A Dangerous Dance
Training for the next round began almost immediately, the academy’s sparring halls filled with competitors honing their skills. Eryon moved through his drills with quiet intensity, his focus unwavering. But the air grew heavier as Misery entered the room.
She was impossible to ignore—her movements were fluid and predatory, her presence commanding. Misery always knew how to draw attention, and this time, it was clear her focus was on Eryon.
“Care for a partner?” Misery asked, her voice smooth and sweet with just a hint of mockery.
Eryon hesitated but nodded. “If you can keep up.”
Misery’s smile was sharp as a blade. “Oh, darling, the question is whether you can keep up with me.”
Their sparring began with a clash of blades, the sound ringing through the hall like a challenge. Misery was fast, her strikes calculated and precise. Eryon matched her move for move, his wolf senses sharpening his reflexes.
But Misery wasn’t just testing his skill—she was probing, her every strike laced with subtle provocations.
“You’re strong,” she remarked as their blades locked. “Stronger than you let on.”
Eryon pushed her back, his tone cold. “You’re imagining things.”
Misery laughed softly, her eyes gleaming. “Am I? Or are you just very good at pretending?”
The tension between them was palpable, their movements fluid and almost synchronized. It was more than a fight—it was a dance of dominance, each trying to outmaneuver the other.
Misery’s taunts grew sharper, her strikes more aggressive. Eryon felt his control slipping, the wolf within him clawing to be unleashed.
Finally, Misery feinted left and caught him off guard, pinning him to the ground with her blade at his throat. She leaned in close, her breath warm against his neck.
“You’re not what you pretend to be,” she whispered, her voice a mix of menace and allure. “And I’m going to enjoy finding out the truth.”
Eryon’s muscles tensed, his wolf snarling beneath his skin. But before he could respond, Misery pulled back, her laughter echoing as she walked away.
From the shadows, Lyra watched, her expression tight with worry. As she approached Eryon, her voice was quiet but firm. “You need to be careful. She’s not just playing games anymore.”
Eryon nodded, his jaw clenched. “I know. But I can handle her.”
Lyra wasn’t so sure.
