Page 56 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“And we’ll have to fight like hell to keep it that way. So trust me. There’s nothing you can give me that I can’t take.”

That cocky brow arched, heat licking down my spine as carnal images flickered through his mind—and my God, he had plans. My head shook as he grinned.

“You sure about that?” he teased. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Jesus, August. Focus.”

“I am.”

“On survival. Not fucking my brains out.”

A slow, wicked curve lifted his lips. “Can’t we do both?”

“Debatable.” With a huff, I brushed my lips over his before shoving him once. “If you manage to hurt me, I heal fast.”

“Slower than you’re used to,” he muttered bitterly.

“Be as cowardly as you want,” I taunted, narrowing my gaze. “But your resistance to the inevitable makes me want to hurt you.”

He grinned at that—crooked and gorgeous and infuriating. For the first time, I understood why Aren had broken me so many times only to piece me back together. There was something in the instinct. In the drive to teach him to survive. Was it the mate bond? Or simply the pull of guarding a calling?

“Give me your best shot, then,” he said, voice low and challenging. “Sire.”

When I lashed out, he moved. Fast. God, he was faster, dodging and striking in fluid movements.

“Yesss,” I hissed, giddy as our bodies collided and rebounded in a brutal rhythm. One for one, blow for blow—we whirled, ducked, dodged. Sweat prickled my spine as our breathing quickened, our limbs moving in a blur.

I took him to the ground in a spin, but he rolled and landed in a crouch. When I lunged, he was ready this time.

There you are, I encouraged, mind-to-mind, the connection flaring bright.

This—this was peace. My sanctuary. Motion, movement, combat. My body knew the steps. Anticipated his without conscious thought.

Weave, duck, strike.

Long black hair. Blue eyes. A girl dancing on a bar top.

Lunge, dodge, spin.

A smile that sent his pulse racing. A defiant chin.

Block, pivot, feint.

Smooth skin beneath calloused fingers tracing a phoenix up her ribs.

Strike, strike, shift.

The wind on his face. Her legs clamped around his hips. The purr of his bike.

Rain, tears, blue eyes rimmed in red.

Aren’s soul twining with hers.

And one word he didn’t dare say. Mate.

Pain exploded across my cheek as I hit the floor hard, breath knocked from my lungs. I barely caught myself, powers flaring just enough to soften the blow.

But that word echoed louder than the impact.