Page 67 of Tempest Blazing
"Focus on the strategy," I called out, my voice carrying the same harsh edge I'd used on countless other students. "Magic without tactical thinking is just flashy suicide."
She absorbed the criticism without flinching, adjusting her stance with mechanical precision. No wounded pride, no flash of defiance—just cold acceptance. The kind of response I'd trained into dozens of Riders over the years.
So why did it feel wrong coming from her?
The magical pressure I sent at her this time was relentless, wave after wave designed to test not just her power but her endurance. Her shield held for long moments, but I could see the strain building in the tremor of her hands, the way her breathing grew shallow and quick.
Her magic flared bright—brighter than I'd ever seen it—and then sputtered like a candle in the wind.
Tess collapsed forward, knees hitting the sand with a soft thud, her light dimming to nothing. Her body swayed, threatening to topple completely.
My body moved before my mind caught up, crossing the distance between us in two quick strides. I caught her under the arms before she could hit the ground, her weight settling against me as her head lolled back against my chest.
The contact jolted through me like a live wire.
Her skin was hot with residual magic, feverish and electric where it touched mine. Her face was slack with exhaustion, lips parted as she drew in shallow breaths. I could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse against my forearm, could smell the faint scent of ozone and something uniquely her—warm and bright and completely intoxicating.
I held her longer than I should have. Long enough for the wrong feeling to settle in my chest, heavy and dangerous. Long enough to notice the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the way her hair had escaped its ponytail to frame her face in soft waves. Long enough to imagine what it would feel like to lean down and—
Stop. Stop before you destroy everything. Before you become another predator she has to guard against.
I swore under my breath and lowered her gently to the ground, settling her back against the sand with more care than I wanted to admit to myself.
A soft groan escaped her lips, and her eyes fluttered open—hazy and unfocused at first, then sharpening as they found mine. For a moment, neither of us moved. She was still half-sprawled against me, close enough that I could count the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath.
"Theron?" Her voice was barely a whisper, rough with exhaustion.
The way she said my name—soft and vulnerable and trusting—hit me like a physical blow. My hand moved without permission, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"You're okay," I managed, my voice rougher than it should have been.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes, and the air between us crackled with something that had nothing to do with magic. I could feel myself leaning closer, drawn by some invisible force—
Then reality crashed back. The Guild. Silvius. The fact that she belonged to others who could give her everything I never could.
I jerked away, putting distance between us as I helped her sit up properly. "You pushed too hard," I said, forcing my voice back to its usual professional tone. "Magical exhaustion isn't something to take lightly."
Confusion flickered across her features at my sudden withdrawal, followed by something that might have been hurt. She struggled to her feet, swaying slightly before finding her balance.
"I'm fine," she said, but her voice carried a note of uncertainty that had nothing to do with her physical state.
But even as she said it, I could see her rebuilding those walls—the same ones I'd been unconsciously teaching her to construct. Her expression smoothed into careful neutrality, emotions locked away behind the kind of practiced control that would serve her well in battle but might cost her everything else.
"I need to work on endurance training," she said, her tone clinical and detached. "And tactical response patterns. Individual practice sessions might be more efficient than—"
"Tess." The name escaped before I could stop it, sharp with something I couldn't name.
She looked up at me with those golden-brown eyes, but the warmth I'd grown accustomed to was carefully banked now, replaced by the kind of professional distance I'd been modeling for her. It was exactly what I'd been pushing her toward—and it felt like a punch to the gut.
Yrdren lowered his massive head beside us, rust-colored eyes gleaming with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. But I ignored the dragon's knowing gaze, focusing instead on maintaining the careful distance I'd just rebuilt.
"Class is over," I said, my tone clipped and professional. "Get some rest."
The words came out harsher than I'd intended, but I couldn't take them back. Couldn't soften them without revealing too much of what was churning beneath the surface.
I turned away before I could say something I'd regret. Before I could do something even worse.
As I walked off the field, every step away from her felt like walking against a current. I didn't look back—couldn't afford to—but I could feel her watching me go.
