The loose strands of half brown half silver hair have long since given up on staying in the plait I'd done up this morning. That was nearly fourteen hours ago, and even if my day hadn't been flight practice after battle brief before sparring for our squad and then finally weight training with Imogen, the braid is on its last legs as Xaden easily sweeps my legs from beneath my body and takes me to the mat.

Again.

I'm hardwired to expect the ringing pain of a hard landing, or maybe it's my joints that expect it, but all of me is relieved each time his splayed hand catches my weight and keeps me from feeling the full force of the hit. Every. Single. Time.

Maybe I'll get used to it.

Xaden pops back up and holds his hand down to me. "And what did we do wrong this time, Violence?"

I sigh. Maybe I won't.

"I'm sure you'll tell me," I grind out, sitting up and setting my hand against his calloused fingers allowing him to pull me to my feet. The first eight or so times I rose under my own indignation, ignoring his hand and letting the snarky smirk drive me angrily back to my feet for another round.

Now? Fuck it. If he wants to pick me up from the mat a thousand times, I'll let him. He's the one putting me there anyway.

"You're not focused."

His words pull a scoff from my lips. "Yes I am. I'm right here," I gesture to the mat and retake my fight stance.

"The wingleader is correct."

Tairn butts in, and I roll my eyes while lowering my clenched, dagger-equipped fists a few inches.

Before I could think my denial and snap back at the meddlesome eavesdropper, Xaden is suddenly only a few feet away and the distance is rapidly closing. Before I can block and lift my hands, we collide. Well, he collides with me. The air leaves my lungs in a rush as his right hand wraps around my wrist twisting the dagger away while his forearm bashes painfully into my ribcage.

By the time his torso follows through, I'm headed again for the fucking mat. It's clear from his sharp inhale and the fact that all of his weight suddenly pressed down on me that he thought I'd react far better than just taking it at full force, but I didn't, so here we are.

"Damn it, Violence, pay attention," he growls, but his eyes say something else. Those deep pools of onyx speckled with gold and fire reflect a clear and resounding apology, and I can't look away.

"I'm fine," I assure, though it comes out as a simpering wheeze rather than the confident statement I'd intended.

The scent of mint, leather, and sweat fills my senses making my heart rate spike, and I can feel the heat of adrenaline coursing through my traitorous veins to pool between my thighs - right where his hips pin me to the floor.

Just like they had weeks ago in my room.

The few seconds of him pressing into me felt like both an eternity and a second. He moves quickly, too quickly, sitting back into a crouch on knees that clearly don't constantly betray him as mine do me. For a moment, I'm jealous.

Another gruff intrusion from Tairn, "of his knees? I'll never understand humans."

The pain is there, it always is, but it's manageable. It's been a long time since I've gotten the wind knocked out of me good and proper without breaking or dislocating anything, so I take the time I feel I need to lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling in an attempt to remember box breathing in an effort to tamp down this unbearable rising heat.

This was a trick Dad taught me when my temper flared while learning how to translate, but hey - maybe it also works on sudden and explosive sexual desire? What have I got to lose?

"You're not using your head." He stands to his full height but doesn't hold out his hand to help me up.

Xaden's insinuation narrows my eyes. "Well no one's said that to me before," I growl and move to lean up on my elbows to aid with lifting my head as I fling a hazel-hued glare in his direction.

He stands several feet away, all hard lines and chiseled angles. "Everyone you face on the mat has a weakness. Use that brilliant mind of yours to find and expose it so you can win."

"You've had years of combat training. I was told a year ago I'd be transferring from the Scribe's to the Rider's Quadrant. I can't beat you; I'm not trying to beat you! I'm trying to learn. Are you trying to teach?"

"Find. My. Weakness."

"Stop. Going. Easy."

The surprise that lifts his scarred eyebrow only stays for a second before he schools it behind practiced walls he's so good at constructing, and his corded arms cross over his chest. Despite the ominous figure I used to see him as, I recognize the slight slump of his shoulders, the downward tilt of his beautiful fucking mouth, and the honesty in his eyes at getting caught.

I hook my arms around my knees and rock forward, but don't rise. Me calling him out hadn't been my plan, but…honestly, I don't have a plan.

Yet.

"You accused Dain of coddling me, and here you are doing the exact, same, thing."

"I'm not. Trust me." His barked words were quick and sharp.

"I should be in agony with the dozen times I've hit the mat. Sure, I'm sore, but…you don't let me hit as hard as I should."

The memory of his voice enters my mind like the wisping shadows he controls. "Whatever you do…don't fall for me."

'That's it,' I realize.

His hesitation to my accusation was the time I needed to really study him, and I got my full chance when his eyes shifted from mine to focus on my lips. His body actually relaxed. 'I can get to him.'

"That's not," Xaden started, but he paused to think through his words. "I can't teach you anything if I shatter your shoulder on the first move, Sorrengail. The point of all this is so you don't end up on your back."

I lower my voice and allow a tiny cocky grin to poke at the corner of my mouth. "If you wanted me to be on top, all you had to do was ask."

My sore knee protests as I stand but it holds behind the wrap as I right myself and blow at an errant strand of hair that falls from the unraveling braid across my forehead and into my eyes. Six more tickle my collarbones and the side of my neck annoyingly wherever my skin shows around the tight black sparring tee and my fitted armor over the top.

Whether I knew he would wait patiently or just assumed, I step off the mat and pull the pins from the back of my head. The cord that holds the bottom of the tired plait together goes next and I drag my fingers through the silken tresses before gathering it all back up and redoing the braid nice and tight. There's no telling how many more times I'm going to hit the mat tonight, so I'd rather not have my hair in the way every single time I try to maneuver.

"By all means, Violence, take your time." Sarcasm drips from the words but the statement doesn't come from the back of his throat like all his lessons, advice, or admonishment. This gravelly rumble comes from his chest and pulls my eyes to his from where I was tightening the wrap around my left knee where it was slipping over my sparring leathers.

The hunger in those black depths nearly steals the breath from my lungs and stops my heart all in the same moment.

Clearly, I missed something.

Something I said or something I did triggered this sudden burst of heat that steams out of every pore of Xaden Riorson. A burning tingle runs from the bottom of my spine to settle at the back of my neck where his hand had cupped it upward allowing me to meet his mouth those weeks ago, and I feel my throat go dry.

Tairn intrudes once again. "This is what he meant by you not using your head."

"Well now neither is he. That was the idea."

"And this will make you a stronger rider, how?"

I throw up what mental shields I've been training, knowing it's not going to be nearly enough. The second mightiest dragon on the continent can probably break through whenever he wants, but the curmudgeon apparently got the point and I feel the connection with him dull slightly at the edges. He's still there if I need him, but he's left to attend dragon matters and not, as he would say, 'linger in the hormonal emotions of twenty somethings'.

Smothering the flames threatening to erupt in my stomach I focus on the wrap, finishing it before picking up the daggers and stepping back onto the mat. I slot one into the sheath at my ribs within easy reach of my left hand before palming the other in my right. I take my stance once again with a focus that, this time, I'm planning on maintaining. His eyes feel like they're boring through me rather than simply looking in my direction, but I don't focus there.

I can't.

I got hopelessly lost in his eyes before we'd slept together, what are my chances now? Zero, and I know it. I dart in with a burst of speed and throw my weight behind a well-timed kick punch combination, glad for the extra training Rhionnan had been putting me through as everything was starting to feel like muscle memory. Like I wasn't telling my leg to kick out, it was doing it on its own because it was the next logical move for the strengthening muscles.

Though he dodges it with the quick ease under which I know he thrives, I see his eyes follow the hand with the dagger as planned. The other hand isn't the threat - or so he thinks. He's still reeling from…whatever it was that shook him, and though he's ungodly quick, this dodge was slow. Well, slow for Xaden.

I feel his tight grip on my right wrist and the way he turns it just enough to force me to drop the dagger, but no further.

I feel every inch of his other arm as it wraps around my hips to haul my lower body against his.

I feel his fingers splay warmly against the small of my back as he steps into my attack to throw my balance off-kilter, and the leg that simultaneously sweeps the back of my heels out from underneath me.

Then - we're falling. His momentum carries me backward and that dropping feeling I've become reluctant friends with takes over. However, this time, I'm ready for it.

Just like the last ten times, he catches himself on a muscled arm as his knees land inside my thighs, and both keep ninety percent of his weight off my slight frame. Instinctively and through no thought of my own, my legs open to accommodate him as he keeps his body from crushing me against the floor. The warm hand at my back keeps me tight to his body to form an arch between my spine and the mat.

We lie breathing hard and I finally look up to see that he isn't looking into my eyes. His gaze is hyperfocused on my slightly parted lips as I pant through the adrenaline.

"Tap out," I whisper, very nearly brushing his lower lip with my own because of our proximity.

A confused yet still cocky grin erases the concentration on his face, but it's gone a moment later when the sharp point of my dagger pokes gently into his chest between the two ribs to the left of his sternum, under his thundering heart.

I feel what little of his weight he lets press deliciously into me lift, and suddenly all I can see is a tousle of jet black hair blocking my vision that I desperately want to run my fingers through. I feel him still when he notices my ignored left hand bearing that no-longer-sheathed dagger in a killing blow.

Between these ribs and at this angle is his heart, and he knows it.

Every single spot our bodies touch is fire and I'm quickly getting to the 'fuck it' breaking point with how badly I want to sling my legs over his hips and yank his mouth down to mine.

"Whatever you do…don't fall for me."

His words from weeks ago echo again in my mind but I know it's too late. I'm hopelessly falling, and I know there's no mat to catch me at the bottom. But I saw it in his eyes earlier - just a flash.

I feel it in the fact that my lower back still doesn't touch the mat where he presses me up against him.

I see it in the gaze he levels me with as something akin to surprised approval dances among those gold flecks.

"You found an opening." His tone is pure, wonton, energy, and it makes my already thundering pulse beat harder. Crackling energy pours through my veins like a drug and I feel the tingles at my fingertips where they still press the dagger to his ribs. His head tilts a fraction of a degree as a rumble of thunder outside pulls his concentration, though I know it's back on me the moment those onyx eyes capture my hazel ones.

I hold his stare.

"I had a realization," I correct, my voice soft.

He's making no attempt to move away, and I couldn't even if I wanted to, so I merely release my hold on the dagger and hear its soft thud against the pad.

"Ever the thinker, Violence," his voice is a body melting croon.

"What you said," I swallow and breathe, my body slowing from the action, "before. About finding your weakness," I leave off.

His chuckle is a challenge and I feel his lower stomach clench and release with the action because it's so tightly pressed into my own. "Do enlighten me."

"Whatever you do," I start, my voice dropping to a whisper at the end forcing him to lean in farther to hear, "don't fall for me."

The air that floods between us in that moment takes me by surprise as Xaden quickly sits back on his heels, and I feel the loss of his everything when he pulls away and distances himself a few feet. His hands are back on his hips and I feel almost as much as hear the air he sucks in and expels through his perfect lips.

Without turning to look he holds out his hand to help me up, but this time I don't take it. It's not that I don't want to, I do, but - now that I started my plan I have to stay the course. And by the Gods, this will be a difficult course to maintain.

"That's playing a bit dirty, don't you think?"

"I still got one."

He scoffed and finally turned to face me, his expressive eyes catching me in a fight pose simply waiting for him to reset so we could go again. He shakes his head before turning his body back to face me and that delicious mouth is tilted at the edges in a soft smile.

"One," is all he says.

"Maybe more," I suggest and we both know we aren't talking about victories on the mat any longer.

Holding up his hand he extends only his pointer finger. "One." Then he's rushing me and Godsdamn him, I wasn't ready despite the fact that I looked like I was.

I sidestep to the left out of pure panic though I know I was supposed to notice if he kicked off with his right or left foot, and that was supposed to be my indicator for which way to dodge. I'd missed it simply because my eyes got caught on the swirl of his rebellion relic as he'd held up his hand.

His shoulder crashes into mine as he dips and the only thing that keeps me from toppling to the mat is his sudden grip on my dagger-wielding hand. I feel a pinch in my fingers as he closes his strong grip around mine and forces me to tighten my own hold on the hilt of the weapon. He counters the spinning momentum and brings me backward to his chest while his other arm tightens, my own hand holding the blade to my throat. The blade isn't at the right angle to break my skin, though I know if he wanted, it would be.

His hand over mine keeps me from dropping the weapon and I know that with an ounce more pressure, the well-honed blade could break my skin. I also know he won't let that happen. The feel of him against me from where the back of my head hits just below his collarbone to where his right forearm squeezes my backside to his stomach threatens to distract me.

He's standing tall and holding me against his body, leaving my feet to dangle against his shins, but I pull myself together and use my left arm that he's completely ignored to fly up and dive my hand into his hair. I drag my fingernails against his scalp before clinging at the curling black tendrils and feeling his intake of breath where his mouth rests next to my ear.

We're both frozen and I can tell he's trying to maintain his disciplined composure. Perhaps now is when he'll break?

"You're dead," he growls in my ear, a shudder wracking my frame when his lips brush the shell of it. As suddenly as he's got me, he's gone, and I nearly tumble to the mat with the sudden release, but I land on my feet and keep my balance - miraculously.

I turn quick enough to see him jog to the other side of the mat before retaking his stance. The sharp nod of his head is all the order I get to reset, so I do it. There's resolve in his eyes, but swirling around the resolve are two very clear other emotions: frustration and lust.

He charges again leaving me no option but to react. He's not giving me time to think, and this bull-like rush is different from the other. Last time he turned into me while this time he turned away leaving me to counter into nothing before his shin sweeps against my calves and the flat of my back hits the mat.

Barely a second later his knee settles without full force on my wrist forcing the blade from my fingers while settling his weight on the other knee between my two legs. If I was any other opponent he'd be drilling those knees into my bones to disarm me, but the pressure is just enough to pinch and make me let go.

This means that his focus is on my arm and making sure he wasn't being too rough on my brittle bones and joints. I use the distraction to my advantage and lift my legs to hook high against his sides and lock my ankles against the small of his back. Pulling him toward my center with my legs I push up with my core and I know he feels the pinch as my off-hand holds my other dagger against his lower stomach - the right side…his liver.

He confirms before meeting my eyes, two kinked lines between his brows showing his sudden frustration, but when the sparkling fire behind the jet black depths twinkles and his gaze narrows, I know he's caught on to my plan.

"Clever," his whisper is a shot of pure electricity that shoots through my veins before pooling between my thighs.

"You told me," I pant, "to find my opponent's weakness."

He scoffed, the breath cool against the flushed skin of my chest. "You are not my weakness."

I shrug a shoulder lightly feeling a slight pinch of complaint from my shoulder blade where I'm lying. "Not me, here, now." I start, my left hand loosening and dropping the dagger so it no longer threatens to cut through the thin fabric of his shirt and into his tanned skin that I know hides beneath.

Another frown mars his beautiful face, and I pull with my thighs to push my heated center against the tight front of his sparring leathers. "I assumed the memory of me would be good enough for that last round though."

I feel his exhaled curse through every muscle in my body as he pushes away. I let my ankles unlock with little to no effort on his part and Xaden resumes his akimbo stance on the other side of the mat from where I lay, as if distance is his safety.

"That's two," I say, rising and reclaiming my daggers before rolling my shoulders. Gods, I'm going to be sore tomorrow.

I move back to the mat and stare him down, but lose my bluster when his hands reach back behind his shoulders to grab at the top and yank it over his head.

Oh…no, no, no. That's…not fair.

Tairn chuckles in my head, low and deep. "My mate bonded him because of his ruthlessness, Silver One, lest you forget."

"You're supposed to be on my side," I growl through the mental connection, but when Xaden stalks away from me and I lay eyes on the brilliant blue of his dragon relic across his back, I can't keep from tracing the edges as they dip and dive over toned muscle, and I have to shake my head to refocus.

His destination is the rack of wooden sparring weapons, and it's almost worse when he turns to stalk back, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the chiseled definition of his chest then lower to his rippling abdominals, then lower still to the tantalizing 'V' that disappears beneath the low-hanging waistband of his sparring leathers.

This game? It's no longer just me that's playing.

It's only when he's back on the mat that I realize he's grabbed two wooden practice daggers and takes up a defensive stance. He's clearly expecting me to be the attacker, and I oblige by darting forward with my left arm raised, dagger in palm, the right tucked at my side on the hilt of the other blade in the sheath at my ribs.

My eyes go to his legs and when he steps forward with his right leg, I react and pivot my weight to the left and strike out with the weapon in my hand. It's not a full-power strike, I'm definitely not trying to actually slit his throat, but I gasp when he moves, quick as lightning. I suddenly realize I shouldn't have switched to my left, and my momentum and the swing of his arms drives me downward to my left knee.

There's a distinct pressure against the lower left side of my rib cage from the wood blade edge in his left hand, and his right swings out to put the other blade against my throat with just enough pressure to be thankful that these are practice one and not real ones. If it was his honed steel I'm sure it would have drawn blood.

"You're dead," he states obviously and pulls his hands away allowing me to rise before he reclaims the defensive stance again. "Again."

The barked order sets a boil to the heat in my stomach, and I feel anger flare at my control as cracks in my shields allow a rush of power through my Archive doors.

"Silver One, control."

I balk and tamp it down before charging in again, this time with moves Imogen had been drilling into us. Though I assumed the correct movements, spinning on my back heel in response to his attempt at parrying, his left hand drops the wooden weapon to the floor before curling those massive fingers around my arm just below my elbow and disarming me yet again, this time straightening it between us to put him at my full arms length away while his free hand brings the second training blade up with deadly accuracy between the top two ribs on the left side of my body.

"Dead," he says again, and I feel the anger begin to turn into rage. He lets go and I feel a tenderness in my shoulder as I stretch the arm at the elbow, surprised at how little pressure he needed to exert to get me to drop my weapon this time.

I also see a hint of surprise in his eyes at how easy it was to potentially subluxate my shoulder and file that information away likely for the future. The surprise is overshadowed by an apology his lips don't reveal, especially when he takes up his stance again and demands I take him on once more.

"Don't let your anger be what spurns your…" Tairn starts, but I'm already moving, absolutely letting my anger be the fuel for my approach.

My arm is easy for him to catch, even with the wood handle against his thumb and palm, and as he rotates with me in a spin he twists just enough to get me to drop my dagger. That same hand lets go once I'm disarmed and the warmth of his palm is against my chest while his body steps into mine, his leg wrapping around my hip so his heel can drag my feet forward and sweep me right off them. His other hand breaks my fall, again - still, this time splaying across the relic we both know is there and keeping the sharpness of my shoulder blades from slamming into the mat.

I'm down once more, but he doesn't follow, merely coming to rest on a knee beside me before pulling the hand behind me free and quickly hopping to the balls of his feet as if his legs are made of springs.

I'm on my own to get up again, and by the time I rest my backside on my heels he's retaken a fighting stance several feet away. That damned cocky grin is back and this time, and I see a sense of victory shining in his eyes.

And I'm pissed again.

"You're fucking with me," I growl.

"I'm killing you. Are you going to stop it?"

I grab my blade and stand in a huff, the frown marring my face as I rake his body up and down with my gaze trying to see that chink in his armor that I spotted before, but he's impeccably closed off and there's truly nothing to see of the more open man from before. This man is all hard lines and hard attitude, and he's here for one reason only: to break me of my bad habits on the mat.

I charge back in and once again find myself on the mat - this time face down with one of his knees pressing again ever so delicately on my forearm until the turning of the bones forces me to drop the blade. His other knee is a firm pressure on my back, but I know that he'd be straining bone if I was any other opponent, and I feel that anger again.

"Dead again, Violence." He growls and rises, leaving me to stand when I'm ready.

I do, and his scarred eyebrow tilts with the determination in my eyes, though his gaze slips to my mouth.

I point in his direction with my blade, "I can still see your weakness," I assure, but he scoffs.

"Then expose it." He throws his arms out and I can't help but to sweep my eyes down the toned length of his reach.

"You want to know what I see, Xaden?"

"By all means, Violence, take me to class." His brawny arms drop and he gestures for me to continue. I take a deep stare into his eyes and easily find the lust just below the surface.

I hold out my forearms, palms up, and see his eyes flick to the creamy skin and scan them both in an attempt to figure out what I'm suggesting.

"How many times have you disarmed me?"

"Every. Single. Time. You know, when I got you those lighter blades, I'd assumed you'd be able to hold onto them better."

"And yet," I start by running the fingers of my left hand over my right forearm, "where are all the marks? My skin should be red and nearly raw from how many times you've grabbed my wrists and twisted the blades from my hands, yet," I leave off and he refocuses on the lack of blemishes on my skin.

I continue, though no one asked me to. "When Tairn can't wield his full energy because he's holding me magically in my seat, that leaves him vulnerable. When you look at my wrist when pinning it with your knee trying to gauge exactly how hard to press to get me to drop the damn dagger without hurting me, you are vulnerable. Just because you've stopped letting me get in close to fuck with you doesn't mean the weakness isn't there for me to see. If I had more training, I'd be on you in a second."

There's a heated silent pause between us and I stop, not really knowing what to say next. I've never truly been able to keep Xaden Riorson from having the last word, so his lack of a quip is unexpected.

Ah fuck it - I guess I'll push.

"Do you see me as weak, Xaden?"

His onyx eyes swing to meet mine and I see objection on every inch of his face. "Of course not."

I take both blades into my palms and charge forward, and I can see his muscles tense in sudden anticipation. I try for something Rhi had been starting to school me on - switching up my stance mid-step from my main leg to the off leg without dropping my primary fist as it swings my dagger. It turns my body at a slight angle making me a smaller target, and in sparring yesterday, I'd managed to slip past one of Sawyer's attacks and strike back, my blade at his throat forcing him to yield before he knew what had happened.

That's not at all how it goes with Xaden.

He takes a single step forward and the whole maneuver is fucked. I falter in my steps and try to stop the momentum and reclaim my previous direction. My knee, however, didn't get the memo. I feel it strain and nearly come out of place with a sudden gut-punching pierce of fire. The sharp hiss of pain that leaves my lips and twists my face is my initial reaction. My secondary one is to lift the leg up and keep weight off the suddenly useless joint.

It relieves the pressure, but it was also what I was supposed to be setting down next to catch myself so I wouldn't face-plant into the mat in a heap of agony.

Suddenly, he's right there and his arm is around my waist supporting my weight. All momentum stops as the beautiful bronze-skinned god of a man swings me around to the center of the mat.

"Are you okay?" His whisper is harsh against my ear, and suddenly…I'm furious.

For whatever reason, his concern pushes me past my tipping point.

Struggling out of his grasp, he lets go but steps to follow as I jog in a slight limp away from him, the knee protesting but holding behind the straining wrap. Rage at the reminder of my sudden frailty courses through me. The bricks in the wall that hold back Tairn's power crack and break, and the sudden rush of energy through my veins races to meet my overwhelming frustration. The tinderbox sitting in my stomach catches light and I have no choice but to let go of the suddenly burning, hot, crackling energy.

I flip both daggers from handle to pointed tip, catching them in my fingers before hurtling them one at a time at the wooden sparring target across the gym as a hoarse, angry, short scream tears from my throat. As if my traitorous knee wasn't bad enough, my damn left shoulder nearly gives out with the extension. I feel a groan in the tendons as they hyperextend just for a moment before snapping back into place and leaving me with a sharp searing pain and a tingle from the nerves trying to figure out if they should go numb or feel everything. The band snaps as the magic courses out of me.

The streak of lightning that illuminates outside the high dark windows bathes the sparring room in a blue-white flash, and a ground-shaking crack of thunder follows. It's almost over before it starts and I'm left panting through my nose as I try to calm down now that the rush of energy has been expended.

I'm still angry, however, but become distracted when I hear a clattering thud across the room as the wooden dummy hits the hardwood floor. My two daggers buried nearly to the hilt give it momentum, one in the throat and the other in the heart, if it had one. It bounces a few times before spinning to rest, and then all quiets save for the roar of blood pumping in my ears.

"You'll tell me if you need me." The fatherly voice is filled with concern and a small bit of confusion. He can easily check and make sure the Xaden hasn't just destroyed me with all of the sudden pain I just coursed through our bond, but him voicing his worry does wonders to help me calm.

"I'm okay," is all I can answer.

The roaring blood in my ears magnifies the panting breaths I'm taking, and in an effort to make the noise stop, I switch to sucking in air through my nose and letting it out slowly through my pursed lips.

"I'm not," I grind out, my throat suddenly hoarse. "I'm not weak."

I want to sound so sure, but I don't. I want to sound so confident, but the tremor in my words betrays me.

"I'm not frail, I'm not," I pause, my fists clenching at my sides and I can feel my fingernails pinch into my palms, "I'm not fragile. Don't think that I am."

Intended as a demand, the damn statement sounded like a plea.

He's silent through everything. I don't pick up on a hint of movement, speech, or even the sound of the door closing as he leaves to go do better things than train someone that can't bother to hold themselves together on the mat, but I know he hasn't left. That tingle at the base of my skull is still there, prickling energy across my scalp.

It's when he brushes past me toward the toppled training dummy that I find my center and begin to breathe normally again. I take the few moments I have to reconstruct my shields, my vulnerability at near maximum, and it's all I can do to try and protect myself in this moment.

Basgiath isn't for the weak.

Basgiath isn't for those that can't handle themselves.

But I'm still here, that small voice assures, one I hadn't heard in a little while.

"No one in the history of Basgiath has bonded two dragons. Must I remind you that dragons make infinitely better choices than humans? You must learn trust, Silver One."

"You sure you didn't make a huge mistake?"

"We both know I make no such mistakes."

And he's gone - him blocking me out this time.

My eyes refocus and Xaden is walking my way, my thrown daggers in his palms, but his eyes hold fast to mine. The boundaries of the restrictive rules I'd set for us are gone and I only see…him.

It's everything all at once. It's his concern, his want, his need, his desperation, his lust, and his demand, each emotion a fleck of gold around those pools of onyx, and I'm so lost I have to look away. The center of his chest is all I can focus on at the moment, the tawny skin taut and stretched over muscle like velvet over steel. I feel a slight pressure as he expertly slides the blades into the sheaths at my ribs, one on the right and one on the left, and the moment his hands let go of the hilts they trace tickling lines down my arms to my hands that are still tightly balled at my sides.

With deft and expert fingers he loosens my fists and the last of my anger dissipates.

I let it go, the calloused pads of his fingertips brushing gently against mine. Once loose, he retraces his journey just as slowly back up my arms to my shoulders then around to the back of my neck. His fingers dive into the hair at the base of my skull while his palms cradle my face, one thumb stroking the slight edge of my jaw, the other tracing the line of my lower lip, and only when he tips my face up and leans his head down do I close my eyes.

Xaden's lips brush mine with a touch so achingly soft that I set my hands on his forearms to keep myself steady, and I suddenly want everything from him. Every touch, every whisper, every stolen moment he'll allow us to have, as long as it's me with him. I can't breathe without him, and only as the pressure of his mouth against mine increases do I realize how empty I've felt since I'd told him weeks ago that I couldn't separate sex from emotion. Yes, the distance between us is him honoring my words, but that doesn't mean it hasn't sucked.

And I've missed him terribly.

I rise onto the tips of my toes to kiss him back eliciting a groan from his chest as I brush my tongue against his lower lip. The muscles of his arms tense and flex beneath my palms and I can feel the war waging inside him because it's the same in me I'm sure.

He breaks his mouth free but doesn't retreat, his forehead pressing against mine as our breaths mingle. I open my eyes first and see his tightly shut, the furrows of his brow deep lines of concern and worry, but I've made my choice for how the rest of tonight is going to go. It's up to him if he wants to walk away, not me.

It's me taking the risk, not him.

He's calculated. He can distance himself. He isn't going to struggle at keeping the emotion away.

It's my choice.

My left hand follows the bend in his arm at the elbow, his hands still cradling my face in his palms upward to look into his warring features, so I slide it underneath and drag the flat of my palm over the inside of his biceps and across the rounded pectoral to dance my clipped fingernails along the swirling lines of his rebellion relic. They move from his shoulder to the side of his neck then dive into the tousled mop of hair from the back of his head.

Fisting and tugging I pull him down the two inches to meet my rising mouth and feel his resolve begin to break as the fingers at the nape of my neck curl and tighten. The moment I part my lips he slants his mouth across mine and sucks my tongue greedily into his mouth, and this time it's my resolve that's set to splinter.

The hand which had its thumb dancing along the edge of my jaw moves and I feel his fingertips skim the peak of my breast on the way down to circle around and grab a handful of my ass before lifting at the top of my thigh. I need no further encouragement. Despite the sore knee, I hop to hook my legs over his hips. The straining need of him between us is now pressed firmly against my heat at the center of my thighs, and the reverberating groan that I swallow while he consumes every inch of my mouth fans the flames beginning to burn out of control in that tinderbox that is my stomach.

I'm aware that we're moving, but unsure where we're going as he hasn't released my mouth. Only when my back thuds against the post at the edge of the sparring area do our lips part, and I can't contain the panting gasp when he bites my lower lip before sliding down my jaw to my throat and to lave at the sensitive spot just above my collarbone.

With one hand I cling to the back of his neck, the other slipping between us to cup him through the taut fabric. I feel his forehead hit my shoulder as both of his hands match the grip on either side of my soon-to-be-bruised hips.

"Tell me this is what you want," he growls, his voice near feral as he nips his teeth against my shoulder. Oh how I wish it wasn't dulled by the damn fabric of my tee between us.

"I think you know that this is what I want," my voice is a breathy moan.

"I…need you to say it."

"Xaden," I near snarl, both of my hands cupping his stubbled jaw and dragging his face to meet mine. "I know the risk because I'm the one taking it. Stop asking what you already know."

He crashes his mouth hard over mine, all sucking lips and insistent tongue, and I drink in every bit of the essence of himself that he'll let me have. I drop nearly a foot from the hotness that are his lips as we part with a smack, and I feel my feet touch the floor for the first time in what feels like years. His hands are still on my hips until he knows I won't tip, and then they're behind me at the laces of my corseted armor. I feel it hit the top of our feet, him kicking it to the side before grabbing the hem of my shirt and tugging it from the tucked position behind my belted waist, then up and over my head.

"Do me a favor," he pants gruffly as my top ends up somewhere behind him.

"Pretty much anything," I answer before suctioning my lips to his chest as my fingertips skim his abdominals in tantalizing circles. The moment the pads of his thumbs skim the curved undersides of my breasts I hear the request from his chest more than between his lips.

"Let your hair down."

Then his fingers are at my belt, his lips skimming my temple as mine trace the line of his collarbone toward the pulse that pounds at the junction of his neck and shoulder. I lift my arms to pull at the pins at the top and back of my head while I use my tongue to worry a spot on his throat that drags another bone-melting groan from his chest.

It's my favorite sound in the world.

My position against the post at my back keeps the hair from tumbling straight down, so I drag it over my shoulder before discarding the pins with tinkering sounds against the striated grain wood of the floor. His hands slide up to my sides and pull me skin to skin against him, and he buries his face into the silken strands at my neck before taking a deep breath of the floral-scented perfume I spritz into it before going to bed each night.

"You smell so fucking good," he rumbles. "Like…lavender and leather."

Once he's had his fill, he lets go, takes a half step backward, then drops to his knees before me. The moment his mouth suctions to the soft skin of my stomach just above the band of my trousers I force myself not to melt into a puddle. Clinging to the cool wood of the post behind and above my head, my other hand can't help but to drive through his hair in an effort to hold his heated lips and tongue against my skin for even just a moment longer.

His hands land on my braced knee and I'm reminded of the throb that I've been pushing into a little box at the edge of my periphery, and I stuff it back into the corner as he loosens it enough to slide like a ribbon down the length of my leg before he starts on the belt and buttons of my leathers.

My hand tightens in his hair with each button opening because his lips follow, and though it's through the cloth of my panties, I don't care, it's not dulled in any way. He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops and tugs, a signal for me to begin to pay attention or topple over. He makes short work of one leg, then the other, mindful of my injury. I'm tempted to see if it's swollen and in actual need of a healer or mender, but looking down only affords me a mop of disheveled black hair that I'm currently clinging to and broad tan shoulders.

I feel his lips as they press softly to the inside of the knee, but I don't have time to find the moment sweet as he grasps my ankle with his hand and swings it over his shoulder to keep the wounded appendage off the ground and incapable of bearing any weight, intentionally or accidentally.

"Violet." His demand is a growl and my eyes fly open as he uses my name - not my nickname. I hadn't even realized I'd closed them. "A weak woman would never have me on my knees like this. Just so you know."

The moment I watched and then felt the heat of his mouth fasten to my center I realized my jaw and eyelids were connected as one dropped open while the others had to close to keep in the fireworks. The gasping cry that left my parted lips made him groan and dig one hand deeper into the meat of my thigh while the other slides up to press against my stomach, his fingertips spreading just between and below my breasts to hold me upright against the post while his lips and tongue claim me.

I feel my fingernails bite into the wood above my head when his tongue circles my clit and hear the whining hum I try to bite back by sinking my teeth into my lip. He alternates from a light flick with the pointed end to a flat sweep from my dripping entrance to the hooded top, and if he wasn't holding me up I'd be a heap on the floor. Fortunately, his whole hand damn nearly crosses the entirety of my torso from side to side, his long fingers relaxed but unyielding against my heated skin.

As if he knew I was focusing on his fingers, I feel one swirl my wet entrance before burrowing to the knuckle the same moment his pouted lips suckle the aching bud into the hot confines of his mouth, and I can't help but tighten my inner walls against the intrusion as the crackling rise of energy begins to build beneath my skin.

I want more. No. I need more.

"I know what you need," he vibrates against me, and only then did I realize I'd spoken, either in his mind or aloud, I wasn't sure.

A second finger joins the first and they twist to curl and scrape the internal sensitive wall while his tongue worries my clit with light, snake-like tickles and stiff brushing passes, alternating to keep me right at the edge of bliss.

I feel the first approaching crest, a wave of star-studded blackness that rises from the pit of my stomach to behind my eyes. My back arches and I open my eyes to look down, but all I can see is his hand between the swell of my breasts, the deep bronze of his skin a sharp contrast to the paleness of mine, but I can't straighten my back. My muscles are making their own decisions at the moment as my climax builds around his fingers and under his mouth.

My hand leaves his hair lest I pull it out in my zeal, and I follow what I can reach of the line of his arm that ends at his hand pushing me unwaveringly against the post. The milliseconds before my fingers touch his skin I feel the energy spike inside me and the hairs along my arms and the back of his hand prickle to stand at attention. Ripples of gooseflesh burst across my skin from head to toe. The leg looped over his shoulder tightens and pulls him in as if he could get any closer, and my hand leaves his to cover my mouth as I gasp before coming apart at the seams.

The flashing light behind my eyes isn't just exploding stars, and I feel another rumble of thunder along with cool wisps of shadow as they stream around us both. I can only assume Xaden has snuffed out whatever my signet has wrought as I ride the cresting waves of my orgasm. I'm pretty sure my hand did little to nothing as I can still somewhat hear my cries echo through the empty gym. I hope that the late hour means that everyone is in their rooms preparing for bed and not wandering the halls of this section.

If so, they got an earful of what certainly isn't sparring.

My heart corrects its rhythm, my breathing returns to something more normal, and though my pulse is still quick and sharp, it no longer thunders in my ears. I feel him leave my center and can't help but groan in disappointment as I could have him live there if he wanted to.

"I just might," he responds and stands, the back of his free hand wiping at his lips before he settles it back over my hip. "You taste just as amazing as I thought you would."

Whatever it is about him tonight, I can't stop telling him what I'm thinking, but I'm past complaining. While the release was lovely, it wasn't only what I needed. I need to feel it all. Every. Hard. Inch. When he cups the back of my neck and tilts me up to meet his hungry and devouring lips, I taste myself on his mouth.

His hands hit the back of my thighs and lift, and I feel myself moving then tipping. The softness of his hand braces me just before my overheated skin hits the cool padding of the mat at the farthest end of the sparring hall.

He sits to a kneel between my legs and my thighs drape loosely over his hips. I fix a lazy gaze to his fingers as they work the buttons of his leathers and a laugh bubbles up from my chest catching his attention.

"One of these days I'll actually have to get you out of your pants," I say, my voice a sultry purr, and I watch his eyes darken, which I didn't think was possible.

The moment he springs from the cloth prison we both groan, me in anticipation and I assume him in sheer relief. Dragging his hands from the backs of my calves on both sides to up and underneath my thighs, he skims past my center to wrap them around my waist just above my hips and pull me flush against his thighs, the weeping head of his cock rubbing and bouncing against my clit but not offering any relief.

I arch my back and feel the pinch of my hair as it pulls from where it's stuck behind my shoulder blades. I run both hands up my sides and curl forward just enough to gather the tresses up and fling them to splay in a halo around my head, and his hands squeeze almost painfully tight as a dragon-like growl leaves his throat.

He's content to rub himself against me, and despite my arching in an attempt to get him inside, I don't have the angle simply because he's holding my waist and hips off the ground entirely.

"I yield," I growl behind clenched teeth and tap the mat with the palm of my hand three hard times after the bulbous tip of him rubs against my clit bypassing my entrance yet again, and his chuckle nearly does me in, all gravelly and guttural and sexual and…Xaden.

The devilish smile that lights up his whole face is contagious. "I accept," he answers honestly, and though one hand maintains a firm grip on my waist, the other grips the base of him and points it at my silken entrance. I can feel the head of him stretching the outer lips and I close my eyes in preparation of having him so delightfully deep again, but when he pauses and asks me to open my eyes, I struggle with the overwhelming sensation of him slipping the first inch into my channel.

He points to his own eyes, "right here, stay right here. You have no idea how beautiful your eyes are when I take you."

Malek take my soul, I've fallen for this man.

I'm sure he's not wrong about my eyes, but the magnificent sparkle of silver, gold, and bronze in his is captivating, as is the way his tongue snakes out to lick at his upper lip before they form into a nearly perfect small O, and I know I match it. Our groans echo, low and high, and I feel every single inch of him slide against what feels like every nerve I have.

Only when his still-leather-clad hips press firmly against me and he's as deep as I can take him do we both break our gazes, and I feel his body bend over me and his muscles shudder ever so slightly before his hips roll and he pulls nearly free from my warmth before sinking back in with a single, swift, slide.

Though I don't have much experience to pull from, I miss the feel of his body pressing down over me, his chest rubbing deliciously against my breasts with each tilt of his body into mine. I settle instead for clinging to his right thumb from where it rests against the side of my waist as he lifts my body to meet his deep thrusts. The other hand I throw above me to twist through my hair before pressing flat against the mat below.

The coil is rewinding in my stomach, the tensing rings stacking one on top of the other, and the tingling signals of electricity beneath my skin flash through my veins. I'm sure that he feels it as well because the barely leashed growl that strained from his throat and the shift of his body over mine is punctuated by cool thin slips of rushing shadows that spread around the two of us in a veil-like shroud.

Lifting his left arm and hooking it beneath my injured leg, it balances in the crook of his elbow and my lower back finally touches the floor. His fingers wrap around my hand where it clung to his thumb, and I feel him lift it to join the other above my head, which he also gathers into his palm.

His voice breaks into my mind, "She's so fucking beautiful; I can't stop…I don't want to stop."

Gods, Xaden don't stop, I'm so close. "Fuck, I'm so close," his mind echoes.

I can feel it, just like last time. His thrusts against me are going erratic and the shadows are getting deeper. For the first time all night, his grip on my wrists are as tight as it's ever been, his fingers biting into me, and I know that I'll finally have some bruises to admire.

Every beat of my pulse is a hammer against my core and I can feel my walls begin to flutter around him. We share a smile at our simultaneous groans.

A shimmering veil barges into my mind as he floods my mind while his eyes hold mine captivated within the shimmering flecks of gold. "Beautiful, hot, warm, so…fucking…tight. I'm just waiting for those little gasps." His hips drive mine into the mat as the blunt end of him caresses my inner button while the base of him rubs my swollen clit on each and every stroke.

The cresting wave of flaring light radiates out from my center to every extremity, and I gasp four times in succession before everything inside me shatters, my cries caught by his mouth as he claims my lips while his body shudders above and inside mine, the throb of him against my velvet walls keeping the wave of pleasure from dropping in my foggy mind as he streams into me his loss of control via a series of curses and mutterings of random descriptors for soft and warm and wonderful.

He goes nearly limp over me, my leg sliding from the crook of his elbow, though I keep my thighs pressed deliciously against his ribs in an effort to keep him right where he is against and inside me.

After we've dressed, all awkward, sideways glances and zero words, I'm lost in thought as I limp back to my room.

"Was it worth your risk?" Protective Tairn sneaks his way in, and I know what he's referring to.

I pause in thought and, blessedly, he doesn't push. I know the answer, but I feel that I owe it to myself to really decipher it as if it's a problem with multiple solutions.

It's not. There's one answer, and I sigh.

"Always. I…I think it always will be."