Page 29 of Heimlock

My lungs burn, and my body begins to slow. Tears prick my eyes. One slips down my cheek, immediately joining beads of sweat. For some reason, this isn’t improving my mood — it’s souring me to the core.

“Trinte?”

A quiet voice breaks through my hateful haze. Immediately, I draw up, lowering my fists. Through my tears, I see apricot hair and burning eyes. Reaching down for my towel, I wipe away the sweat and emotional evidence.

Kyrielle assesses my every move, worry drawing her brows together. “Are you okay?”

If I open my mouth, something hateful is going to come out. It’s not intended for her, so instead, I dig my fangs into my lips.

Her mouth purses when all I do is nod. She eyes the spatters of sweat on the punching bag and the blood seeping through my wraps. My tears instantly dried at the sound of her voice, but I’m sure my good eye is bloodshot.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

My tail lashes in irritation. Why is she here, acting like she cares? The last time we saw one another here, she told me to never approach her again. The hypocrisy is infuriating.

Even though the gym is mostly empty, I need to keep a level head in this conversation.

Swallowing my emotions, shoving them down as hard as possible, I say evenly, “No. How can I help you?”

It’s unusual to see her uncertain, but when she nibbles at her lip, my interest is piqued. “Well, Fynn told me you know about the plans with Orliana, so when I saw you over here, I thought maybe we should …”

Her jaw clenches, like speaking to me is painful.

Why wouldn’t she find speaking to me unbearable? I’m a shade of ugly bitterness that no one on this continent wants.

Ignoring the way my heart pinches, I save her the trouble. “We can text if being around me is too annoying. I’m sure it will suffice.”

Her eyes flare, and there’s a spark of something in her expression. “I didn’t say talking to you is annoying.”

Why is she acting like it is? “Look, you made it abundantly clear last week that I need to leave you alone, especially here. I respect that. You have my number. Text me.”

She watches as I sip the water. Holding her stare, I close the bottle. At least the buzzing under my skin is gone. Now everything throbs. Nothing a hot shower and tonic can’t take care of.

“Why are you always so mad at me?” she whispers.

Bending down, I gather all of my belongings. “I’m not mad at you, Kyrielle. I never have been.”

“Then why are you pushing me away?” The hurt look on her face squeezes my stomach, making me nauseous.

No. I won’t fall for whatever this nonsense is. Last week, she was telling me to leave her alone. Now she wants to gaslight me? Fuck that.

I cock my head at her. “At what point did you think you were ever close?”

Not waiting for a response, I leave her to marinate in the words. She said our hook-up was a one-time thing. There has never been a reason to believe she wants me for more than my body. Kyrielle is not welcome to show up and pretend it means anything now. Because it doesn’t. It was just sex.

And apparently, that’s all I’m good for.

11

Trinte brushes past me, leaving me with the truth — there’s nothing between us. So why in all twelve Hells do I have the urge to help him? I’m not like this with men. Telling him all those months ago that it’d be a one-time thing wasn’t out of the ordinary for me.

North has been an exception because he keeps our relationship in a vacuum. We see one another every couple of weeks, fuck, and that’s it until the next time. The moment he asks for more, I’ll cut it off.

Watching Trinte’s defeated form disappear into the locker room, I can’t shake the feeling that he needs someone. Ever since I ignored that instinct with Orliana, I swore that would never happen again.

It’s impossible to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, though.

Sighing, I look around the empty gym. Even Coach isn’t here. Checking the clock hanging over the battle practice ring, I curse under my breath. Speaking of, I’m supposed to meet North in two hours.