Page 16 of Twisted Fangs

"Rhea." Her name comes out like a warning, but she doesn't back down. Never backs down. It's what I admire about her. What drives me crazy.

Suddenly, I remember the taste of her lips, the sound of her pleasure. My control slips another notch. But I pull away, knowing that succumbing to our passions could cloud our judgment at a time when we need to be more vigilant than ever.

Without thinking, I blurt out loudly, "We must train more." My voice echoes off the cave walls.

Rhea nods firmly,her expression one of grim determination. "Then let's get to work," she says, her voice steady and filled with resolve.

But I can't help but feel that gnawing fear again—the fear that I may not be able to protect her from the darkness that looms on the horizon.

I push the thought aside. Yet, as we prepare ourselves for our rigorous training ahead, I can't deny the truth that lingers in the back of my mind.

Rhea is no longer just a tool for my personal revenge. She's become something more, something precious that I never expected to find amidst the bloodshed and sorrow. And as we prepare to face our enemies together, I realize that my heart is no longer mine alone. It beats for her, for the fire in her eyes and the strength of her will.

12

RHEA

The forest is a relentless teacher. Its lessons are written in the language of sweat and blood. Valen pushes me harder each day. His gaze never wavers as I stumble, fall, and rise again. The training is grueling, a testament to his unyielding determination to forge me into a weapon of mass destruction.

This morning, the sun barely crests the horizon when he hands me my dagger, its blade gleaming wickedly in the pale light. "Again," he commands, his voice a low rumble that resonates in the pit of my stomach.

I lunge, my movements a blur as I attack the makeshift dummy. The dagger slices through the air, but it's not enough. Valen expects more from me, and I refuse to disappoint him—or myself.

"Faster, Rhea!" he barks, his crimson eyes tracking my every move. "You're not just fighting their strength, but their magic. You need to be quicker than their spells."

I grit my teeth and pour every ounce of my being into the attack, the world around me narrowing to the rhythm of my heartbeat and the swish of the blade. The dummy falls apartunder my onslaught, and I allow myself a moment of triumph before turning to Valen for his approval.

He nods, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Good. Now, let's see if you can do that against something that fights back," he suggests.

The obstacle course he constructed is a nightmare of ropes, logs, and hidden traps. I navigate it with a mix of trepidation and determination, my body aching from the constant exertion. Valen watches from the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

I leap over a pit, roll under a swinging log, and slash through a curtain of vines, only to be doused with a bucket of cold water triggered by a tripwire. I sputter, my clothes clinging to my skin, but I don't stop. I can't stop. Not when I'm so close to becoming the fierce warrior I need to be.

But it's not just about the fighting. Every time Valen's gaze meets mine, there's an undercurrent of something else—a tension that has nothing to do with our training and everything to do with the intimacy we've shared. It's a great distraction, yet I find myself seeking it out more and more, craving the connection that both sustains and complicates our relationship.

As the sun begins to set, we launch our latest attack on a dark elf supply caravan. I move like a shadow in the night, my newfound speed and strength allowing me to take down two guards before they even realize I'm there. Valen fights with lethal precision beside me as always, his sword a streak of silver in the dim light.

One of the dark elves lunges at me, his blade aimed for my heart. I quickly sidestep his attack, my body moving almost of its own accord. I strike back, my dagger finding its mark in his side. He collapses with a gurgled cry, and I'm already moving on to the next target, my heart pounding frantically.

We retreat into the forest, our mission accomplished, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins makes it impossible to sleep. I find Valen sitting by the fire, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames.

"You did well again tonight," he says, his voice soft yet resonant.

I sit down beside him, the heat of the fire warming my chilled skin. "I'm tired of doing 'well,'" I admit. "I want to be the best. I want them to fear me."

Valen turns to look at me, his gaze intense, and says, "They already do, Rhea. You've surpassed anything I could have imagined when I first found you injured in that forest."

His words ignite a spark of pride within me, but it's quickly overshadowed by the desire that simmers just beneath the surface of our every interaction. I lean in without thinking, my lips brushing against his in a silent plea for comfort, for connection, for something more than the endless cycle of blood and vengeance.

Valen responds with a hunger that matches my own, his hands tangling in my hair as he deepens the kiss. It's a moment of respite, a brief escape from the reality of our existence. But as our bodies separate, I can't help but wonder if this fragile bond we're forging will be enough to withstand the storm that's brewing on the horizon.

The dark elves are closing in on us, their hunters relentless in their pursuit. We've become more than just a nuisance to them—we've become a symbol of defiance, a beacon of hope for those who have none.

Over the next several days, the forest becomes my new master as I train even harder. Its demands are more brutal than any dark elf taskmaster I've ever had. Valen's voice echoes in my head, a relentless drumbeat urging me to push beyond my limits. "Faster, Rhea. Stronger. You must be relentless."

I run for miles and miles until my lungs scream for mercy, the dagger at my side a constant companion. The forest blurs around me, a kaleidoscope of grays and browns that seem to mock my human frailty.

"Again," Valen commands after I've barely caught my breath. His face is a stoic mask, but his voice betrays a hint of urgency. "You think the dark elves will give you a moment's rest? They won't. So neither will I."

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