SERAPHINA’S POV
I lost focus. Again.
I knew it the second my foot slipped on a basic pivot, and the training stick flew out of my hands, landing uselessly on the other side of the room.
In the training rooms around me, I could hear the others moving, grunting, and groaning, probably doing a whole lot better than I was.
Lucian had left me to train on my own today, promising to check in on me periodically. I was grateful for that because it was one thing to mess up while on my own but a whole other thing to do it in front of an audience.
This time, I couldn’t even blame my distractedness on my injury. It was evident that my heart wasn’t in training.
My heart wasn’t in anything.
Not since...the kiss.
I could still feel it—sudden, heated, jarring.
That wild, chaotic moment played on a loop in my head. The look in Kieran’s eyes as he grabbed me, the strength of his grip, the heat of his lips.
I was still as stunned as I was that night. I should have pulled away—but I didn’t. I may not have kissed him back, but I didn’t stop him.
I didn’t know what that meant.
I tried my best to dissect it all. Why had he done it?
Yeah, I knew he’d fought with Celeste, but that shouldn’t have ended with him showing up on my front porch and turning my world over on its axis.
It all felt so...messy.
"You planning to actually train or just stand there with your head firmly shoved up the clouds?"
The sharp voice sliced clean through my thoughts like a blade.
Startled, I turned. A woman I didn’t recognize stood at the door I hadn’t even heard open, arms crossed over a lean, toned frame.
She had skin the color of caramel, dusty brown hair braided into cornrows, and dark brown eyes that slowly, calculatingly took me in. She watched me like a predator, trying to decide whether the prey was worth chasing.
I fought the urge to squirm under her gaze.
She arched a perfect brow and said, "If you’re here to waste time, you’re better off in front of a couch stuffing your face and watching sitcoms."
"I—no, I’m just—"
"Thinking of a myriad of excuses," she interrupted, cold and flat. "None of which will suffice."
She waved an arm around, and my gaze was drawn to her powerful bicep. She wasn’t overly muscular, but I could see the strength rippling under her skin. "There’s no place for laziness here. You might as well just leave."
My cheeks burned.
"I have been training. I just wasn’t—" I started again, but she raised a hand.
My mouth slammed shut. I didn’t know what it was about her, but a quiet, simmering authority seeped out of her every pore, and I instantly knew that this was a woman whose bad side I never wanted to be on.
She straightened from the wall, and my eyes tracked her as she walked across the room. Her steps were graceful, lithe—like a gazelle.
She picked up the staff that had slipped from my hands. I barely had time to move when she tossed it at me, but I managed to catch it.
"You’ve been training?" It didn’t sound like a question she wanted answered. "Prove it then."
I raised a brow. "What?"
"Fight me."
My heart skipped a beat. "What?!"
She shrugged. "Or you can get the fuck out."
My eyes widened. Where the hell was Lucian? I needed him to check in on me right fucking now.
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the mat. "Well?"
"I—"
"If you want to stay, fight me. Three minutes. You last, you can stay. If not..." She shrugged. "Bye-bye. Same goes if you don’t fight at all."
I blinked. "Are you serious?"
Her body looked honed, like she’d spent a lifetime training. How was I supposed to hold my own against her?
"I hate repeating myself." She gestured to the open space between us. "Clock starts when you move."
I had the urge to laugh at the incredulity of the situation. Part of me wanted to drop the staff and walk away.
But another part of me chafed against the look in her eyes, the slight derision in her tone.
I was tired of being treated like I didn’t belong. By my own pack, by Kieran’s pack—and now, this complete stranger.
I’d already had so much taken from me—my marriage, my son, my fucking peace of mind. I wasn’t going to let OTS be taken from me, too.
So I moved.
And instantly regretted it.
She exploded forward with terrifying speed, and all I could do was throw my arms up and hope for the best.
I swung the staff at her and winced when her boot connected with my hands, knocking it clean out of my hands—right back to where she had picked it up.
Lucian would have clucked, shaken his head, and told me to go get it.
She, however, did not stop.
She didn’t take a breath. Didn’t go easy. Didn’t hold back. Every strike she threw was calculated, clean, devastating.



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