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I shrug. “I need to train. I’m rusty.”
“So this is self-serving?”
“Does it matter? You want me to win, right?”
A breathy grunt of agreement. “On that note, you must understand your ability to sense the flow of magic. It will be crucial to passing all three trials in the final tournament.”
My ears prick up. This is the first I’ve learned of the exhibition tournament. The pamphlet was vague. “What are they?”
“First, you must escape a nightmare dreamscape. Second, you will battle a nightmare in the flesh. And the third is a heist—infiltration of the subterranean.”
My skin prickles with unease. “How is that an exhibition when no one can witness it? I assume the rest of Avorlorna isn’t going to come with us into the subterranean?”
He gives me a flat look. “What was the lesson you learned on day one?”
“Never assume.” I sigh, shaking my head.
“There are charms that relay images,” he offers. “Similar to the resonance stone.”
A charm that relays images? Aunt Peaches would love to know about that. I’ll have to bring one home to her. The thought of returning to Elphyne constricts my chest. Procuring manabeeze should be at the top of my to-do list. If that fails, winning this tournament is still my best bet for returning home.
“Does everyone else know the trial details?” I ask.
“The repeat exhibitors do. But your competition is not your concern. No charm can sense the flow of magic as you do. Since Terrors prey on your fears and weaknesses, then turn them against you—knowing what is reality will give you the path to domination.” His wide lips flatten. “We must strengthen that ability.”
He lashes out to grip my wrist, spins me, and shoves me face-first to the ground. Adding insult to injury, he presses a knee to my spine and growls into my ear, “I’m starting to think rumors of your calamity were falsified.”
Fucker.
He shoves off, leaving me in a pool of hot, prickly embarrassment.
“You took me by surprise,” I return, climbing to my feet.
I glance down to dust myself. My attention wavers for a blink. An instant. But he’s on me in a snap, trapping my face with his large hand, voice guttural as he snarls, “Distractions will get you killed.”
He has my lips smooshed like a pancake, forcing my eyes to his—my heart races. There’s something about how he is stoic one moment but switches to primal and dominant the next. Part of me wants to stab him still, but the animal part Fox awoke is vibrating.
I can’t start feeling all swoony over him, too. Can’t breathe in his leather-and-spice scent and like it. But the kernel of attraction started days ago when he carried me on a drift. This only adds fuel to the fire.
“You seem a little tense, sir,” I mumble through squashed lips.
His biting pressure almost bruises me, but I’m not afraid.
I’ve been studying him as he studies me. His fighting style is blunt, with no frills. Fast and arrogant. It’s the kind of style belonging to apex predators who’ve been on top of the food chain forever.
He lets go and steps back with a grunt.
As we circle each other, I work my jaw to test for damage. It’s just an ache. He knows exactly how much force to exert without causing lasting harm. I wonder who he practices on.
His next strike comes with the prickle of fire ants over my left side. Shadow rises to hide his swing, but I block left and send a right hook into his ribs. My fist glances off.
Oh, that hurt. I shake my smarting hand. “Are you made of stone?”
Suddenly, I’m tossed off my feet, sailing through the air and landing with a spine-jarring thud. His unyielding weight pins me. His teeth clamp hard on my neck, shooting needles of painand lust into my body. I bite back a moan. Does he not know this is how wolves mate? They pin their female down, bite her, then rut. Every ounce of my blood begs me to submit to Bodin, to invite his leathery scent in deep.
But his coiled tension stills me. I must have said something wrong. He has me in his teeth, and my insides are in a frenzy. I squirm, and he bites down harder, knee pushing between my legs. I gasp as his thigh hits my apex, tingling every nerve ending Fox left begging for more.
“Keep squirming like that and see what happens,” he mumbles against my flesh, no longer biting.
