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"Thanks," she panted, the thrill of the hit lighting up her eyes.
"Didn't say you could stop," I reminded her, and we dove back into the exercise, a tangle of limbs and restrained power. With every strike and counterstrike, every dodge and weave, the air between us crackled, charged with the electricity of combat and unspoken challenges.
"Keep it up, and you might just make it out alive," I said, a half-threat, half-promise.
For a moment, just a fleeting second, I saw her—the real Celeste, raw and relentless. And it scared the hell out of me because, in that instance, she wasn't just some woman I was training. She was the mirror reflecting my own twisted hunger back at me.
"Come on, Celeste," I growled, my voice a low rumble of barely contained impatience. "This isn't a goddamn tea party."
She came at me like a storm, all flashing eyes and fiery hair, her body a weapon honed by the hour we'd spent locked in combat. I grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward me, but she used my momentum against me, flipping our positions with a deftness that made my dead heart lurch.
"Fuck," I hissed as we hit the mat, her curvy form pressing down on mine. Her chest heaved against my own, breaths hot and ragged, stirring the dark cravings I kept shackled within.
"Getting slow in your old age?" she taunted, but her voice was breathless, tinged with the thrill of our closeness.
"Never," I spat back, flipping us again with a surge of supernatural strength. My hands found her waist, fingers digging into the flesh just above her hips, and I could feel the heat radiating from her skin through the thin fabric of her training gear.
"Admit it, you're enjoying this," I murmured, my voice a dark promise as I pinned her beneath me. Our gazes clashed, and for an instant, I saw the same tempestuous desire reflected in her eyes that coursed through my veins.
"Maybe," she whispered, defiance etched in every line of her body despite her compromised position.
I couldn't hold back the snarl of satisfaction that tore from my throat. "Good."
It was a spark, a split second of vulnerability when our battle ceased to be just physical. Her lips were parted, breaths coming fast, and something in me snapped. I crushed my mouth to hers, the kiss a wildfire that raged through the both of us. She tasted like sweat and defiance, like a challenge I had no intention of losing.
"Damn you, Celeste," I breathed against her lips, my hands sliding up to tangle in her brown locks. The kiss deepened, tongues dueling with the same ferocity that had marked our sparring.
For those precious moments, the world beyond the training room—my doubts, the consequences, the godforsaken sire contract—vanished. There was only the intoxicating blend of danger and desire as we lost ourselves in the carnal rhythm of a dance older than my undead existence.
The kiss broke, leaving us gasping, our foreheads pressed together. The echoes of our mingled breaths filled the silence, and her pulse thrummed under my fingertips, a temptation to the monster within.
"Fuck," I swore softly, staring into her eyes, darkening with something more than just the adrenaline of combat. It was a dangerous game we played, one where the stakes were higher than either of us dared admit. But gods be damned if I didn't want to play it until the bitter end.
The world crashed back in a wave of sound as the door slammed against the wall. Celeste's weight vanished from me as she scrambled away, her eyes wide with shock. I twisted around to see Paul and Sofia framed in the doorway, their faces contorted with urgency—and something uglier in Sofia's case.
"Jesus-fucking-Christ," I muttered, shooting to my feet and fixing them with a glare that could curdle blood. "Ever heard of knocking?"
Sofia's lips curled in distaste, her gaze flickering between Celeste and me like we were vermin she couldn't decide whether to squash or simply sneer at. Jealousy oozed from her every pore, mixed with the kind of disgust you'd reserve for a traitor. Which, considering our past, wasn't far off the mark.
"Sorry to interrupt this little—" She gestured with a scoff towards the mats, her meaning clear as day.
"Cut the crap, Sofia," I snapped, feeling the beast within stirring at the challenge. "What's so goddamn important?"
Paul stepped forward, his expression grim as he ignored the tension crackling between me and Sofia. "We need to talk. Now."
"Can it wait?" I asked, though by the look on his face, I knew it was a useless question.
"No, it can't," he said firmly, casting a wary glance at Celeste, who had risen to her feet, eyeing the newcomers with a mix of curiosity and wariness. My gut churned; whatever news they brought, it reeked of trouble—the kind that wouldn't just piss me off but could threaten everything I was trying to build here.
"Spit it out, then," I growled, the words tumbling from my lips like shards of ice. My mind was a goddamn hurricane, whirling with thoughts of Celeste's soft curves beneath me and the sudden intrusion that yanked me back to a darker reality.
Paul's eyes held mine, and the weight of unspoken urgency pressed down on my chest. "It's the hunters, Nash. They've been sighted in the city—multiple sightings."
"Fuck," I hissed, feeling a coil of dread tighten around my gut. Hunters in Chicago meant chaos, meant bloodshed. It meant the fragile peace I'd carved out for my kind could shatter like glass at any moment.
"Who?" The single word was a snarl, torn from the depths of my vigilante soul, demanding names, faces—targets.
"Unknown, but they're organized. Efficient." Paul's voice was a low rumble, and I knew the bastard was holding back. He always did when shit hit the fan, calculating every possible outcome before spilling the darkest details.
