The training room smells like metal, sweat, and tension thick enough to breathe in. Damian stands in the center of the mat, shirt clinging to his chest, hands wrapped, jaw carved from stone. Aria has seen him covered in blood, covered in shadows, covered in rage—
but she has never seen him like this.
Focused.
Coiled.
Predatory.
“Again,” he orders, voice low, rough silk dragged over steel.
Aria adjusts her stance. Her muscles shake, her breath uneven from the last round he shut down in seconds. The lieutenants watching pretend to be occupied with equipment, but their eyes keep drifting back to the mat—
back to her.
Back to him.
Damian moves closer. Too close. His presence rolls over her like heat.
“You’re hesitating.” His fingers tap her wrist, correcting her angle. “Hesitation gets you killed.”
Aria swallows. “You’re not exactly an easy opponent.”
A ghost of a smirk appears—dangerous, slow, infuriating. “You won’t always be fighting me. Luckily for you.”
He steps behind her, guiding her arms into the proper guard. His chest brushes her back. His breath ghosts over her ear.
“Lower,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down her waist. “Center of gravity. You’re still thinking like prey.”
His words scorch. Aria forces herself to breathe.
“I’m trying,” she whispers.
“Try harder.”
He shoves her lightly from behind—not enough to hurt, but enough to send her forward a step. She whirls around, fists up.
“Good,” he says. “Now hit me.”
Aria launches forward. Damian sidesteps her like she’s moving underwater. She strikes again—he blocks. Again—he parries. Again—he catches her wrist and twists, forcing her to bend, trapping her with humiliating ease.
“Your tells are obvious,” he murmurs, holding her in place. “I see every decision before you make it.”
“Then stop reading me.”
“Then stop being readable.”
The lieutenants shift uncomfortably. The tension between them is no longer subtle. Not even close.
Damian releases her abruptly. Aria stumbles back, cheeks flushed.
“Again.”
This time she doesn’t think—she attacks. A jab, a feint, a kick aimed low. Damian blocks each one like he’s bored. He finally catches her leg mid-kick, lifts it an inch too high, and pulls her forward. Aria crashes into his chest, palms pressed against him for balance.
He doesn’t let go.
His hand stays wrapped around the back of her thigh, fingertips burning through her skin.
“Better,” he murmurs, voice quiet enough only she hears. “But still too slow.”
Aria pushes away from him, breath shaking. “Maybe you’re too fast.”
He steps into her space again, eyes darkening. “No. You just haven’t learned how to read a monster yet.”
He lunges.
She reacts on instinct, ducking under his arm, swinging behind him—
and this time, she lands a blow. A sharp hit to his ribs. Light, but real.
Damian freezes.
The lieutenants all inhale at once.
Aria steps back, chest rising in triumph. “Got you.”
His head turns slowly, eyes burning with something far too intense to be called anger.
“Again,” he growls.
“No,” she says, breathless. “You said I got you.”
Damian moves so fast she barely sees it. He sweeps her leg, catching her mid-fall before she hits the mat. She ends up flat on her back, Damian caging her in, one knee on either side of her hips, both hands pinning her wrists above her head.
Their faces are inches apart.
His breath hits her lips.
“You didn’t get me,” he whispers. “I let you hit me.”
“Liar,” she breathes.
His lips twitch—half a smirk, half something darker. “Maybe.”
Neither of them moves.
Aria feels his heartbeat through his thighs, through his chest leaning over hers. She feels the heat of his breath. She feels every inch of him pressing her into the mat, holding her there like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets go.
“You’re trembling,” he says quietly.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispers.
His eyes drop to her mouth. “That’s not what trembling means.”
Her pulse jumps.
Damian feels it. She sees it in the way his jaw tightens—in the way he exhales like dragging breath hurts.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmurs.
“Like what?”
“Like you want something you don’t understand.”
Aria lifts her chin despite the hold he has on her. “Then explain it.”
Something in him strains, breaks, restrains itself again.
In one violent motion, he pushes off her and stands, raking a hand through his hair. He keeps his back to her as he snarls to the lieutenants:
“Get out.”
They scatter instantly, leaving the room heavy and silent.
Aria sits up, heart pounding.
Damian turns back slowly, eyes still burning.
“You don’t get it,” he says. “Every time you rise up, every time you stop being afraid, every time you look at me like you want to strike or kiss me—”
His voice breaks for a fraction of a second.
“—I lose another piece of the control I’ve spent years building.”
Aria stands. “I’m not afraid of your lack of control.”
“You should be.”
“Then teach me why,” she challenges softly.
He stares at her like she’s a weapon aimed at his heart.
He steps closer. “You pinned me once today.”
“For a second.”
“Long enough.”
Damian lifts her wrist, the one he pinned minutes before. His thumb circles the skin slowly—too gentle for a man who could break bones without effort.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he murmurs.
Aria meets his gaze with steady fire. “Maybe I do.”
He exhales shakily. His forehead almost touches hers.
“You shouldn’t,” he whispers. “You shouldn’t want a man like me.”
“But I do.”
The admission hangs between them like a lit match.
Damian steps back abruptly, dragging a breath like he’s drowning.
“If I touch you again,” he warns, voice wrecked, “I won’t stop.”
Aria doesn’t look away. “Then don’t start.”
He turns away—because the alternative would undo him completely.