and heated yet with a gentle touch, drove her insane when he corrected her stance, his hands grazing along her body, sending shivers down her spine.

His touch was firm yet gentle, igniting a primal desire within her. The weight of his build against hers as they sparred only added to the electric sensation coursing through her.

On and on, her fantasies ratcheted.

She fought them, but their uncanny spiritual connection lingered.

At times, when her attention strayed, he used their neural link to caution her.

Slow, Liana. Take your time. Move now!

Her duty to stay focused was undeniable. For a fleeting moment, however, she wondered how erotic it would be to be under him, thighs open, as he slammed into her, speaking dirty words into her ear with that deep growl.

Liana, focus.

She snapped and gazed at him to find him staring down at her.

‘ Sahasí ,’ he growled in warning, his utterance like a stroke on her skin.

Her face went red.

Had he perceived what she’d been thinking?

‘I can’t read thoughts,’ he grated. ‘But I can interpret bodies.’

She stared down to where his eyes had flickered.

To where her nipples stood taut against her thin shirt.

She gasped.

His lips twitched as she whirled away.

‘I need some water.’

‘Let’s take a break,’ he rumbled from behind her.

Fokk! The fire that burned between them was out of control.

When she returned to training, Kaxim’s face closed up, and his expression shut off.

As if their wild moment had not occurred whatsoever.

It stung, but she pulled herself together with a shrug and focused on the task.

The legendary warrior was a composed teacher, correcting her stance and adjusting her grip patiently.

She admired his discipline, his strength, and the quiet intensity that lay beneath his calm exterior.

Still, a palpable sensual energy wrapped around them on the roof.

She wondered if he sensed it too or was as immune to such things as he seemed. Sometimes, his eyes lingered on her, a brief flicker of something more in his gaze.

He gave little away, his words used sparingly, each one measured and precise.

He slept in a tent on the palace roof, content to be as close to the stars as possible. He preferred the cool night air and the boundless firmament overhead to the comfort of any lavish bedchamber.

She often thought of him in her vast and cold bed, lying among the elements in his simple tent.

With all its grandeur and luxury, the palace surrounding her was suffocating, a gilded cage she had never quite learned to inhabit.

She longed to be like him—free, untethered by the never-ceasing responsibility that seemed to press down on her at every turn.

But she was well aware that his freedom was not without its burdens.

In the sparse words he chose to share, he hinted that he was dedicated to his army, his King, and Katánē, body, mind, and soul.

He’d no room for a woman, let alone love.

He breathed and existed for the lives that depended on his decisions, on the battles fought and won.

Yet he carried it all with ease as if he had learned to counter the strain of leadership by freeing his consciousness, by living in the moment, under the stars.

In her soul’s eye, he stood tall with a sword in hand, practicing against invisible foes.

The air around her rippled, and their soul bond flared.

She sat up in bed and gazed at the rippling energy that appeared at the foot of her bed.

They stared at each other through the thin tendrils of íkan , his gaze so intense that it pierced through her essence.

Before she turned away, her heart crestfallen, and she fell back to her cold mattress.

Alone.

Yearning, craving for that which she could not have.