Her arm was twig-thin in his grasp.He could snap the bone with a twitch of his thumb.
“Emily,” he warned, releasing her.“Stop.”
“No!”She swung again with the other hand.
He caught that one, too.
“Fight me!”she demanded, the sound tearing out of her throat raw and ragged.She tried to kick him, her boot connecting harmlessly with his shin guard.“Do something.Don’t just stand there like a statue!”
Blocking a flurry of strikes, he moved automatically… left, right, parry.She was fast, fueled by adrenaline and rage, but she had no technique.Instead, she threw herself at him like water crashing against a cliff.
He didn't stop her.Didn't want to.She was fierce and furious and he wanted to see what happened when she stopped holding back.
She grunted, throwing her whole weight into a shove.He didn’t budge, but he let her push him back a step.
“Is that all you have?”she panted, hair falling into her eyes.Sweat beaded on her forehead, and dampened the collar of the black tunic.“You’re supposed to be a warrior.”
“If I fight you,” he said, his voice dropping to a growl he hadn’t intended, “you will break.”
“I’m already broken!”
She launched herself at him.Not a strike this time, but a tackle.Slamming into his chest, she wrapped her arms around his waist and tried to drive him back… tried to move him.
She was as weak as a day olddeearin,and in a fight against him, she stood no chance,but the impact still knocked the breath from his lungs as she touched him.
Suddenly, she was everywhere.Her body pressed against his, soft curves against hard muscle.Her heat seeped through his leathers to his skin beneath.Her scent—sun-warm earth and something sharper, saltier—filled his nose until it drowned out the training hall's smell of old socks and sweat.
He caught her by the shoulders to stabilize her, but she twisted, trying to trip him.They grappled, a clumsy dance of limbs and leverage.
He forgot she was the Emperor’s.He forgot everything else.All he knew was the feel of her struggling in his grip—the fierce, defiant life of her.
Spinning her, he used her own momentum against her and took her down to the mat.It wasn’t gentle.It was the instinctive reaction of a predator securing its catch.They hit the floor with a thud.He landed on top of her, catching his weight on his elbows at the last second to keep from crushing her.
Silence slammed back into the room.
She lay beneath him, chest heaving.Her eyes were wide, dark pupils blown as she stared up at him.Parting her lips, she let out short, sharp gasps that fanned across his throat.
Her legs caged him.His hips were pressed into the soft cradle of hers.
She washis.The certainty was possessive, absolute, and nothing he had any right to feel.She was under him, and she fit there, and every part of him knew it.
The world narrowed to the pulse beating frantically at the base of her throat.He saw the vein fluttering under pale skin, and he wanted his mouth there… wanted to taste the salt on her skin and feel the vibration of her breath against his tongue.
He lowered his head.Just an inch.Just enough to inhale her.
The air around her was hot with exertion, but underneath that… sweetness.A deep sweetness that called to something in his blood.
She didn’t push him away.Her hands, which had been beating against his chest moments ago, went still.Her fingers curled into the leather of his tunic, gripping him.Holding him there.
“Raaevik,” she whispered.
The sound of his name on her lips was like a strike to the solar plexus.
He should move.Hehadto move.Every second he stayed here was a step closer to the executioner’s block.
But he couldn’t.His muscles were locked.His blood roared in his ears, drowning out duty… drowning out everything but her.
He shifted, and the friction of his body against hers sent a jolt of electricity straight to his groin.He was hard—painfully, dangerously hard.
