Page 19 of Defiant Beta

He picks up a foil and walks over to me.

My hand tightens around the hilt of my weapon as I prepare to kill him. No way am I letting him put me down again.

He stops inches away and settles into the same pose from his ass-kicking before. His right leg is in front, and his arm is raised. His left arm is low behind him. “Like this.”

After a second, I mirror his pose and then stop. Neither of us is wearing a mask.

“You won’t stab me in the face, will you?” We’re definitely within stab-in-the-face distance.

A hint of amusement softens striking light green eyes. “No.”

“If you try, just know I will stab you right back.” I sniff. “In your eye.”

His amusement grows, then fades as he gently taps his foil against mine. “Position.”

I settle into my pose, still wary of being stabbed in the face.

Instead, he does what he didn’t do before.

He gives me a one-to-one lesson in how to fence, moving slowly enough for me to follow along with his movements.

Every tap against my foil comes with an explanation about what it means, how to counter it, and how to repeat it.

Thisis the fun fencing experience I was hoping for.

“How’d you learn?”

He’s young for a fencing instructor—not that I expected them to be old—but he can’t be thirty, maybe late twenties?

“Practice.”

Vague much.

“I didn’t think fencing people had tattoos.” I always thought it was a sport for the rich. The fact that it’s taught in this school has only added to that belief.

“Did you?” Before I can ask about his neck tattoos and if he has more hiding under his layers, he taps my foil again. Not hard enough to knock it out of my hand or anywhere near my face, but to refocus me. “Try the lunge.”

He humiliated me in class. We’re still within stabbing-in-the-face proximity, but if I lunge at him, he could seriously hurt me. Maybe even kill me.

“I will not stab you in the face, the eye, or anywhere else,” he says quietly, reading my wariness.

And, fool that I am, I believe him.

He corrects my posture and shows me how to lunge low, where to point my foil, and how to retreat. Up close, he smells nice, not intense like Professor Vincent’s raspberry and dark chocolate or decadent like the sexy gardener.

Spring and warm amber.

Everleigh practically lived in our backyard, drawing anything and everything. Our garden smelled fresh, safe, and warm, like the perfect spring morning.

I am no omega to be so fascinated by scents, but hell if this academy isn’t changing me in more ways than I thought it would.

It gets hot, and I start to sweat, regretting the hoodie I put on. I wedge my foil between my legs and pull my hoodie over my head, tossing it aside.

He lowers his gaze to my sports bra, and his expression turns blank.

I brush off the moisture collecting on my collarbone and grab my foil. “You’re not going to say something about Haven Academy girls being forbidden to sweat, are you? I get enough of that shit from Ms. Huffman.”

“I doubt that woman has sweated a day in her life.” His lip twitches. “I didn’t expect to catch her drooling over herself, though.”

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