Page 58 of Bound to a Monster

And that’s intoxicating for a girl that never really had much control over her life.

I could be a warrior and nobody would say a damn thing about it. Nobody cared if I let out the aggression. Honestly, it was expected and encouraged, and that was liberating.

I didn’t have to be the quiet, demure little mafia princess my father always wanted me to be.

I’m still that way though. Acting the way I’m always supposed to. I stumbled from one thing to the next. From my father’s house to my husband’s. And this baby means any shred of freedom I might’ve hoped for is basically going to disappear very soon.

Until then, I have fencing. I have my foil, my form, my body, and my drills.

I watch some training videos just to remind myself what I need to work on, and then I throw myself into it. Stretching, cardio, some light lifting, and then drills. Footwork, forms, blade work, reaction training. All the things I missed so much, the old skills slowly coming back.

I don’t notice him. I’m in my own little world for a couple of hours. One second, I’m doing squats into lunges, and the next Lev’s standing nearby and watching with a curious smile.

Like he’s enjoying it.

I turn to him, breathing hard. “When did you get home?”

“A little while ago. You’re very focused.”

“And you’re a creep.”

He licks his lips. “I like it. When you’re focused like that.”

“Yeah? Good for you. This isn’t a show though. So if you wouldn’t mind?” I feel strong. Even though I’m sweaty, gross, and tired, I feel like I could lift him up over my head and throw him through a wall.

But he doesn’t move. Not that I thought he would. I grab some water and check my phone, my muscles sore and achy from working this hard, and try to tame the adrenaline still coursing through my system.

This is what I get like when I let myself loose.

“Why don’t we spar a little bit?” He picks up my spare foil and flicks it through the air like it’s some kind of dueling weapon.

But that’s not how fencing works. This sport is strictly regulated and controlled. There are rules and protective gear for a reason: people could get hurt.

Like he did.

“No, thanks. You’ll just end up with another hole in your body.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Seriously, that’s okay.”

He points the foil at me. “En garde.”

“I’m good.”

“Afraid you’ll lose?”

I feel a little competitive, but I refuse to let him goad me into this. “How about you do some training first and then maybe I’ll give you a shot at the champ?”

He laughs. It’s a genuine laugh too. I actually like it. Which makes me blush, and I have to look away.

“Give me two days of training, and I bet I could take you.”

“That’s just insulting.”

“How about zero days, and you try me now?”

“Even worse.”

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