Chapter 11

LYRA

I feel my eyes flash even brighter at the challenge in front of me.

There are two male warriors moving across from me now. The one I already handled is still limping off the mat, supported by another, who winces in secondhand pain.

The sandy-blonde one, apparently named Noah from the cheers behind him, faces me with a scowl that says he thinks he’s got this.

And the sexy one is clearly named Xander. He’s got another warrior punching his shoulder and telling him to go easy on me.

What the hell?

Xander looks at me and his lips pull into a maddening, hot half-smile. His shoulder-length hair is pulled back, with loose strands framing cheekbones carved by the gods. Dark hair. Great jawline. Probably a walking red flag. Just my type.

And I’d be lying if I said the way he’s looking at me, like he wants to spar with me and bend me over something solid, doesn’t send a very sexy thrill through my stomach.

Focus, Ly.

Rolling my shoulders, I start circling the men slowly. I dig my claws into my palms, trying my best to focus on anything other than the way they look like prey, and my beast is one hell of a predator.

These two better bring their A-game.

“Don’t go easy on me,” I purr in my rough beast-voice. “I’m not fucking fragile.”

Another sexy smirk pulls at Xander's lips as watches me, and Noah moves first, charging straight for me like a battering ram.

Classic male move, right? Thinking that strength alone can win a sparring match against a woman. I stop myself from rolling my eyes.

I sidestep his attack. Just as he passes, I jump and spin, driving my elbow into the side of his neck.

There is a loud crack.

Damn. It wasn’t supposed to be that hard.

Why is he leaving his neck open anyway?

By now, I'm digging my claws so deep into my palms, I'm beginning to think they might impale my hands. But that’s alright.

My hit causes Noah to fall forward, and I grab his wrist before he hits the ground. I promise, I’m trying to hurt him more. I just want to stop him from breaking a leg, but of course I dislocate his shoulder in my heroic effort.

Just lovely.

I twist his other arm behind his back and push forward, just a little. Barely a shove.

And he face plants into the mat.

Gasps ripple through the training hall, and Noah coughs loudly. Sitting on his back, I pin his good wrist behind his back, while his other arm is lying useless on the floor beside him.

Taking my time, I scan his injuries… Fucked shoulder? Yes. Broken nose? Yeah…

And his good wrist is covered in blood.

I hold my breath, but as I study it closer, I realise it's just my blood. I take a sigh of relief, but as I look him over, Noah is still trying to break free. I don’t let him go. Instead, I move my eyes to Xander, who is still watching me from across the mat. His stance is relaxed, his arms crossed like he has all the time in the world to wait for me.

He’s not even seizing the opportunity where I’m just sitting on the mat. He’s actually waiting for his turn.

And with this one, I’m not sure if I find it hot or insulting.

Nope it should definitely be insulting.

Finally, Noah stops struggling, and mumbles that he yields.

From across the hall, I catch Beta Rion’s eyes again.

He’s already moving for the door, and his gaze flicks between my eyes, my canines, and my claws.

Honestly, I don’t even know what he’s going to tell Zane, but whatever it is, I hope it keeps that asshole up at night.

I stand up and move my eyes back to Xander.

He’s still smiling. Amused. Impressed.

And then he’s moving.

He’s damn fast. And not a brute force like Noah, but fluid, controlled, and almost… playful. He doesn’t try to overwhelm me with his strength. He doesn’t go straight for the attack. We circle each other for a bit, throwing a few jabs here and there. I see him testing my reactions, studying my reach, assessing my moves. So I do the same.

He swings low, aiming for my legs, but I jump. I twist mid-air and narrowly avoid the sweep.

My braid flies. He grabs for it.

Fuck that's dirty play… and so sexy…

But my braid drops just in time, and our bodies pass within inches. I have to admit, he smells divine. Like citrus and something darker. My beast definitely likes the smell, she has no intention of hurting this one. She likes him.

Apparently he gets a good whiff of my scent too, and he murmurs, “You smell good when you fight.”

“Keep flirting, I might start liking you,” I shoot back, and my voice is my own again. My claws have started to retract and my canines are back to normal. And my strength.

Dammit, if he attacks head on now, I'm fucked.

I curse my beast for what is probably the thousandth time, and pray to whatever goddess will listen, that I can take him.

He lunges again, and I twist, wrapping my legs around his waist for leverage. We slam into the mat together—me on top, straddling his hips, and his hands drop to my thighs.

I freeze for a second. So does he. And when our eyes meet, my heart races.

Then he grins.

“I yield.”

I blink. “What?”

He raises his hands beside his head. “I yield. You win.”

Laughter erupts around us.

I shove off him with a grunt, my face feels too hot, but I smirk anyway, and brush imaginary dust off my leggings.

“Next time,” I say, “at least try to win.”

He gets up and holds out his hand for me to shake.

When I do, he gives me a sexy wink.

“Next time then.”