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I haul the strap over my shoulder and head for the hall leading to the stairs. "I need to go."
"Go?" His steps thunder behind me. "We aren't finished here."
I ignore him, hastening my pace.
"So, that's how we're going to handle things?" Even though he's not chasing after me anymore, I can hear the pain and anger in his voice, and it stings. "You're just going to quit? Run away? Hide what you're thinking and feeling instead of opening up to me? What do I have to do for you to see that I'm not your enemy?"
I halt in the tunnel and let loose an aching breath. I swivel to face him but don't know what to say.
"If you choose to shut me out, that's your choice," he says, "but don't walk out on a lesson. Don't quit."
"I'm not quitting," I growl. "I'm taking a break. I'm tired."
"Do you think our enemies care about what you're feeling?" He points toward the dome for emphasis. "Do you think they'll give you a break on the battlefield because you're tired?"
"Lighten up!" I shout, matching his step with one of my own. "You're such a pain in my ass!"
"I'm a pain in your ass!?" Gone is any sympathetic or yearning look. This is Professor Harland, the feared shadow wielder, glaring at me now. "Listen up, Princess. I'm the only one in this school fighting to make sure you stay alive when you face those who want you dead. We're not done here."
"Yes, we are."
"Hit the target."
"What?"
He points at a wooden board crafted in the shape of a man at the far end of the room. "Hit the target. You don't want to spar with me, fine. Use your magic and show me you can hit that target. Give me something."
"I thought we weren't using our magic – "
"Hit. The. Target."
I drop my bag and snarl at him, "I said – "
"And I said," he interrupts me and motions to the target on the other side of the room, "hit the target! When you're on that battlefield, or you're on the run and are being pushed past the point of exhaustion, you will have to dig deep to find your strength. If you aren't willing to push yourself, then you will fall in battle and there's not a damn thing I can do to stop that."
"Get off my ass, Atlas."
"Hate me all you want. Fight me all you want. I'm going to make sure you don't quit because it's comfortable."
"You want to fight?" I say, eyes blazing, hands glowing in anger, not caring about compartmentalizing. "Let's fight."
I blast a ball of light at him, but he swallows my attack with his shadows, deflecting them. Shot after shot, he avoids my wrath, redirecting or flipping out of my path.
I frown, sweat beading around my hairline as I continue to pump light from my hands to knock Atlas on his ass. I advance toward him, ready to put the moves Nyx has taught me to good use.
Once I'm within an arm's length of him, I drop to the ground to sweep his legs out from under him, but he hops over me with ease, avoiding the maneuver. I tumble away to escape his grasp and leap to my feet, taking my fighting stance. I throw a punch and he deflects, giving me the opening I'm looking for. I smash my boot against his chest, landing a solid blow that makes him stumble backwards. I try to take advantage of his momentary misstep, but he's faster than me and is back on his feet before I can land another hit.
Like a deadly dance, we spin, kick, flip, tumble, and spar with one another. Ready to end this stalemate, I fake one way but turn in the opposite direction. With him slightly off-kilter, I take my shot and tackle him to the ground.
"Looks like you owe me a boot knife – "
My victory is short lived when he rolls me off him and slams me on my back, grabbing my wrists and pinning me down. I grunt, trying to escape, but he's not budging. Hovering above me, breathing just as heavy as I am, his hair tickles my forehead, but I refuse to react to it.
"Are you done?" he growls, not in anger, but in exhaustion. "Are you done running from me?"
I narrow my eyes at him, nostrils flaring. We've been in this position before when he caught me trying to escape in Bava after sinking his ship. At the time, I was plotting his demise. This time, he's so close to me, if I wanted to, I could kiss him. So, I do. I shoot up a few inches and smash my lips against his. He releases my wrists and slides a hand to cup my jawline. With my hands finally free, I two-hand shove him over, so he's lying on his back. I mount him, squeezing my thighs around his torso and sweep my tongue inside his mouth, drawing a ragged moan from him. The peppermint on his breath drives me wild and the roughness of his fighting leathers between my thighs has me seeing stars.
Seven hells, what am I doing?
