Page 26 of Power of Draken

“We aren’t really training to break Collin’s arm, right?” I ask. After the last twenty four hours, I no longer have any sense of what is and is not on the table. “We are training to fight Flurry’s fae.”

Logan stops and gives Kyrian a pleading look, as if it pains him to conjure an answer to such an obviously absurd question.

Kyrian puts one hand in his pocket. “If ye want to be precise about it, they are training to fight Flurry’s fae,” he drawls, waving his hands over a group of the cadets who’ve already started combat drills. “Kai, Logan and I are not, by account of being bloody good at killing things already. And you are about as likely to kill a fae in hand to hand combat as Logan here is to dance ballet. So, technically, breaking Collin’s arm is a fair goal to set.”

In other words, the insanity marches on.

“I mean if you’d rather join the rest of the squad…” Kyrian points to where our teammates are already hauling sandbags over an obstacle course that makes me cringe just by looking at it, “I think I could talk Logan into doing that instead.”

"Right.” I give Logan the brightest smile I can summon. “Lead on. To anywhere but there."

He gives me a wolfish snort and turns to continue our march to the training ring. He vaults over the fence surrounding a sand-covered arena.

"Full disclosure,” I say into his back, as I climb in through the bars instead. “I am kind of a disaster at this.”

"Disaster is what happened out there.” Logan cocks his head in the direction of the courtyard, where the flare up between Collin and me unfurled for everyone to see. He points down to the sand. “In here, we call it training."

Before I can say anything more, Logan's foot shoots out and hooks around my ankle, pulling it out from under me. My back slams against the sand, knocking the breath out of me. I brace myself for the familiar bruising pain, but it doesn't hurt. It's just frightening as all shit.

Logan looks down at me for a moment before offering a hand to help me up. Suspiciously, I take it and stand on shaky legs—only for him to knock me down again with a different sweep. When his hand reaches out a second time, I glower. "I think I'll just stay down here and spare us both the trouble."

A corner of his mouth lifts. "And how do you imagine down there will work out for you?”

Before I can answer, Logan follows me to the ground, flattening me to my back and straddling my chest in an easy motion. His thighs clamp on either side of my ribs, trapping me beneath him with a firm hold that sends a shiver down my spine. Grabbing my arms, he pins them above my head, then shifts for a moment as he transfers both my wrists into one of his large palms.

I can’t move. I know it because I try to buck and squirm and wriggle out, only to fail again and again. Logan isn’t hurting me—I’m pretty sure he isn’t even settling his full weight atop my chest like he could—but he’s restrained me completely. Which would be bad enough on its own, but what’s worse is that instead of the logical panic I should feel, my breath is suddenly catching with a different sensation entirely.

Inexplicably, I’m now hyper aware of every detail of Logan’s face, every movement of his body. Of the way his muscles flex beneath his loose training shirt, of the scent of his exertion mixing with the crispness of the cool air. Of the loose strand of his black hair falling over his right eyebrow. The one marked by a faint scar.

Something hot and inappropriate pools in my belly.

Logan’s eyes lock with mine, his irises a mosaic of golden honey and a lupine like challenge, all mingled together. He leans closer, his breath brushes against my ear as that loose strand of hair now brushes the scars on my own cheek.

“Still opting for staying on the ground, rabbit?” He asks. His free hand brushesalong my ribs, the pads of his fingers pressing into the tender spot between the bones.

Goosebumps rush across my skin and my mouth feels too dry to speak.

“Great place to slide a dagger here,” Logan says, pressing in again, just to the verge of pain but not past it. “And here too.”

I dutifully try to be worried about the imaginary dagger, but all I can concentrate on is the feel of Logan’s thighs.

“I—” the tip of my tongue darts out to lick my lips and Logan’s attention snaps to it. “I…”

Logan’s hand tightens around my wrists, holding me in place with a commanding strength that sends another unbidden thrill through me. His eyes slide over my body. My face. My scars.

Suddenly he is up on his feet quicker than he’d gotten to the ground. Not just up, but backing away from me. It’s only a few paces, but it feels farther.

“Next skill,” Logan announces, his arms crossing over his chest as he looks anywhere but at my face. “Breakfalls. Let’s see where you are on that. Start backwards. Chin down, slap the sand to dissipate the force. Go.”

Despite his command, it takes me a few heartbeats to shrug myself back into reality. Logan waits me out at a distance, awkwardness pursuing me each step of the way. I want to ask what it is about my scars that Logan finds so repulsive, but doing so might also imply that I fancy myself desirable to him otherwise. I’m not touching that fiction.

It’s not as if I don’t have a mirror. I know I don’t look like Alyssa.

Three days later, Ellie grabs my shirt and pulls me to the back row corner of the lecture hall as soon as I enter Strategy and Tactics. “Get your mysterious little butt over here,” she hisses, keeping half an eye on the front of the room where Colonel Thomeo is setting up a slate for a draken lecture. Probably because someone confused draken and dragons the other day, which is like equating a regular wolf to a fae wolf shifter. Ellie pokes my chest with her finger. “You’ve been impossible to get alone since, you know, Collin showed his true colors.”

She sounds angry about Collin, but unsurprised—but at least she only rubs it in with her tone.

“I know, I’m sorry.” I usher us into seats. “Kyrian won’t let me three paces from his sight unless it’s with Logan.”

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