Page 159 of Resurgent

Looking down, I'd instantly spotted ‘Chase from the gym’ and a ten-digit number scribbled across the page.

When I glanced back up, he was already jogging backward down the hall, grin somehow getting even wider.

“Text me.”

I opened my mouth, not entirely sure what to say, when he'd cupped his hands around his mouth and called back—

“You better not keep me waiting any longer, Corvin.”

I blink.

Wait—what? That’s not right.

“Corvin!” the voice is deeper now. Rougher. Familiar enough to make every muscle in my body relax.

My head snaps to the middle of the arena where Korr is impatiently waiting, two training blades glinting in his hands. His expression is unimpressed and impatient…and I’m afraid to ask just how long he’s been trying to get my attention.

"Come on, Corvin. You're with me," he says, passing me a blade when I approach.

Slipping into fighting position as easily as we did during training sessions at his house, our footing mirroring each other’s in a way that would have raised questions if everyone didn’t already believe Dean Stevens had “assigned” these makeup lessons.

A few months ago, he would have had me on my ass almost instantly, but I've practiced with him and Matt enough since the attack to know how he thinks.

Still confident from my run, I don’t hesitate to take the first strike, something Hunter clearly isn’t expecting, though he recovers just as my blade connects with his shoulder.

Rolling it out once to shake off the light sting, he spins the blade in his hand like it weighs nothing. His eyes—focused, and entirely too amused—drag slowly over me.

“Again.”

I grit my teeth and come at him harder this time, leading with a quick feint to his ribs before pivoting high for his shoulder.

Steel cracks against steel as he parries both without giving up an inch.

“You’re being predictable again.”

“And you’re being an asshole,” I murmur. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were jealous."

“Jealous? No, love, this isn’t jealousy. I am furious. I am possessive. I am barely holding myself together after watching that boy put his hands on you multiple times when you were never his to touch.” He leans closer, lips brushing against my ear. “So, no, Love. I’m not jealous. I’m downright fucking murderous.”

Hunter’s grin only widens as he starts pressing me across the mat, his strikes sharp, controlled, and so him. Left. Right. High. Low.

But I hold with everything I have.

Pivot. Block. Retreat. Parry. Every lesson from him, every bruise from Matt, every frustrating afternoon behind his house is finally paying off.

Well, sort of.

I don’t land another clean hit—not even close, but I don’t go down either. I don’t drop my blade, and I definitely don’t hand him a single easy opening.

Our weapons slam into a brutal bind, my shoes skidding against the mat as I fight to hold my ground.

“Better,” he says approvingly, just as the bell rings signaling the end of class.

Watching him lower his sword, my eyes catch on the glistening sweat running down his muscles before a taunting ‘tsk, tsk’ pulls my attention back to his face.

A slow, wicked smile curves his mouth before he rolls his shoulders, mask of pissed-off instructor sliding back into place.

“Careful, Seiri,” his dark eyes lock on mine, “keep looking at me like that, and I might forget where we are and punish you for that little stunt you pulled.”