Page 53 of Property of Scar

The distance between us disappears as he comes at me with vampire speed, and I catch his forearm before the strike can land. The impact rattles everything inside me, but I ride the force instead of fighting it, pivoting inside his reach and driving my shoulder into his chest.

He gives ground half a step.

That’s all I get.

His hand catches my wrist before I can capitalize, twisting my momentum into his. Suddenly, I’m the one being turned, my back brushing his chest as he steps in close enough that I feel his breath against my temple as he holds me against him tight.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.

His grip tightens around my wrist.

I turn my head.

He’s already looking at me.

Too close.

Close enough that my eyes drop to his mouth before I can stop them. Something shifts between us. His gaze follows mine, and for one dangerous second, it feels like neither of us remembers why we’re standing on the mat in the first place. My heart hammers in my chest, my breathing quickens, goose bumps pebble along my arms, and it’s like my skin is on fire where he’s touching me, even though his hands are ice cold.

His mouth parts just a fraction, and it’s all I need to bring me back to reality.

I wrench free. The moment snaps as I spin out of his reach and fire a strike toward his ribs.

His forearm knocks it aside. “Predictable,” he says, his voice as calm as ever, even as he drops low and sweeps for my legs.

I hop over it, landing lightly and already circling. “And yet… you still haven’t put me on my ass.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “I don’t need to.” He steps back in, one hand cutting toward my throat with that same relentless precision. “I just have to wait.”

I catch his wrist before it lands, shove it off line, and drive my elbow up into his ribs.

This time, it connects solidly.

I feel it, but he doesn’t react.

“Right,” I breathe out, a sharp grin pulling at my mouth as I pull back. “Super strength. No flinching. That’s inconvenient.”

His fingers close around my wrist on the follow-through. “You’ll adjust.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

He turns my momentum against me, pulling me forward, but I go with it, dropping low, twisting under his arm, and coming back up inside his space. My hand braces against his chest for leverage.

I shove off him harder than necessary and come back in faster.

We collide again, the impact carrying us both this time as I drive him backward, step by step, until his spine hits a weight bench hard enough to send it screeching across the floor. The metal groans, then tips, crashing behind him.

“Oops,” I say sweetly. “That one might have been me.”

“It was,” he agrees calmly. Then his grip shifts, and the change is immediate. His hand slides from my arm to my waist, the contact deliberate, and suddenly I’m too aware of it, too aware of how easily he controls the space between us.

I go to adjust, to drop my weight, but he’s already moved.

Already decided.

The ground disappears under me in one smooth, brutal motion, my body lifting before I can stop it, before I can counter. His strength is absolute, leaving no room for negotiation.

My breath catches, sharp and involuntary, as my balance snaps out from under me, the room tilting as my feet leave the mat.