Page 16 of Angel of Ruin

I cross my arms, refusing to let her see how impressed I am. "Adequate," I say. "For a human."

But as I watch her walk away, head held high, I can't deny the truth. This little nexari might just have what it takes after all.

I can't believe I'm doing this again. Training a human. But here I am, day after day, pushing Lyra to her limits. And damn it all, she keeps surprising me.

"Again," I growl, circling her as she picks herself up off the mat. She's breathing hard, sweat glistening on her skin, but there's a fire in those blue eyes that won't quit.

She lunges at me, faster than before. I dodge, but she anticipates, changing direction mid-strike. Her fist grazes my jaw. It's not enough to hurt, but it's more than any human's managed before.

"Better," I admit grudgingly. "But not good enough."

I grab her arm, twisting it behind her back. She gasps, body tensing against mine. For a moment, I'm back in that hallway, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingers.

"You're still telegraphing your moves," I murmur, my lips close to her ear. She shivers, and it's not from fear. "It's easy to tell what you are thinking, and anything you face in these trials will use it against you."

"Then teach me," she challenges, voice low and determined. "Show me how to be better."

I release her, stepping back. "Fine. Watch closely."

Over the next hour, I demonstrate techniques, guiding her through the motions. Each time I touch her, correct her stance, I feel that spark. It's maddening. She's human. She shouldn't affect me like this.

But as the days pass, I find myself looking forward to our sessions. I push her harder, watching the way she reacts, how she adapts to each new challenge. And every time I pin her down, I don't want to let up.

One evening, after a particularly intense sparring match, we're both breathing hard. Lyra's pinned beneath me, her chest heaving, eyes wild with adrenaline. For a moment, neither of us moves.

"Not bad, little nexari," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. "You're learning."

She grins up at me, all fierce determination and unexpected beauty. "Does this mean you'll stop going easy on me?"

I laugh, surprised by her audacity. "Trust me, I haven't even started."

As I help her up, my hand lingers on hers longer than necessary. That night in the hall flashes through my mind again, and I want to push her – but not just in the ring.

Fuck, I want more of her, and the idea jolts me. I've never craved a woman like this, especially not from a human.

I step back, trying to regain my composure. "Same time tomorrow," I say gruffly. "Don't be late."

As she walks away, I can't help but watch her go. This human is becoming dangerous, in more ways than one. And the worst part is, I'm not sure I want to stop it.

It's a thought that stays with me through the night even as I try to shake it, and that's why when I arrive at the training room earlier than usual the next morning, my mind is already racing with plans for today's session.

I need to distance myself from this human. I need to put her in her place, remind myself why humans can never truly become xaphan. Why I shouldn't even care because it's pointless, this training is pointless.

As she walks in, I don't give her a chance to speak. "Today, we're testing your magical aptitude," I announce, gesturing to the array of objects I've set up. "Each item requires a different type of manipulation. You have one hour."

I watch Lyra approach the first object, a small silver orb. Her brow furrows in concentration as she reaches out to touch it. The orb glows faintly, reacting to her presence.

"This one's designed to test your ability to sense and manipulate energy, able to be used by even non-magic wielders," I explain. "Try to make it float."

Lyra closes her eyes, her fingers hovering just above the orb. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, to my surprise, the orb wobbles slightly.

"Interesting," I mutter. She shouldn't be able to affect it at all.

Moving on, Lyra faces a bowl of water. "Change its temperature," I instruct.

She places her hands on either side of the bowl, her face a mask of determination. Minutes pass, and I'm about to tell her to give up when I notice a thin layer of frost forming on the surface.

My eyes narrow. This shouldn't be possible.

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