Brushing Against the Skin

ANYA'S POV

The private gym in the north wing was unlike anything I had ever seen. It was spacious, with tall windows overlooking the cliff, and entirely lined with thick black leather mats. The air smelled of well-tended leather, cold metal, and above all, that sharp scent of pine and winter that always clung to Azkarion’s skin.

It was six in the morning. I stood in the centre of the room, dressed in black training trousers and a t-shirt. Even though I had applied a full dose of the blocker after waking, being alone with him in such an enclosed space always pushed my nerves to their breaking point.

Azkarion walked to the middle of the room, wearing only grey trousers and a sleeveless top that showed off his powerful arms and the scars that mapped his skin.

"A wolf does not fight like a human, Anya," he began, his rough voice cutting through the quiet. "We do not aim for points: we aim for the jugular. What you did last night against that drunk worked, but if Gideon or someone of his rank corners you, your strength will be worth nothing."

"That is why I am here," I replied, lifting my guard with my fists at chest height. "Teach me to turn their own strength against them."

He smiled sideways — no warmth, only dark fascination.

"You will learn the hard way. Attack me."

I did not wait. I lunged forward, aiming for his jaw, but he did not even flinch. He caught my fist mid-air as if it were a game, tugged me forward, and threw me completely off balance. My chest slammed against his, hard as stone, and I felt the heat radiating from his body.

"Too slow," he said close to my ear, his breath brushing my cheek. "And far too predictable. If I were your enemy, I would have broken your arm by now."

I grew angry at myself and at him, and tried to sweep his legs out from under him — but he saw it coming, shifted his weight, and we both tumbled onto the mats. The wind was knocked out of me, and before I could react, he was already over me: one hand pinned my wrists above my head, while the weight of his body held my legs completely still.

There was no escape.

"Let go," I gasped, struggling to move, but his strength was overwhelming.

"No," he said calmly. "This is the reality. Your mind tries to plan tactics, but your body freezes when it feels the weight of an Alpha above you. You have to stop overthinking and start reacting."

There was not a millimetre of air between us. I felt his heart beat slow and steady against mine, the press of his chest, and the rhythm of his breathing. His breath — scented with mint and cold wind — tangled with my own.

His grey eyes dropped for a moment to my parted lips, then lifted back to meet my gaze. That usual coldness faded for a heartbeat, revealing a flash of gold that made me catch my breath.

"The deal was that you would train me, not smother me," I protested, though my voice came out trembling, and I did not look away.

"I am teaching you to survive against me, little liar," he whispered, his voice dropping so low and soft it sent shivers all the way down my spine.

Slowly he loosened the pressure of his fingers, but he did not pull back. With his other hand, he brushed my face gently, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a tenderness that clashed completely with his strength. Wherever he touched, it felt as though my skin was burning.

My heart raced at a frantic pace. I knew I should not be this close — that all that mattered was the secret, the blocker, and the debt I owed for my brother. But when he tilted his head a little lower, drawing near enough to almost touch me, I could not bring myself to move or push him away.

Time seemed to stand still. His lips grazed the corner of mine: cold and burning all at once, and gooseflesh broke out over every inch of me.

"If you do not push me away right now, Anya..." he murmured against my mouth, his eyes glowing with that dangerous gold "...I am going to forget every single damned line of that contract."