Page 70 of Savage Hope

He grabs my shoulders with both hands, maneuvering me to the center of the square as he shakes his head.

“Hell no. I’m going to teach you everything you need to know.”

28

POLARIS

“Let’s try that again, but this time, you bring your elbow to here, just like that…yeah, just there. Your opponent will feel a lot more strength from you there.” Wylder beams down at me, his eyes wide with encouragement.

His intense presence makes me feel…things.A lotof things.

Every time he redirects or maneuvers me into a new position, his body ends up draped all over mine—from head to toe—and the glassy look in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Running my tongue over my bottom lip for what feels like the thousandth time, I nod in understanding as he stares down at me expectantly. At the same time, I’m also acutely aware that much of this information is unlikely to stick, given his proximity making it impossible to work on all cylinders.

The way the corner of his mouth twitches, just on the left side, makes me think he knows that too.

“Let’s start wrapping things up, class; we have five minutes,” the professor hollers, her voice like a razor through the tension thickening the air around me. It’s like she pops a bubble I didn’t realize I was in and the rest of the world comes back into focus.

I jolt, stepping out of Wylder’s hold before I spin to face him.

“Play me through that sequence,” he says encouragingly, and I gulp, frantically trying to piece it all together in my mind.

“I’m sure that’s not necessary,” I insist, glancing anywhere but at him. I’m startled by the number of people hitting the grass over and over again as they fight with more strength than I can fathom.

Dammit.

I’m not going to last more than five minutes. I shouldn’t have lasted this long. I wouldn’t have if Wylder hadn’t taken it upon himself to try and help me. What a fat load of good that has done.

“Hey, focus on me, Polaris,” he murmurs, his deep voice settling me as he cuts the little distance between us to grip my chin.

My breath is lodged in my throat as he uses his hold on my chin to make me nod in agreement.

The sound of someone clearing their throat breaks through our moment and I snap my gaze to the right to find Professor Drummond with her hands planted firmly on her hips.

“I can’t declare a winner if neither of you hit the deck,” she states, talking directly to Wylder as though I don’t exist. I can read between the lines, though. She’s encouraging him to drop me so she can call it. Rightfully so, I guess.

I attempt to step back, but Wylder locks his other hand around my wrist while his grip on my chin tightens, making it impossible. I frown at him, watching as his jaw tightens.

“Make the move, Polaris.” The way his nostrils flare leaves no room for argument.

He’s not going to quit it until I do; only now I have the added audience of Professor Drummond to make it even worse. I either get on with it or risk the audience growing even further.

Dammit, Wylder.

Flustered and desperate, I take a step back, only this time, he lets me go, aware that he has me under his control regardless. My shoulders rise and fall as I take a deep breath, silently going over the moves he’s drilled into me for the past hour.

Any inkling of doubt or indecisiveness disappears when he takes two steps toward me, arms raised, ready to attack. He’s moving quicker than before, exposing his purpose, and before I can come up with an excuse or slip to the side, I lift my hands, just as he taught me. My knees dip just an inch, giving into the motion as my left hand connects with his forearm, while my right hand presses against his neck, encouraged along by my right leg that crosses in front of me to wrap around the back of his leg.

Just as he promised, he topples over and hits the mat with athud.

He grins up at me with wild eyes as I pant, disbelief coursing through my body as I stare down at him.

I did it.

I actually freaking did it.

“Impressive, Little Witch. Help me up,” he says with a megawatt smile, and I tentatively offer him my hand. His palm is warm against mine, fueling the inferno that burns deep inside me as he uses me to haul himself back up. I don’t offer anything but my hand, not even a tidbit of strength. I’m still gaping in awe. “You can declare it now, Professor,” he adds, peering at Drummond, who is still assessing us.

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