Chapter 10: Off Balance

He found her this time.

Nyra was crossing the courtyard toward the library when Lucian fell into step beside her, a training blade already in hand. He held it out with an unmistakable challenge in his eyes.

"Rematch."

Nyra glanced at the blade, then at him. "I already beat you."

"Which is exactly why I want another turn." Something bright and competitive lit his face, none of the patience he wore for the pack or the restraint he'd shown her in the study.

"Unless you're afraid of ruining a perfect record."

"I'm not afraid of anything you can do with a practice blade."

"We'll see."

The yard was quieter than during their first match. It was midafternoon, and only a handful of off-duty wolves lingered along the fence. Nyra told herself that was better. Fewer witnesses meant less pressure, fewer eyes to notice anything she didn't want them to see.

She didn't examine why her pulse had already quickened.

Lucian came at her hard from the first exchange.

There was no exploratory testing this time. No careful assessment of her reach or footing. He already knew what she could do, and he fought accordingly.

Nyra met him with the same precision she'd brought to their first match, years of Order training settling into the familiar rhythm of block, counter and retreat. For several exchanges, she held the advantage, forcing him to give ground as their blades struck and separated.

Then Lucian smiled.

It was brief, almost careless, but something about it caught her attention at exactly the wrong moment.

Her blade came up a fraction too late.

His struck hers aside.

Nyra recovered quickly, but Lucian had already closed the distance. His free hand caught her arm before she could regain her footing, and the momentum carried them both down.

She hit the packed earth with Lucian braced above her, one hand beside her shoulder, the other still holding his practice blade.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The noise of the training yard seemed to fade around them. Nyra could hear her own breathing, slightly too fast, and feel the warmth of Lucian's body through their training clothes.

He was looking at her differently now.

The playful competitiveness was gone. So was the confidence. His attention had settled completely on her, steady and searching.

"You're distracted," he said.

"I am not."

"You are." His voice had dropped, quieter than it had been during the fight. "I've watched you fight. You don't make mistakes like that."

Nyra should have had an answer.

She had spent years learning how to answer accusations without revealing anything. She could lie without blinking, deflect and keep her face empty while someone threatened her life.

Yet lying to Lucian suddenly felt harder than it should have.

"Maybe you're getting better."

"Maybe."

His gaze held hers.

Nyra became painfully aware of how close he was. Of the faint scar through his eyebrow. Of the warmth between them and the fact that, for once, she wasn't thinking about how to escape it.

Her eyes caught on the scar at his throat. Up close, there was no mistaking what it was: a pale, uneven line cutting across the side of his neck, disappearing beneath his jaw. Someone hadn't tried to hurt him there. They'd tried to kill him.

Lucian's eyes dropped briefly before returning to hers.

Her breath caught.

He seemed to notice.

Something shifted in his expression, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he pushed himself upright and offered her his hand.

Nyra stared at it for half a second before taking it.

His fingers closed around hers, warm and steady, and he pulled her to her feet. Neither of them released immediately.

Then Lucian stepped back.

The sudden distance should have been a relief. Instead, Nyra felt an absurd little pang of disappointment.

She ignored it.

She had more important things to worry about than the warmth of an Alpha's hand.

"You've been distracted before," Lucian said, handing her the practice blade she'd dropped. "But never like that."

"Perhaps you're becoming irritating."

"Perhaps." His grin returned. "Same time tomorrow?"

"If you think you've earned another loss."

He laughed, warm and unguarded, and turned toward the keep.

Nyra watched him go for a moment before forcing herself to look away.

She was beginning to understand what frightened her.

It wasn't that Lucian could distract her. It was that she was beginning to enjoy being distracted by him.

She had been taught that Alphas were dangerous, that attachment was weakness and that anything capable of making an assassin hesitate was something to be eliminated.

Yet Lucian had done none of the things she'd been warned about.

He hadn't humiliated her when she lost. He hadn't treated her like she was fragile. He hadn't demanded obedience simply because he was stronger.

He challenged her. He listened.

He trusted her.

And somehow, those things were more dangerous than cruelty would have been.

—-----

The hawk arrived that evening and the sight of it erased the warmth she'd carried from the training yard all afternoon.

She broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

‘Progress?’

She blinked several times to focus on the rest of the words.

The message continued.

‘The fortnight has terms. So do we. Do not mistake patience for indifference.’

That was all. It didn't need to be more.

Nyra lowered the parchment slowly.

The Order had given her time, not freedom. She knew the difference better than anyone.

She had been sent to Blackthorn to kill Lucian.

Instead, she had spent the past few days learning how he fought, how he laughed and how he looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention.

Worse, she was beginning to care about what he thought of her.

Nyra folded the message and set it aside.

For years, she'd accepted every lesson and instruction from the Order without question.

Now she was beginning to wonder whether the people who had taught her those lessons had ever wanted her to be anything other than obedient.

Her gaze drifted toward the window.

Somewhere beyond the keep, Lucian was probably still awake.

She remembered the way he'd looked at her in the training yard, the quiet certainty in his voice when he'd told her she was distracted.

She'd spent her entire life learning how to control every instinct.

But lately, whenever Lucian was near, control was becoming harder.

Nyra looked down at the Order's seal.

For the first time since accepting the contract, she wasn't wondering how she would kill Lucian Blackthorn.

She was wondering whether she could still bring herself to do it.