Novak stood in the center of the room, while Layla went straight to the bathroom, escaping us both. She’d woken up this morning all flustered and had done much the same—run off under the pretense of needing to wash her hair.
But Novak and I knew what she’d really been doing.
We could smell her arousal, the cherry aroma a flavor on our tongues as she came undone in the privacy of the shower.
I swallowed as that ripening scent met my nose again now, her sweetness a perfume I could easily lose myself in. “Want to spar?” I asked through my teeth.
Novak started stretching in response, his jaw tightening from the knowledge of what Layla was doing in the other room.
If she’d done this before today, I wasn’t sure. Maybe something had changed. Or maybe I’d just been oblivious.
Regardless, I felt so much more in tune with her after holding her last night. Like we’d surpassed some sort of invisible barrier that tied us together on a new level. I tried not to overanalyze it. All I knew was it made me much more aware of her than before.
“Her courtship period,” Novak said as he straightened up from a leg stretch. “When does it end?”
I blinked at him. “When she finds a mate.”
He stared at me expectantly.
I stared back.
“Someone compatible, or someone chosen?” he pressed.
“If it was just the former, then her courtship would have ended before it even started,” I replied. “She’s known me for years.”
“So both,” he said as he swung his arm to wake it up. Then he rolled his neck.
“Yeah, both,” I agreed, very aware that he was trying to imply something. But if he meant to suggest that Layla had chosen me as a mate, he was very wrong. She knew better than to deem me worthy of her.
He considered me for a moment, then lowered into a fighting stance. “Ready.”
I warmed up my arms and legs first, then mimicked his position. “No drawing blood.” He still had that knife from the guard incident, and I had my own as well. “Unless it’s a punch,” I clarified. Because I would happily break his nose if he kept smirking at me like that.
He arched a brow, daring me to make the first move.
I scrutinized our surroundings, deciding my best path forward. We were between the window and the bed, with the workout corner to my left. The small table was behind me. And he just had the wall at his back, as the nightstand was between the mattress and the bathroom door.
All right.
That left him without an escape route—unless he hopped over the bed—and me with a lot more ground to work with.
I didn’t want to risk switching positions, as mine was more favorable.
So I stepped forward and ducked to try to swipe his legs out from beneath him. He jumped, using his wings to suspend him a moment longer than necessary, then rolled toward the window while kicking out in the direction of my jaw as I went to stand up.
I leaned back, barely missing his heel—which would have seriously hurt with those thick boots of his—and almost fell on my ass.
He recovered faster, coming at me with his fist, nailing my jaw before I could move out of the way, but I sent my own punch into his midsection, smiling as he let out an “Oomph.”
It was a short-lived amusement because my ass hit the floor in the next moment. “Fuck,” I muttered, not even sure of how he’d knocked me down that fast.
He remained standing, his expression amused as he waited for me to find my footing. I used my wings to push myself up off the floor and squared off with him again, my back still to the table and his still to the wall.
But then we started circling, neither of us sure who would strike first.
And then Novak moved, his hand coming for my throat. I went to grab his wrist, except it’d been a fake-out, his knee being the true threat.
It hit my side, no doubt leaving a bruise on my rib cage, and I elbowed him in the face to demonstrate my gratitude.
