A few days slipped by in the same routine. Ride. Camp. Train. Eat. Move again.
It was exhausting, but the rhythm steadied me in ways I didn't expect. Each morning began with Raiden testing me until my muscles burned, Revik keeping the horses in line with his sarcasm, and every night I collapsed beside the fire sore in places I didn't know could even hurt.
The road carried us higher into the mountains. The air was colder, sharper. The ground grew harder, jagged with rock. Nights left me sitting in front of Raiden on the stallion, his chest a solid wall of heat at my back, his arm looped firm around my waist to hold the reins. I told myself I leaned into him only because of the cold. He never said a word, though his grip would tighten whenever the path jolted, steadying me before I could slip. Always steady. Always silent.
By the fourth morning, he shifted the pattern.
"Defensive maneuvers," he said flatly while I tried to roll the stiffness from my shoulders.
I eyed him. "You mean besides running and throwing rocks?"
"Exactly."
Revik stayed with the horses. Raiden motioned me out onto a patch of hard ground. He loosened his shoulders, calm, while my pulse already raced.
"All right," he said. "I'm going to attack. Your job is to stop me."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he lunged before I could. His boot hooked behind my ankle, and the sky spun. I hit the dirt with a grunt and found my wrists trapped a breath later. His body pressed me down, solid and hot, not crushing but close enough to steal my breath.
"You're dead," he said evenly, eyes locked on mine.
My pulse hammered. "You could at least warn me."
"In a real fight," he said, leaning a fraction closer, "no one will." His breath brushed my cheek, and heat crawled down my spine before I shoved the thought away.
"Again."
He stood, offering me a hand. I ignored it and got up myself.
The second round, I slipped under his arm and spun free. His expression flickered—surprise, approval, maybe both—before he pressed harder. Strike, dodge, counter. Dust kicked under our boots. I kept up longer this time, but he read me too well. He was always a step ahead.
Then he swept my legs again. My back smacked the dirt, and he caught my wrists, pinning them overhead. His chest hovered inches above mine, his weight sinking into my hips to keep me still.
"Dead," he said, calm but far too close.
"You're insufferable," I spat, wriggling beneath him.
"Use your talons," he murmured, gaze dropping briefly to my mouth before he pushed off me.
The rush in my chest didn't fade even when the distance returned.
We went again. And again. My braid came loose, sweat ran down my temple, my palms burned with grit. Every time I thought I had him, he turned it against me. His thigh pinned mine, his hand locked my wrist, his shoulder braced across my chest. Always close. Always calm. Always in control.
Frustration boiled until I tried something reckless. I baited him into the sweep, then threw myself into it instead of away. For a heartbeat, I had leverage. His eyes widened slightly—proof I'd surprised him—before he twisted with the motion and sent me crashing down again.
This time his hand landed at the back of my head to soften the blow, his palm firm against my hair. His body caged me, heat radiating through every inch that touched.
"Alive," he said quietly, voice so close the word warmed my skin.
My chest rose too fast. "One of these days," I muttered, "I'm going to pin you."
His mouth curved into the slowest of smirks. "I look forward to it, little thief."
Before I could snap back, Revik called across camp. "If you two are done rolling in the dirt, some of us would like to eat before dusk."
Raiden finally stood. He held his hand out again. I took it this time, hating how warm his palm felt against mine when he pulled me up like I weighed nothing.
"Not bad," he said. "You're improving."
"Not good enough," I muttered, brushing off dust.
"You will be," he said, his tone low, almost casual. As he stepped past, his hand brushed my shoulder—steadying, lingering just long enough to leave me unsettled.
I told myself to shake it off, but my eyes betrayed me, tracking the easy strength in his stride as he walked away.
—
Later, while Raiden was scanning the tree line for "danger" — which so far amounted to nothing more threatening than a squirrel — I found Revik brushing down his mare. Apple, apparently.
"Enjoy yourself?" he asked.
"Oh, immensely," I said dryly. "The ground and I are the best of friends now."
He chuckled. "Looked more like you were enjoying losing."
"I was not."
"Mhm." He checked the mare's hoof. "Just strange. He doesn't usually spend that kind of time on anyone."
Heat climbed my neck. "There's nothing—"
"Didn't say there was." He freed a stone from the hoof and patted the horse's neck. "But he's not exactly generous with his patience. Except with you."
I forced a laugh. "He's not patient. He's smug. And I just don't like being flat on my back every five seconds."
Revik finally looked up, gaze sharp but careful. "Good. Keep it that way."
His tone wasn't warning exactly, but it wasn't light either.
"He's been through enough," he added more quietly. "The last thing he needs is someone stirring things up without realizing it."
I folded my arms. "I'm not stirring anything."
"If you say so." His smirk returned. "Though I'll admit—he's less unbearable with you around."
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
"There it is," Revik said. "Knew I'd get a smile out of you."
I shook my head, but the heaviness in my chest eased.
—
That afternoon, Raiden dragged me back into another set. His strikes were sharper, his grip firmer. He pushed me harder, but my body had started to learn. I adjusted. I braced lower, shifted sooner.
When my talons finally snapped out on command and nearly grazed his arm, pride surged hot in my chest.
"Better," he said.
"Say it louder," I panted. "I don't think Revik heard."
He smirked faintly. "Don't get greedy."
The next exchange, he swept my legs again. I landed with a grunt, dirt in my teeth, and his body pressed into mine once more, solid and unyielding. His eyes lingered on me a fraction longer before he finally let go.
"You keep saying I'm dead," I muttered. "One day it will be me saying it."
His gaze stayed locked on mine, unreadable. "I told you," he said softly, "I look forward to it."
Heat coiled low in my stomach, sharp and dangerous.
—
We camped that night under an overhang that cut the wind. Revik coaxed a fire from a flint he'd been far too happy to scavenge on the road, grinning with smug satisfaction as sparks caught. Raiden sat across from me, the flames throwing sharp light across the hard planes of his face.
"You did well today," he said simply.
It caught me off guard. "Careful now Sparky," I said, forcing lightness. "Don't start giving me a big head."
His mouth curved, slow and infuriating. "You mean it can get bigger."
Silence fell, steady instead of heavy. For the first time in a long while, I felt tired without feeling hunted.
I curled under my blanket near the rock wall. Raiden stretched out a few paces away, close enough that his heat reached me even without contact. I told myself it was only the fire warming me.
But when the wind shifted and the night went still, I couldn't shake the prickle at my neck—the sense of eyes watching us from the dark.