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  As the remainder of the class pairs off with each supernatural being, I notice Serena just sits back, watching.

  Catching my gaze, she steps forward. Never breaking her eye contact with me, she stands in front of Charles.

  Interesting.

  “I pick you,” she says.

  He smirks at her, before extending a cordial hand. She takes it without hesitation and I’m hit with an unexpected jolt of pride that she’s not afraid of him. A half-demon.

  “Your Highness, it’s an honor,” Charles states.

  Serena bristles and pulls her hand back. “It’s Serena.”

  Charles scans her expression with a glint of something, maybe amusement, in his eyes. “Serena,” he dips his chin.

  “I’m Ethan,” her friend says, stepping next to her.

  “Nice to have you both on my circuit this week,” he responds in a polite tone.

  Once everyone is paired, I continue.

  “You’ll never be able to really protect a charge if you don’t hone your skills,” I state, cracking my neck. “Isn’t that correct, Charles?”

  “True. Demons use their strength when they attack, but they can also use elemental magic,” he adds. “They can be extremely strong, depending on their level of demon blood. There’s one thing you should never do,” he throws out.

  “What’s that?” Ethan questions.

  “Dismiss a half-blood as a weaker, inferior demon,” Charles says, lips twitching before he lunges for the gargoyle, laying a swift kick to his abdomen.

  Ethan doubles over, half surprised, half in pain.

  “Looks like these pathetic excuses for guardians need a lesson in speed,” Charles taunts.

  I hold back a laugh. “Protectors, thanks to Ethan, your asses are running today. We’ll tell you when to stop.”

  We’re going on ten miles. The soggy air pierces my lungs as I slow my speed to match the gargoyles behind me.

  Serena picks up her pace, working her muscles harder than she should be, but keeps doing it so she’s beside me.

  “What’s with all the running? I realize the importance of stamina, but shouldn’t we be moving on to something a little more physical?” she wheezes out, in uneven breaths.

  “My job is to prepare you to defend and fight the darkest supernatural creatures in existence, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she exhales.

  “So tell me, suppose Rulf isn’t around. It’s clear that you don’t have the gift of teleportation. What if your powers aren’t able to be sourced and weapon combat isn’t an option? How do you not get yourself killed right away?”

  She drags her gaze away, shrugging. “I suppose that it would depend on whom I have to fight off.”

  I stop running, which causes the rest of the group behind me to stop as well. Most of the students collapse onto the wet grass, happy with finally being able to rest.

  “Me,” I state.

  “Is this a trick question?” she scoffs.

  “I’m serious. How would you resist me?”

  She looks at me, opening and closing her mouth.

  “That’s what I thought. How about this,” I motion to an open area. “Show me what levels you’re fighting at,” I suggest. “That will determine your future running time.”

  “You want me to fight you?” she questions.

  I don’t answer her. Instead, I take off my soaked shirt, along with my leather rope, which has my insignia dangling from it, tossing both to the ground.

  Turning to face her, I wait for her to approach me.

  “The guy is a god,” I hear Ethan whisper to Lucas.

  “Exaggerate much?” Lucas snorts.

  “I’m serious. I saw him earlier with a training class. He’s all broody and rough, but when he fights . . . holy shit.”

  Serena stares at me a moment, and then nods. “Okay.”

  “I look forward to seeing you take a fall, raindrop.”

  Her lips twitch as she fights a grin.

  “That so, Professor?”

  “That. Is. So.”

  “I’ll never fall for you, Tristan.”

  Ignoring the double meaning in her words, my gaze drops, locking onto her wet shirt. Maybe this wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve had all day.

  I turn and address the exhausted class.

  “The key is to never let another being take you down. If it does happen, you need to fight and get back up, got it?” I state, while the other trainers and class watch, fascinated.

  “I know how to take a fall,” Serena states, annoyed.

  “Do you?” I counter.

  An awkward moment passes between us.

  “Yes. And I can even pick myself up, too. I’m a big girl.”

  In an instant, I have her pinned on the wet grass beneath me. I study her expression as she lays there in complete shock. Offering her a lopsided grin, I try to ignore the way her warm, soft body feels under mine.

  “I thought you knew how to take a fall, raindrop?”

  “Get. Off. Me!” She snaps angrily.

  “Make me.”

  She rolls her hips, keeping her chin down, but it does no good. I’m stronger and have her secured. Ticked off that she can’t get out from under me, she scowls and pulls in energy.

  “Stop sourcing the elements!” I demand, pushing her body further into the soaked earth. “No gifts. Protect yourself from me,” I encourage. “Hand to hand, Serena.”

  She groans, and I tighten my grip on her wrists.

  “Even without a warning, you have a second before you fall. That is enough time to strategize how to get back up and position yourself correctly to do so. Now, get up.”

  “I can’t,” she bites out.

  “You can,” I implore.

  Her eyes are heated and her body becomes slack as she swallows hard. “You’ve officially taken me down, Tristan.”

  For some odd reason, her words hit me hard, as if there is hidden meaning behind them.

  “You let me,” I accuse.

  My gaze roams across her, and I release the hold I have on her, stand and extend a hand to help her up.

  Angrily, she slaps it away and, after a few attempts, manages to stand on her own two feet, holding her side.

  I lean into her space. “You knew what to do, Serena.”

  Aside from Ryker, no other protector at the Academy has ever pinned her. The fact that I did—it was too easy.

  Either she truly wasn’t prepared, or she allowed it.

  “Yeah? Then tell me, Tristan, how should I have protected myself from you?” she asks, in an outraged bark.

  I look at her and don’t blink. “You run.”

  Serena

  FEELING HOSTILE, I REPRESS THE URGE to seek Tristan out and throw something at him. Or punch him in his perfect jaw.

  “You run,” I mock his words. “Asshat.”

  Sighing, I take a pull from the beer bottle sweating in my hand. The hops soothe my beat-up pride.

  After training, I returned to the suite, forgoing the rest of my classes. I’m exhausted and my side hurts. Carefully, I reposition myself in the empty bathtub.

  Having a protector take me down that quickly was a first for me, or second if you count Ryker’s previous victory.

  Before I could make contact, Tristan had come at me at a ridiculously high speed. In one deft motion, he grabbed me like I weighed nothing and threw me to the ground, pinning me there, and bruising my side in the process.

  The sting of defeat claws inside my veins, making its way up my throat. I swallow the bile, and blame Tristan and his beautiful distracting chest.

  What business did he have taking off his shirt anyway? Clearly he did it as a distraction. One that worked.

  I stare at the faucet, mouth slack. I had every intention of coming home and sinking into a warm bath. Instead, here I sit. The cold, hard ceramic is doing nothing to relieve my bruised ego. Even worse, I’m still in my ridiculous training outfit. The caked-on black makeup is now fading slightly as I su
lk in my own self-deprecation.

  Closing my eyes, I try to allow my body to relax so it can heal itself. Instead, my relaxation is interrupted by a vision of cognac eyes looking levelly into mine, while strong warm hands hold my wrists down on the wet grass and a hard body covers mine.

  Our conversation replays itself over and over. After the fifth time, it occurs to me that Tristan’s words carried a deeper meaning than simply an instructional moment.

  I groan and shift. My whole body aches. Between the miles of running and the ass-kicking from Tristan, I’m beat. A shiver runs over me, remembering the rough skin of his fingers as he clutched my wrists, his face hovering inches from my own, his lips a breath from mine. I rub one of my eyes to try and pull myself out of the moment, my palm coming away smeared with black eye makeup.

  “Fantastic,” I pout.

  “Rough day?” Tristan asks from the doorway.

  I jump, startled at his deep, calm voice.

  My eyes seek him out, and his piercing stare renders me speechless. Holding my breath, I study him for a moment.

  “I’m in the tub,” I state, when I come to my senses.

  Little lines appear between his brows. “I can see that.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Privacy would be appreciated.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitches. “The door was wide open.”

  An unhappy sigh escapes me. “An oversight.”

  Tristan stands there, his gaze lingering on my legs, then slowly moving up before landing on my face.

  A look of desire clouds over his eyes.

  “There isn’t any water.”

  I pin him with a hard glare.

  “And you’re dressed,” he adds.

  “Your penchant for stating the obvious is mind-blowing.”

  “I think you’re also missing bubbles,” he goes on.

  “I’m not a bubble-bath kind of girl.”

  Tristan takes a few steps into the bathroom. With a predatory smirk, he crouches by the side of the tub, curling his hands around the sides.

  His lips are less than an inch from mine.

  “What kind of girl are you, Serena?”

  Why does it feel like all our conversations have hidden meanings? He waits me out while I fuss with the label on the bottle, peeling it to reveal the glass underneath.

  “The kind who doesn’t like getting her ass kicked,” I pause, placing the bottle on the tile floor, “by you.”

  Without another word, Tristan yanks a fluffy hand towel off the rack next to us and turns on the warm water.

  Quietly, he wets and soaps it before shutting off the faucet and leaning close to me. With a slow and steady hand, he gently begins to wipe the dark lines off my face.

  “What is this shit?” he asks, his voice raspy.

  “Mascara,” I whisper.

  His brow wrinkles.

  “Makeup,” I add, unsure why he’s asking.

  He continues to wash it off. “I’m no expert, but I think it’s supposed to go on your eyelashes.”

  “Another excellent observation,” I counter.

  “Why is it all over your face?”

  “The rain.” I respond, in a quiet murmur.

  “The rain?”

  “It’s not waterproof,” I explain.

  “Then why are you wearing it?” Another swipe and he leans back, taking me in, before throwing the wet, stained towel on the floor. “Why, Serena?” he prompts.

  I offer a shrug. “I was trying to seduce you.”

  His eyes travel over my body. “Yeah?”

  I stare at him. “Did it work?”

  He smirks. “Nope.”

  My gaze is locked onto him. “Damn.”

  A dark and burning look crosses his eyes, sending a shiver of fear and anticipation down my back.

  “You might want to look into a different hobby.”

  I swallow. “A different hobby would be a shame.”

  “Yeah?” he whispers. “Why’s that?”

  “I thought I was just getting the hang of this one.”

  Another frown causes me to take in his perplexed face.

  His hair is falling into his eyes, begging for me to sweep it to the side. Without thinking, I lift my hand and move the pieces, my fingertips grazing his forehead.

  At the contact, Tristan hisses through his teeth, causing me to pull my hand back. But before I can, Tristan’s fingers wrap around my wrist, holding me in place.

  “Why are you sitting in the tub, Serena?” he asks.

  “You bruised my ego. And my side,” I admit.

  “It’s the first defeat, not the second, that cuts a protector to the bone,” he says in a gruff voice. “Ryker took you down once before. You’re a royal protector, a skilled warrior. Why did you let me knock you down today?”

  “I didn’t let you,” my voice is unsteady.

  “You did.”

  “You took me by surprise,” I accuse, “and threw me to the ground. It was a fair hit. And it hurt.” I shift painfully.

  His focus dips to my side.

  “You should focus more on training and less on me.”

  “You distracted me,” I snip.

  “Distractions will get you killed, Princess.”

  I gape at him and release my anger at the use of the royal term I despise. “Then stop being one, Tristan!”

  “Today had nothing to do with me.” His tone is a warning.

  “It had everything to do with you!” I try to pull my wrist out of his grasp, but he tightens his hold.

  “Didn’t your clan ever teach you that revealing a weakness is a sure way to bring about your death?” he barks.

  I stiffen. “You waltzed into my life and turned it upside down. Not the other way around.” I release an awkward laugh. “I mean, by the grace, there are days that I don’t even think I really like you very much.” I exhale a shaky breath.

  “But?”

  “But, then you kissed me.”

  “You kissed me first,” he counters.

  “Yeah. I did. Want to know the sad part? You’re the one hiding secrets and a past—I mean, we’ve lived under the same roof for a whole week and I don’t even really know you. Yet, I feel like I can’t breathe without you. You’re like an addiction, and I’m an addict in need of a fix. So when you go and take off your shirt, and look all . . . Of course I would be distracted. What being with eyes wouldn’t?”

  Tristan watches my outburst calmly, with no change in his expression. He simply beckons me forward, as if I hadn’t said anything at all.

  Suddenly, his free hand is at the base of my throat, feeling my pulse. I don’t flinch, because now I know he’s using his empathy gift, trying to get a handle on my erratic emotions. The hand wrapped around my wrist moves mine to his face, pressing my palm flat against his rough cheek.

  Slowly, he leans forward, creating our own personal space, where it’s just us. Nothing else.

  His breath falls in waves across my lips and weirdly, I can feel our heartbeats sync, becoming as one.

  A warmth floats through me, making its way down to my side, healing me.

  “You healed me? How did you do that?” I whisper.

  “Magic,” he replies in a quiet whisper.

  The tingling in my side grows. Only bonded protectors can heal one another, and yet, here he is, doing it.

  Without thinking, I move forward the slightest bit, so that my lips brush his. That small amount of contact causes a fire to suddenly explode in both of us, and within seconds, our mouths are molded together in an all-consuming manner.

  Tristan’s hand on my throat wraps around my neck and pulls me closer to him. My fingers slip into his hair and press him to me, hard. In one smooth move, I’m out of the tub and straddling his lap.

  The coolness of his rings pressing against my back, underneath the hem of my shirt, is a welcome sensation against my heated skin. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire as his hands glide down to my ass, squeezing and holding me to him, encouraging me to
rock against him.

  All rational thought escapes me, as one of his hands runs over my body and hooks in the front of my tank top, pushing the material down to expose my breast.

  His lips assault my mouth, then move to my neck, sucking and biting their way across my skin as I continue to rock against his denim-covered lap without shame.

  The minute his mouth latches on to my nipple, I buck against him, throwing my head back with a load moan. My insides clench and unclench, and my core tightens with need, while he expertly sucks and teases.

  I release my grip on his soft strands and wrap my hands around his wrists. The leather of his bracelets is rough and smooth at the same time under my palms, fueling my need.

  Tristan’s warm, wet tongue slides over the flesh of my breast, which seems to have a direct line to my core. Each stroke is a sweet, painful torture that I never want to end.

  “I want you,” I moan.

  At the release of those three words, Tristan slows down. My insides quiver at the intensity of his gaze when his lust-clouded eyes meet mine. Pushing both hands into my hair, he pulls my forehead to his, just as I bring my fingertips to my lips. I try to swallow my disappointment that he stopped.

  “I’m not what you want, Serena. Your emotions are heightened right now. Your judgment is clouded.”

  “You are,” I attempt to convince him.

  “The truth is, I’m no good for you.”

  “You don’t know that.” I stroke his jawline.

  “You deserve better.”

  “Let me decide what I deserve, Tristan.”

  “I can’t keep you.” His voice is raspy and strained.

  “I didn’t ask you to.”

  Tristan closes his eyes and runs his nose across my jaw.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispers.

  “I want to,” I counter.

  “Tell me to stop,” he growls.

  I search his eyes. “Don’t stop.”

  In an instant, Tristan grabs the back of my neck and kisses me like he’s making love to me with his mouth. His hard length pulsates through his jeans, between my legs.

  This is neither sweet nor loving; it’s hot and demanding.

  Holy hell.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  I open my mouth to him and he sucks my lower lip into his, Tristan’s tongue dancing across my mouth with a slow intensity—the kind that leaves you without air in your lungs and your thighs pressing together in search of more.