POV Odette
The practice yard stretched before us, afternoon sun warming the mats taped down over concrete. A timer on the wall blinked green, waiting. Nathaniel had changed into looser training clothes, and I forced myself not to stare at how the fabric moved across his shoulders.
"I should be clear," I said, rolling my shoulders back. "I know the basics—every Luna trains—but I'm not a fighter. Not like Mira."
"Good." His approval surprised me. "Honesty makes for better teaching. And I don't want you to be like Mira."
"Why not? She could probably take you down in under a minute."
"Perhaps." He shifted his stance, and I caught the flicker of intention—he meant to impress me. The knowledge sent heat pooling in my stomach. "But I'm not interested in Mira."
Before I could respond, he called to a senior guard passing the yard. "Captain Reynolds! Would you assist with a demonstration?"
The guard jogged over, eyeing us both with professional curiosity. "Of course, Alpha Nathaniel."
"First, warm-up," Nathaniel announced, moving to the agility ladder.
"You're warming up again?" The words escaped before I could stop them. "You were already training when you came to get me."
"Different muscle groups, Princess." His smile held challenge. "Royal combat requires precision. Watch."
He moved across the agility ladder like water given form—liquid and spare, each turn snapping clean on the timer's beep without a single wasted motion.
When Reynolds engaged, Nathaniel flowed from feint to clinch to off-balance so smoothly the larger man barely touched the mat before finding himself flat on his back.
"Thank you, Captain." Nathaniel offered his hand, pulling Reynolds up with easy strength. "That's all we need."
"Anytime, sir." Reynolds bowed to us both and left, leaving us alone on the mats.
"Now," Nathaniel turned to me, "let's start with your foundation."
"That was showing off."
"That was establishing credibility." He moved behind me, hands hovering near my hips. "May I?"
"Yes."
His hands settled on my waist, adjusting my stance. "Weight here, like a tripod. Spine long. Power comes from the ground up, not the shoulders down."
"Like this?"
"Perfect." His breath warmed my neck. "Now, when someone invades your space—"
He moved around me, demonstrating the frame with his forearm. "You create structure. Here, against the pad."
The next hour dissolved into movement and correction. Wall work: knees soft, chin tucked, eyes up. Breakfalls until my shoulders stopped flinching from the impact. Escapes that turned panic into strategy—peel the grip, step off center, hip turn, clear.
"Again," he commanded when I fumbled a wrist release.
"I've done it six times—"
"And the seventh might save your life." His eyes held mine. "Again, Princess."
On the mat, he taught me the mathematics of leverage. "Hook behind the knee, shift your weight—size doesn't matter when physics is on your side."
"Easy for you to say." I was breathing hard, sweat beading along my collarbone. "You're not exactly small."
"Neither was Reynolds. Yet he kissed the mat in three seconds." Nathaniel reset his stance. "Your turn. Take me down."
"You're joking."
"I never joke about combat. Use what I taught you."
I circled him, looking for an opening. He moved with me, patient, watchful. When I darted forward, attempting the knee hook he'd shown me, he flowed around my attack like smoke.
"Telegraphed," he said. "Your shoulders announced your intention. Again."
"This is impossible—"
"This is practice. Again."
My breathing had gone ragged, more from proximity than exertion. Every correction brought his hands to my body—adjusting my hip angle, guiding my arm position, demonstrating proper weight distribution. Professional touches that burned through my training clothes.
"Better," he said when I managed a partial takedown. "Rest. Breathe."
He adjusted the timer, setting a steady rhythm. "Match your breathing to the beat. It'll settle your wolf."
"How do you know my wolf needs settling?"
"Because mine does." The admission hung between us, charged. "Every time you're near me."
The timer beeped our reset. I tried a shoulder fake I remembered from pack training, slipping past his guard. His counter came instantly—an inside trip, his hip rotating into mine, the world tilting. I landed hard on my back, breath gone, Nathaniel above me.
He'd caught himself on his forearms, caging me against the mat. Our faces were inches apart, his weight carefully held off my body but close enough that I felt his heat everywhere.
"You're not breathing," he observed, voice rough.
"You knocked it out of me."
"The fall or something else?" His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingered, then returned to my eyes. Something shifted in his expression, control cracking. "To hell with it."
He kissed me, and I answered like drowning in reverse—desperate, necessary, my hands finding his hair while my body arched up into his. The careful distance of two weeks shattered. This was the heat from that hotel night, but sharper now, informed by all the careful restraint we'd maintained.
"Princess? Alpha Nathaniel?" A maid's voice from the doorway shattered the moment. "Lunch will be served in thirty minutes."
We broke apart, breathing hard. Nathaniel's hair stood wild where I'd gripped it, his pupils blown wide.
"Impeccable timing," I muttered, and he laughed—a real laugh that transformed his face.
"The staff has a sixth sense for interruption." He stood, offering his hand. "We should clean up."
"Separately," I said quickly. "Definitely separately."
"Definitely," he agreed, though his eyes promised this wasn't over.
Thirty minutes later, we sat at the formal dining table, Magnus watching us with barely concealed interest. The careful distance we'd maintained for two weeks had evaporated.
"The training went well?" Magnus asked, cutting into his venison.
"Nathaniel is an excellent teacher," I said, reaching for my water. "He makes combat feel like choreography. Every move has a counter, every attack becomes an opportunity—"
"You're a quick study," Nathaniel interrupted. "Most wolves take weeks to grasp leverage principles."
"Most wolves don't have your undivided attention as a teacher." The words came out more flirtatious than intended.
Magnus's eyebrows rose slightly, his smile knowing. "How wonderful that you're finding common ground."
"Father—"
The words died on my lips as pain speared through my abdomen—sharp, sudden, stealing my breath. Another wave of pain, lower, harder. I pressed my palm against my stomach, confusion mixing with discomfort.
This wasn't an injury from training. This was something else, something impossible.