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Zander’s expression remains flat, his tone deadpan. “I do not wish to be a part of whatever it is you are planning to do, Ash.”

Ash leans forward, winking. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Plus, I need a wingman.”

Zander’s eyes narrow slightly as he crosses his arms, clearly not amused. Oberon, on the other hand, glares at Ash with an intensity that says, ‘Don’t test me.’

Ash raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, no need to give me that look,” he says, grinning even wider, clearly delighted by the tension. “I’ll behave. . . .”

Oberon doesn’t smile. Instead, his gaze shifts back to me, the weight of it almost too much to bear. “Let’s make sure you’re ready for what comes next,” he says, voice carrying the unspoken promise of how hard he planned to push me today. The rest of the team may have their banter, but I know with Oberon, there are no shortcuts.

After we finish our breakfast, Zander and Ash wander off, leaving me with my thoughts. I can’t help but wonder what kind of fun they’ll be having in the village, enjoying the simple freedom I can’t quite bring myself to embrace.

Despite my lingering curiosity, I follow Oberon, feeling the familiar tension in my chest as we walk back to the training area where Zander and I have spent countless hours.

He waves me forward with a casual flick of his hand, his voice low and commanding. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

A knot tightens in my stomach, nerves threatening to take over. I advance, but every step feels like it is under a magnifying glass, his focus making my skin burn.

I know, I can’t take him. Hell, he knows I can’t take him. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

The moment I lunge, he moves faster. I aim low, feigning left before pivoting to the right, hoping to slip past him, but he sees it coming. Before my foot even plants, he turns into me, cutting off my escape with a sharp step forward.

I barely have time to shift before his hand shoots out, catching my wrist. I twist, trying to break free, but his grip is like iron. I jerk back, using my momentum to pull away, but he uses it against me. In a single fluid motion, he yanks me forward instead of resisting, sending me off balance. My foot falters. That single misstep is all he needed.

He is behind me in an instant. His arm comes around my waist, pulling me flush against him as his other hand wrenches my captured wrist behind my back. I buck, trying to throw him off, but he holds firm, his grip calculated, his stance unwavering. Every time I struggle, he adjusts effortlessly, as if he has already anticipated every move I might make.

I throw my head back, aiming for his face, but he evades just in time, his breath warm against my ear as he exhales a quiet chuckle.

My next instinct is to stomp on his foot, but before I can, he shifts again, maneuvering me so seamlessly that it feels like I am walking right into the trap myself.

I am caught, and the worst part isn’t the position I find myself in, but how natural it feels. The way his body molds against mine, solid and sure, makes me feel safe in a way I don’t want to acknowledge. The heat from him seeps into me, his breath steady, unshaken, as if he could hold me there forever. I push the thoughts from my mind, trying to focus on the battle at hand, but every inch of me seems to respond to him.

When he finally releases me, the tension between us still crackles, and he readjusts his stance with the quiet authority I am beginning to admire. “Again,” he says, his voice laced with determination.

After a few failed attempts, the heat starts to get to us both. Sweat starts to bead down his forehead as he removes his shirt, tossing it to the side.

My body betrays me, a rush of heat flooding my chest, my breath hitching at the sight of the muscles shifting under his skin. How am I supposed to focus on sparring when everything inside me wants to just look at him? The fine line between discipline and desire is starting to blur, and I hate myself for it.

Without warning, he is upon me quicker than before. A swift kick sweeps my legs out from under me, and I hit the ground with a thud. Before I can even process the fall, he is there, on top of me, pinning me down with his weight. His bare chest hovers above mine, and the proximity, the strength of his hold, leaves me breathless and frozen, caught between the fight I should be waging and the intense sensation of his body so close to mine.

I can't think. Can't move. His scent, the warmth of his skin, and the feel of him pressing down on me all short-circuit my mind.

Then, his voice, low and teasing, whispers in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re not supposed to be enjoying this.” His wicked grin is evident even before I feel the flicker of it against my skin.

It feels like a warning, but his grin says something else entirely, something that sends my heart into overdrive and makes the air feel thick between us. I don’t know whether to push him off me or pull him closer, and the fact that I even consider the latter makes my stomach twist with confusion and desire. The battle isn’t just physical anymore. It is something deeper.

“I am not,” I snap, but the words feel weak, even to my own ears. I am, and we both know it.

“Tsk, tsk. I can smell your . . . excitement,” he teases, his voice laced with something dangerously playful. The words strike me like a physical blow. My face flushes, but I force my expression to remain unreadable, the heat crawling up my neck despite my efforts to suppress it.

I can't let him see how much his proximity is affecting me, how much his words are unraveling the thread of control I am desperately holding on to.

With a sharp breath, I gather what little composure I have left. I use his body weight against him, rolling him off me with a practiced move. He lets me. Of course, I can’t move him unless he wants to be moved.

“I surrender,” he purrs, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. His hands, warm and firm, settle on my thighs.

I freeze, my heart suddenly racing in a way that has nothing to do with the sparring match.

As I sit up, his eyes still lock on me with that knowing gaze, I realize just how much worse the situation has become.