Page 20 of Savage Desire

“Let's repeat what we did last time, but I want you to put me flat on my back on the floor like Drummond said,” he states, clearly not caught up in the same thoughts and processes as I am, but I do as he says, lifting my hands and bending my knees.

Without a single word spoken, we begin to circle one another, falling into step. He fake swings his arms at me, giving me plenty of time to block them, and we dance around each other for what feels like an eternity, forearms making contact time and time again, until he suddenly reaches for my waist.

Time moves in slow motion as he sweeps me off my feet, flipping me in the air before I descend, hitting the ground with a thud. It’s more gentle than I expect, and a whoosh of air blows from my lips as I gape up at him, frozen in place.

“You're making it too easy,” he grunts, taking a step back as he offers me his hand. I glare up at him, acutely aware that he's not wrong and it's not his responsibility to go easy on me. But the irritation that grows inside of me spurs me on and I slap my hand against his, letting him pull me to my feet before I return to the same stance.

Wordlessly, we go again. Around and around and around. This time, when he lurches toward me, I manage to take a step back, but his arms are longer than I expect, and a hot moment later, I’m soaring through the air before my back connects with the mat again.

He hovers over me, shaking his head. He doesn’t say a word as he offers me his hand, but this time, I slap it away, climbing to my feet on my own as I turn to face him again.

My steps are more confident this time. They have to be. Or that’s what I tell myself at least. I won’t sink under the intensity of this man, even if I don’t really understand where this tense air is coming from between us.

We fall into a familiar two-step with one another, and our contact becomes a little stronger. I sense it this time, the moment he’s going to lurch forward, so instead of stumbling backward out of his reach, I sidestep him.

The corner of his mouth turns up, the only indication I'm offered that I've made the right move. Eager to prove myselfeven more, I’m pushing on before I can think better of it. Leaping toward him, I wrap my arms around his neck as I let my weight sink to the floor. It's almost like the move he showed me last time, but way more adventurous than I expect.

To my utter surprise, he tumbles forward, toppling over as he rolls over onto his back, and it's me hovering over him this time. My palm is flat against his chest, fingers splayed, and I feel the fast flicker of his heartbeat beneath my touch.

Damn.

I wait a moment, desperate to see the impressed look on his face, but nothing comes. Instead, he offers me a single word response.

“Again.”

He removes every breath from my lungs as frustration gets the better of me. I step back, irritated and disappointed.

“I need a minute.”

“You don't get a minute when someone's coming at you,” he states, jumping to his feet.

“This is combat class, Wylder. It’s not real life, I can ask for a minute,” I insist, my breaths coming in short, sharp bursts as he shakes his head at me.

“Just think, with all these combat moves you're going to gain, combined with the little magic you can make, you'll be able to get yourself out of these situations as long as you've got your little bag of sand, right?” he says with a smirk.

He’s… teasing. I don’t like it. It’s infuriating. If the other night is the reason for his standoffish tone then whatever, fuck him, maybe I deserve it, but I won’t stand here and simply continue to tolerate it.

“Screw you, Wylder.”

I step back, pushing my hair back off my face, watching as a dark smile spreads across his face.

“What's the matter, Little Witch? Did I touch a nerve?” he pushes, and my lips purse as I try to take a deep breath. “That's it. Channel that little bit of anger. It's what's going to help you get out of situations like this.”

My eyebrows narrow. Is he doing this on… purpose? The flash of determination in his eyes, the press of his lips, and the roll of his neck tells me he is.

I almost appreciate it, but he's being a total ass.

Before I can give him a piece of my mind, we’re moving again, against my wishes, but I refuse to back down. I want to stand my ground, I want to prove him wrong. We dance around in a circle of frustration, and I feel every weighted step I take, determined to thrive, but the noise in my head, the overwhelming stress, leaves me off kilter.

When he reaches for me, he grabs hold without any obstruction and I find myself flat on my back once more. He shakes his head disapprovingly and reaches for something at my side as I pause, desperate to catch my breath.

“Maybe this is weighing you down,” he says with a grin, holding the golden thread of my pouch of sand in his grasp.

I rush to my feet, trying in vain to snatch it out of his hands, and he grins.

“Give it back,” I snap as he holds it just out of reach, and my eyes narrow to slits.

“We’re fighting, Little Witch. You’re not going to need this anyway,” he insists, moving to stuff the pouch in his pocket, but I swipe for the velvety possession that belongs to me.

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