Page 59 of The Brotherhood

Spar moved first, his speed inhuman, but this time, she was ready. When he lunged, she sidestepped, anticipating the grip he’d go for. He was testing her, seeing if she’d fall for the same tricks.

He smirked, but this time, it was different. Something sharper. Hungrier.

“Not bad,” he muttered. “Let’s see how long you can keep up.”

Scarlett barely had time to brace before he came at her again, a calculated blur of movement. She pivoted, but he caught her this time, a vice grip on her arm before he swept her legs out from under her.

She hit the ground hard with a sharp gasp.

Before she could process, he was on her. Straddling her hips, his feet pinning her thighs down, hands braced on either side of her head.

Scarlett froze at feeling it. That part of him he’d kept from her was now also pressing and pinning. His heat was everywhere as his smirk returned, slow and taunting. “You were saying?”

Scarlett’s heart pounded against her ribs. She twisted, trying to get a knee between them, only managing to get more of what she fought to escape feeling.

His lips hovered above her ear, his voice an insufferable murmur. “You fight like a soldier. But you react like a woman.”

Scarlett’s entire body seized with heat and rage. “Get. Off.”

His breath fanned across her neck, and she hated the way her pulse jumped. “What’s wrong, nun? Something distracting you?”

Scarlett turned her head sharply, eyes blazing into his. “I hate you.”

His smile widened. “No. You don’t.”

And then he rolled his hips. It was barely anything—a slow, deliberate shift of weight, but Scarlett’s breath hitched, her body betraying her. It seemed the only thing she had in this war was the fury he was so good at provoking.

His pupils flared, locking onto her with a wolfish glint. “Oh,” he murmured, feigning surprise. “You really don’t hate me.”

Scarlett’s rage flared, panic creeping beneath it. “You’re disgusting.”

Spar laughed, dark and low. “Am I? Or are you just mad I’m making you feel what you already do?”

She shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge.

“Let me go,” she hissed.

“Make me.”

Her blood burned with each ragged breath as she strained against him. “You’re trying to prove something,” she snapped. “That I’m weak? That I—” She cut herself off, jaw clenching.

He tilted his head, watching her. Waiting.

She hated him. She hated him. And she hated herself for the way her body trembled beneath his.

“I’m trying to prove that you’ll break,” he murmured, his lips just over hers now. “That all I have to do is push a little, and you’ll come crumbling down.”

Scarlett’s throat tightened as he pushed with his manhood. He wanted to ruin her for a soldier. And maybe he would, maybe he already had, but she’d die before ever admitting it. She didn’t even care if he knew it, he’d never get that confession.

With a sharp twist, she threw her weight into her hips, wrenching herself just enough to slip one leg free. Spar realized too late, his grin vanishing a split second before she drove her knee up between them.

Spar growled.

But it wasn’t a pained noise. It was hungry.

Scarlett tried to shove him again, and this time, he let her go.

She scrambled back, chest heaving, eyes wild.

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