Page 58 of Heimlock

Trinte’s scowl deepens as the distance between us closes. When he crosses his arms, the pose serves to emphasize his biceps. Those stupidly glorious biceps. My heart sinks as his tail slinks away from me.

“I thought we had an agreement,” he drawls when I’m close enough.

“Yeah, well, you’ve been ignoring my texts,” I snipe. “It’s rude, you know.”

Trinte’s eyes flick over my head, his expression flattening into boredom. “A smarter person would take it as a hint.”

Is this man calling me dumb? Try as I might, I’m unable to match his expression. Instead, my face twists with anger. “You left me at the restaurant without explaining what happened. I thought we were actually on the same page.”

“Clearly not,” he says flatly, looking at me again. “I refuse to make things messy for my brother and Orliana. We — you — declared this a neutral zone. I expect you to respect that, Kyrielle.”

His admonishment almost makes me wilt, but instead, I lift my chin and ball my fists. “If we’re going to be spending a ton of time together, we can’t have this back and forth, Trinte.”

“Agreed. It bores me. You bore me.”

The words are blades. It takes every ounce of self control not to visibly wince. “Now you’re a liar?”

“Am I?” He raises an eyebrow. “Kyrielle, this is not on me.” He steps closer, bending over to whisper, “You are the one who said it was a one-time thing. You are the one who told me to keep my distance here. You are the one who has rejected me repeatedly.”

His words sting because they’re all true. At the root of it all, I’m the problem. It’s cruel, continuously engaging him like this, only to put distance between us when it becomes too much.

Please do not engage with him if you’re not willing to make it stick.

Fynn’s words echo in my mind as I stare at his brother. The dunghole is prickly, brash, and downright cruel at times.

Then again, so am I.

He turns to collect his belongings, effectively dismissing me. Except there’s not a man on this planet who can dismiss me without my consent.

I grab his elbow; Trinte flinches, yanking it away. Whirling, he glares. “What the fuck are you doing, Kyrielle?”

His reaction causes those around us to pause, watching with curious expressions. Heat blazes across my body, the embarrassment almost too much.

“Stop causing a scene,” I hiss. “I’m trying to talk to you. To apol—”

“I can’t take anymore of your games,” he snarls, tail thumping with anger. Lowering his voice, he says, “I’m not interested in another one-night stand, Kyrielle. I’m not some fuck doll you can pull out for a ride or two, then put on a shelf for another few months until your pussy craves it again.”

His crudeness makes me take a step back. Does Trinte truly think I view him as a plaything?

I hold out my hands, trying to placate him. “I just want to talk, okay? Let’s just—”

“Enough.” The command cracks like distant thunder as he brushes past me, shoulder checking me. There’s at least a dozen people observing this altercation, but my anxiety won’t allow me to look any of them in the eye. This conversation was a disaster, and now the gossip mill would activate over this.

Approaching him here was a severe error in judgment. I’ve pushed him away too many times. The only way he’s going to listen, to give me one more chance, is if I force his hand.

Spotting Coach in the crowd, I weave through the sweaty bodies, determined to set my plans in motion.

I’ll make Trinte talk to me, one way or another.

23

“Are you sure about this?” Coach asks, looking me up and down. I’m wearing leather pants without a shirt and black boots. The crowd outside roars for fighters already battling it out. On a weekend night, it’s packed.

I thought I’d be nervous, but I’m not. While I might not have done a battle with the audience present, I’ve been training for years. For my debut, I’m doing a no-holds-barred, including using my powers, with Coach.

It’s always impressed me how much Coach Richor allows his students to maim him for fun. He claims there’s no pain, but I’m curious how he’ll feel about my electricity.

Because I have a lot inside me that needs to be let out. Kyrielle and I haven’t spoken in a week, not since the absurd confrontation. She sent a couple of texts to check on me; I ignored both of them. We will be cordial as we help Fynn plan his engagement. During family-related events, I’ll be polite. But there’s no longer any reason to engage in something further.