Page 21 of Condemned to Love

We start with basic drills, but Aldric pushes me harder than ever. His movements are fluid, precise—each strike a lesson in control and power. I mimic his moves as best as I can, though it’s impossible not to notice how effortlessly he executes each one.

"Keep your stance wider," he instructs, circling me like a predator assessing its prey.

I adjust my feet, irritation bubbling up. "Like this?"

"Better," he says, though his tone suggests it’s far from perfect.

As we move into sparring, our exchanges grow more intense. Every time I land a hit, he counters with twice the force. But I don’t back down. Not now.

"Your form’s sloppy," he taunts after dodging a punch.

"And your ego’s too big," I retort, ducking under his arm and aiming for his ribs.

He blocks easily, but there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes. "Maybe you’re just distracted."

I bristle at the implication but refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I focus on the rhythm of our fight—the give and take that keeps us moving in sync despite our differences.

For every jab he throws, I counter with one of my own. Our snarky remarks punctuate the air like sharp arrows, each one hitting its mark with precision.

"You call that a punch?" he mocks after blocking another strike.

"It’s hard to aim when your head’s so big," I snap back.

His laughter is unexpected—a deep rumble that catches me off guard for just a second too long. He takes advantage of my distraction and sweeps my legs out from under me.

I hit the ground hard but scramble back to my feet almost instantly, glaring at him through strands of red hair that have come loose from their tie.

"Nice try," he says with a grin that makes my stomach flip in ways it shouldn’t.

I narrow my eyes at him, wiping sweat from my brow. "This isn’t over."

"Not by a long shot," Aldric agrees, his gaze locking onto mine.

We resume our sparring, the rhythm between us growing more seamless with each passing moment. And I start to think that maybe, I don't mind this hot guy training me…

11

ALDRIC

The clang of steel fills the air as Elowen and I clash in the training ring. Her fiery hair whips around, wild like her spirit. She's relentless, each strike more calculated than the last.

"You're getting better," I grunt, parrying her blow with a quick flick of my wrist. The impact reverberates up my arm.

She smirks, eyes glinting with fierce determination. "Maybe you're just getting slower."

"Careful, Elowen," I warn, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "Overconfidence will get you killed."

Her response is a swift kick aimed at my ribs. I barely dodge it, my wings unfurling slightly for balance. She presses on, unyielding, her movements precise and fluid.

Each session with her becomes something I look forward to more than I care to admit. Initially, I intended to train each recruit one-on-one. But after that first session with her... something changed. Her tenacity draws me back time and again.

She spins, her blade aiming for my shoulder. I block it easily, using my height and strength to force her back a step. But she doesn’t falter; she meets my gaze head-on, challenging me with those forest green eyes.

"Is that all you've got?" she taunts.

"Not even close," I growl, lunging forward. Our swords clash again in a shower of sparks. Despite the intensity of our sparring, there's an unspoken respect growing between us.

Her determination is admirable. It reminds me of what vrakken are supposed to be, driven by honor and duty. She embodies those qualities more than some vrakken here.

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