Fallon
I can still feel the heat of Kane's grip on my wrist long after he lets go. It lingers like an invisible brand, seeping beneath my skin, curling into my bones. Even as I flex my fingers and shake my arm out, trying to dispel the sensation, it remains.
Damn him.
I inhale sharply, forcing my expression into something neutral, something unaffected. But I know Kane. He notices everything, and the way his gaze lingers on me, sharp as the edge of a blade, tells me he knows I'm rattled.
Good. He should be, too.
The training yard is nearly empty now, the sun dipping below the horizon, bleeding red and gold across the sky. The wind stirs, cool against my heated skin, and I focus on it, trying to ground myself. But my mind is a battlefield, tangled between the push and pull of whatever this thing is between Kane and me.
It's reckless. It's dangerous. And I should put an end to it before it gets worse.
But the problem is, I don't want to.
I roll my shoulders, sheathing my sword with a practiced flick of my wrist. Kane is still watching me, standing with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. That's the most frustrating thing about himâhe's impossible to decipher. Even now, after weeks of training under him, of clashing both physically and verbally, I don't know what's going on behind those piercing green eyes.
"Are we done for the night?" I ask, keeping my voice steady, controlled.
Kane tilts his head slightly, his gaze dark and assessing. For a moment, I think he's going to push me harder, like he always does, but then he exhales and nods.
"For now," he says. "Get some rest. Tomorrow won't be any easier."
It never is.
I give a mock salute, ignoring the way my pulse spikes when his lips twitch into something that almost resembles a smirk. Almost. But then it's gone, replaced by the usual cold indifference he wears like armor.
Fine. Two can play that game.
I turn on my heel and make my way toward the barracks, each step measured, deliberate. I won't let him see how much he affects me. I won't give him that satisfaction.
But as I disappear into the dim corridors of the stone halls, I know the truth: Kane Vaelrik is becoming a problem.
And I have no idea how to stop it.
â
Sleep evades me.
I lie in my bunk, staring at the ceiling, replaying the training session over and over in my head. The way he moved, the way he looked at me, the way he touched me. It wasn't the first time Kane had grabbed my wrist in a fight, but tonightâtonight, it was different.
The air had felt thick, charged with something unspoken. Something dangerous. And the worst part? I didn't hate it.
I sigh, scrubbing a hand down my face. This is ridiculous. I can't afford to let my mind wander like this. I have a goal, a purpose. Becoming a Valdyr is the only thing that matters. I can't afford distractions. Especially not distractions with piercing green eyes and a gaze that makes my blood run hot.
Frustrated, I throw off my blanket and slip out of bed. The barracks are quiet, my fellow trainees lost in the depths of their own exhaustion. I envy them. I could use the escape.
But since sleep refuses to come, I might as well put my restless energy to good use.
I grab my training tunic and boots, dressing quickly before slipping out into the night.
â
The training grounds are deserted at this hour, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. The only sounds are the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl. It's peaceful in a way the day never is.
I unsheathe my sword, gripping the hilt tightly as I take position in the center of the yard. The weight of the blade is familiar, comforting. Here, I don't have to think. Here, it's just me and the steel, moving as one.
I fall into the familiar rhythm of drills, my body flowing through the motions with precision. Each strike, each parry, each step is a calculated dance, honed through years of practice.
And for a while, it works. The restlessness fades, my thoughts dulling into the repetition of movement.
Until I hear a slow clap behind me.
I spin on instinct, sword raised, only to find Kane leaning against the fence, arms crossed over his broad chest, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"Couldn't sleep?" he muses, pushing off the post and taking a few lazy steps toward me.
I scowl, lowering my blade. "What are you doing here?"
He shrugs. "Same as you, apparently."
My pulse quickens as he stops a few feet away, too close, and yet not close enough. The moonlight catches the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows across his cheekbones. He looks... different at night. Less controlled. Less composed.
I hate how much I notice.
I exhale, tightening my grip on my sword. "I needed to clear my head."
"Did it work?"
No. Not when you're standing this close, looking at me like that.
I lift my chin. "It was. Until you showed up."
Kane smirks, and I swear I feel it like a physical touch. "Careful, Draythar. Someone might think you don't like me."
I scoff, rolling my eyes, but before I can come up with a retort, he steps even closer. The air shifts, the space between us shrinking to something almost unbearable.
My heart pounds.
I don't move.
Neither does he.
We stand there, locked in some silent battle of wills, and I know I should step back. I should break the tension, return to my drills, remind myself of all the reasons why thisâwhatever this isâcan't happen.
But I don't.
I hold my ground, staring up at him, daring him to be the one to back down first.
His gaze flickers to my lips. Just for a second. But I see it. I feel it.
Something unspoken lingers between us, something raw and electric, and for a moment, I wonderâ
But then he steps back, the moment shattering like glass.
"Don't stay out too late," he says, his voice lower than before. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow."
And just like that, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the shadows.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my hands shaking slightly as I lower my sword.
Damn him.
I don't know what game Kane Vaelrik is playing, but I'm starting to think we're both losing.