The next day, Azrael leads me through the trees in a new direction, deeper than we have gone before, until the forest opens into a wide grassy meadow. The earth is soft beneath my feet, the air open and clear, the sky stretched endlessly above us.

  If I’m honest with myself, I’m nervous.

  Not because I don’t know how to fight. I do. I grew up sparring with Kellan and the others in the Vale pack. I held my own. Some days, I even won. Most days, actually.

  No, this nervousness is different.

  If combat training goes anything like the rest of my lessons, I’m in for something unfamiliar. Something that will push me in ways I don’t yet understand. My wolf, for now, is content. Not pleased, exactly, but calm. Watchful.

  Azrael notices my reserve.

  “It’s going to be alright,” he says. “I won’t go too hard on you today.”

  Today.

  I draw in a slow breath and let it out. I can do this. This is for my own good. For everyone else’s. If I master this, maybe I can go home.

  “Take this position and hold it,” he says, planting his feet apart and lifting his hands.

  I mirror him easily, muscle memory settling into place. He steps closer anyway, adjusting me with practiced precision. His hands shift my stance, widen my footing, tilt my wrists just slightly inward.

  My wolf sparks with interest. I push her quiet.

  “This isn’t brute strength,” he says. “It’s balance. You won’t overpower your opponent, so you need to use your size intelligently.”

  He steps back, facing me.

  “I’m going to move slowly,” he continues. “When I strike, block. Watch everything. Understood?”

  I nod. Simple enough.

  He swings slowly toward my head, controlled but deliberate. I block late, flinching more than I should, and grimace.

  He doesn’t scold.

  “It’s fine. Again.”

  This time, I meet him cleanly, forearm catching his strike before it lands.

  “Good,” he says. “Again.”

  He shifts angles, circling now, changing rhythm. I block, pivot, adjust. The strikes come one after another, measured but relentless. This is nothing like sparring in the Vale. There’s no predictable pattern. No reliance on strength or speed.

  Then he stops and turns his back to me.

  “Your instincts are good,” he says. “But your footwork needs refinement.”

  He moves, slow at first, feet gliding across the grass with barely a sound. It isn’t aggressive.

  It’s fluid.

  Almost graceful.

  Like a dance.

  “Follow me,” he says. “Watch my feet.”

  I hesitate only a moment before stepping into sync with him. At first, it feels awkward, unfamiliar. Then something clicks. My body begins to understand the rhythm beneath the movement. Like the flow of water. We pivot, circle, pass each other, arms rising and falling in silent blocks.

  This isn’t combat the way I know it.

  It’s something else entirely.

  “Lirian,” he snaps.

  I blink. “I’m paying attention.” I say, not very convincingly.

  “Then do as I do.”

  I fall fully into the pattern. My feet move when his do. My arms follow without thought. The motions flow together until I no longer need to watch him to know where to step next.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He spins suddenly, striking faster now.

  I react without thinking. Block. Shift. Block again. He drops low, sweeping for my legs, and I jump cleanly over the attack.

  He straightens, eyes bright with approval.

  “Very good.”

  We continue until the sun shifts overhead. He increases speed. Pressure. Precision.

  And I keep pace.

  Because I’m not learning how to fight.

  I’m learning how to move. How to anticipate.

  And that is something entirely new.

  Hours pass as we work through footwork, blocks, pivots, balance techniques. The sun climbs until it hangs directly overhead, unclouded and relentless. Heat presses down, thick and heavy.

  Sweat trickles down my neck, slides between my shoulder blades, soaks the thin fabric of my shirt. My limbs tremble with exhaustion. Azrael looks much the same at a glance, shirt darkened with sweat, muscles slick with exertion.

  But he does not look tired.

  Not even a little.

  “How does he still have so much energy?” I mutter under my breath.

  I lift a hand, breaking the flow, and bend at the waist, hands braced on my knees.

  “I need a break,” I pant.

  He nods, approval flickering across his expression.

  I sink into the grass without ceremony, sprawling onto my back and staring up at the blazing sky. The earth is warm beneath me, the faint breeze finally finding my skin, brushing away heat and sweat as it passes.

  Then I hear a soft rustle.

  I lift my head just in time to see Azrael toss his shirt aside.

  The last time I saw this much of him, his skin had been traced in intricate markings that shimmered gold and black depending in the light. Like a statue etched in fire. But now, beneath the full strength of the sun, his curse marks are gone. His skin is bare and smooth, faint dustings of hair catching the light.

  And yet.

  Something else draws my attention.

  Along the side of his ribs, partially hidden in shadow, there is a tattoo. Dark. Black. Deliberate.

  I push myself upright. “What is that?”

  He steps back immediately. “It’s nothing.”

  “Is that a tattoo?” I ask, moving closer.

  “Yes,” he says, already turning away. “It’s just a tattoo.”

  “Let me see.” I grin, exhaustion melting into mischief. “Come on, Azrael.”

  He sighs, long and resigned, then finally relents. Slowly, reluctantly, he turns back and lifts his arm enough to reveal it.

  I lean in.

  Before I can fully take it in, he turns away again.

  “See? Happy now?”

  “No,” I snap, laughing. “You moved too fast.”

  “It’s personal,” he says, quieter now.

  “Fine,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

  I turn away dramatically, then spin back without warning and grab his arm.

  Only I misjudge my footing.

  The world tilts. I stumble, taking him with me, and we crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs and laughter. He takes most of the impact, the air leaving his chest in a sharp huff as my laughter spills out uncontrollably.

  I laugh harder than I have in months. My stomach aches, muscles protesting the unfamiliar release. Tears sting my eyes.

  When I finally look at him, he is laughing too.

  Not a smirk. Not a quiet huff.

  A real laugh. Deep and melodic, vibrating through his chest and into me where I still lie sprawled against him.

  The sight steals my breath.

  This hardened rogue, this solitary figure whispered about in warnings, looks suddenly human.

  My laughter fades as I take him in. My wolf purrs softly, pressing closer as if she belongs there. For a moment, neither of us moves.

  Time stretches.

  Connection. Closeness. Something fragile and rare.

  I am happy.

  Just for that moment, the fear loosens its grip. It is selfish. Probably wrong. But I want to stay like this a little longer.

  Too bad.

  He clears his throat.

  I sit up and shift away, brushing grass from my clothes. As I turn to face him, my gaze catches the tattoo again. This time, from this angle, I see more. The lines. The script. Similar to the writing in his book, but not the same.

  Why would he tattoo something like that onto his skin? Why hide it?

  Before I can ask, something warm and small lands on my leg.

  I freeze.

  A chipmunk sits there, chittering softly as if trying to speak, bright eyes fixed on me.

  I glance at Azrael. His expression mirrors my shock, though he masks it quickly.

  “Hello, little one,” I say uncertainly.

  Another movement.

  A squirrel hops onto my other leg, tail flicking.

  I laugh, nerves creeping in. “Are you two hungry? I’m afraid I have nothing worth eating.”

  I gesture toward the treeline. “Move along now.”

  Just then a robin lands on my finger.

  I stare.

  When I look back at Azrael, his surprise is gone, replaced by something far more serious.

  “We should go back,” he says flatly. “It’s getting late.”

  I rise carefully, and the animals scatter at once, vanishing into the brush.

  As we head back toward the cave, I try to lighten the moment. “Well… that was odd.”

  He does not answer.

  And silence follows us all the way home.