Word Count: 3204

~Aesira

I step across the lawn, tilting my face upward so the morning sunlight can warm my skin.

Edwin is a few paces in front of me, dragging the sparring mats to their usual position. Like any other sparring session with him, I come out bruised and achy, but never without my dignity.

Today will be no different.

Lengthening my strides, I catch up to him. He's ditched his shirt for the day, revealing corded muscle and ancient scars. For a guy barely ten years older than me, it's clear he has a brutal history.

Yet I can still kick his ass on a good day.

"What will it be today, Edwin?" I ask brightly, knowing he resents any hint of optimism. It's probably why he likes Maven so much.

He doesn't look at me as he positions the sparring mats. "Quiet."

"Come on. What is my handicap this day?" I stand before him, tapping my chin contemplatively. "I quite enjoyed the one where I couldn't evade any of your hits, I just had to take them. Was that cathartic for you?"

"Learning to block is as important as learning how to evade." He stands back, glaring at me beneath a sullen brow.

"Not when I'm facing off with someone objectively stronger than me." I fold my arms, drumming my fingers against my biceps.

Most days I don't think Edwin is interested in training me at all. He just enjoys watching me get hurt, which is why I've become so good at shaking off his hits. I'd sooner die than give him any kind of satisfaction.

"You're better for what you learnt that day," he points out.

"My cheekbone still hurts, you know," I grumble. It didn't feel very good that night when I was nursing the ache and wishing I had access to ice.

"Good," he says without hesitation.

I could bicker with Edwin all day, but I refrain. The more I push, the worse the outcome of this sparring match is going to be.

"So tell me, what is it today?"

He stretches before resting his hands on his hips. "No handicaps. Everything is on the table."

I straighten. "Wait seriously? Even weapons?"

"Even weapons." His half smile is deceptive. If Edwin is anticipating this session, it means I'm in for something brutal.

But if I have weapons, I can dish it back out equally.

"Great, give me a dagger and let's get to it." I hold our my hand in a give me gesture, assuming he's brought one out here.

He shakes his head slowly, that sinister smile growing. "You and I are not sparring today."

"Why? Scared?" I purr.

I see his shadow before I feel his presence behind me. Stiffening, I turn, swallowed by the sight of Everin a few steps away from me, his arms folded over his naked chest.

"You'll spar with me, Aesira," he informs me, the curve of his lips telling me exactly how pleased he is at that notion.

My throat dries to the point I can't swallow. He's standing there, many inches taller than me, with a ton more muscle and natural strength, and he wants me to fight him?

Does he want to kill me?

"You?" I back off a step, shaking my head. "No. I won't do it."

"You must."

"I can't face off against an Alpha. That's a death sentence." I look to Edwin for help, but he only watches the interaction with a sadistic smile on his face. Prick.

Everin angles his head, gazing down at me. I offer him the same appraisal, silently noting the dark, sloping tattoos and faint scars marrying his chest and the large, angled one curving over his hip.

He really is a work of art. What a shame.

"I'll go easy on you," he promises huskily. "You'll have a weapon, and I won't."

I tap my foot, arms crossed defensively over my chest. I could have any weapon in the world and it wouldn't be enough to harm an Alpha, but when else am I going to get a real shot at this? I fumbled when we were at the border village.

That won't happen again.

"I can try kill you?" I query incredulously.

"You can get close." A smile flashes across his mouth. "If you kill me, I won't be able to fulfil your wish for winning."

I straighten, intrigued. "Wait, I can win something?"

"Whatever you like."

I ponder that for a moment, sifting through my options. While this could be exactly what I need, I have to tread carefully. I can't trust that this isn't a trap, that Everin isn't just intending to take information from me.

Which means I can't blatantly request Lincoln's release.

"I want to see the sea up close. I never have before," I state decidedly.

His brows rise. "That's it? Of all the prizes, that is what you pick?"

I'm not lying about wanting to see the sea. I can view it from my bedroom window, but to stand upon the black sand, to feel the salty air tousle through my hair would be different entirely.

"Expecting me to ask for something else, Alpha?" I pin him with an accusatory stare, trying to root out what he knows.

He merely shrugs, not enticed by my bait.

"Very well. If I win—"

"You get something?" I'm not willing to give him anything.

"This is a deal, after all," he says, flashing a rare smile. "If I win, I want you to tell me who on death row you want released."

"No," I say immediately.

Of course this is his agenda. Has he not torn my life a part to small pieces enough? Must be seek out the only male I've ever loved and end him right in front of me to be satisfied? A male whose only crime was executing my father's orders.

"Why not?"

"And have you accelerate his death? No." It's only a matter of time before Everin figures out who in his prison was ever that close to me. Time is falling through my fingers like water.

He extends his arms magnanimously. "Perhaps I'll release him."

My eyes narrow. I'm not falling for that trap.

"I'm not taking that chance. Pick again," I insist.

He sighs, sensing he can't break me down on this.

"Fine. You accompany me to visit my father, and you abide by my rules the entire time," he says.

My brows rise. His father?

Everin's father is a special kind of monster. He stepped down from being Alpha a few years ago, although hasn't been seen or documented by my fathers recognisance in several years. He led his soldiers into my fathers pack in what was a violent and tenuous war that lasted almost a decade.

"You want me to meet your father? The man who has terrorised my pack for decades?" The man I'd probably kill if I ever him saw in person.

Everin doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. "Yes."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "If I win, you'll find out."

If he's achieved anything, it's intriguing me. I don't want to meet his father, but I want to know why he wants me to. I can't imagine it's to show me off...

"Fine, whatever. It's a deal," I mutter. I'll make him yield, if it's the last thing I do.

He looks to Edwin, who sighs reluctantly. He produces a dagger he's used in training before, holding it out to me.

"You may use this weapon," Edwin exclaims through gritted teeth. He sounds like he would rather use it against me than offer it to me.

I take it immediately, a thrill coursing down my spine. The blade is perfectly sharp, the silver glinting against the midday sun. It feels heavy too, slotting perfectly against my palm.

"Can I cut you?"

Everin shrugs. "I don't see why not. I heal quicker than the average male."

Edwin rushes to protest. "Alpha—"

"I can handle myself, Edwin," he assures him, pinning him with sharp look. His second bows his head, retreating back a few steps, honouring his dismissal begrudgingly.

I watch with a bemused smile. Their dynamic puzzles me. They definitely aren't friends, but Edwin respects his Alpha.

Everin turns back to me.  "Shall we begin?"

I nod, settling into my stance. I'm familiar with using a dagger, and I'm aching to hurt Everin in whatever way I can manage. But the warmth in his eyes and his relaxed posture unnerve me.

He knows I can only hurt him as much as he allows.

He doesn't advance on me. He simply stands, waiting for me to initiate. My eyes narrow on him, on the defined muscles of his abdomen and up his arms, to his assessing gaze.

Drawing in a breath, I rush forward, emboldened by the satisfying weight of the dagger in my hand.

Everin doesn't react until I'm right on him. I don't waste time going for his throat — no doubt he already is anticipating that. I don't even go for his heart or his stomach. Instead, I angle my weapon right between his legs, to the part of him I imagine he doesn't want to be parted with.

He hastily drives my attack away with his forearm, knocking my wrist to the side. The momentum nearly sends me stumbling, pain radiating up my bone from wrist to elbow, but I manage to recover by retreating a step.

I breathe out harshly. He smirks at me, although it's a little unhinged. The warmth has drained from his eyes, replaced by something darker, more feral.

"So that is how it is, Aesira?" He enunciates every letter of my name as he speaks it.

"I'm not going to win, so I figure I best make you hurt while I have the chance." I smile bitterly. "And if I can cease your bloodline while I'm at it, even better."

I expect my words to rile him, but he remains stoic. "Don't count yourself out yet."

Suddenly, he closes the gap between us. I barely have a chance to raise the dagger in defence before he shoves me. Shoves me. The bastard.

I hurtle backward from the pure force of the shove, barely managing to dig the heels of my boots into the grass. He sent me off the sparring mat.

When he approaches again, I slash at him. He eases back enough to miss the pointed tip of the blade, taking advantage of the breadth of my swing and the moments it takes to recover. He shoves me again.

This time, the sky tilts overhead and I land square on the ground.

Pain lances up my back, most of my breath pushing out my lungs in an instance. I wince, instinctively drawing in breath after breath to recover, alarm pulsing through my body.

I suppose this embarrassment is what I deserve. I played dirty first.

Before I can scramble up, I feel his hand grab my ankle. He yanks me right back onto the sparring mat, between his feet.

He looks down at me with a cruel smile. "Get up."

I pounce up again, putting some space between us again. I need to catch my breath, my confidence shattered from his unexpected offensive.

He hasn't injured me, but he's effectively stripped me of all my pretences. I shouldn't have figured he would play nice. Just like Edwin, he wants to humiliate me.

I come at him again, feinting a strike at his ribs. He moves to block, earning himself a slash at his face for his miscalculation. He barely jerks his head back fast enough, the blade barely nicking his jaw.

My satisfaction is short-lived.

I attempt another strike, twisting my body around his in a hope to sink my knife into his side. It wouldn't kill him, but it would hurt.

Instead, he deflects swiftly, grabbing my forearm in a grip so tight I almost wince. He twists me around, my shoulder protesting, until my back is flush against his front. He plucks my knife from my grip before he shoves me away again.

I stumble back, humiliated again, and suddenly defenceless.

"You really do want to hurt me," he observes softly, examining the blade in the light.

I shrug with one shoulder, wiping at the sweat gathered on my forehead with the back of my hand. "Go figure."

His gaze lifts to me. His stamina is unmatched — he hasn't broken in a sweat, and he doesn't need any time to recover his breath.

Suddenly, he drops the dagger onto the mat between us.

"Pick it up," he instructs coolly.

My eyes narrow, understanding the challenge. I can reach for it, and open myself up to his attack. Or I can continue on without a weapon and get my ass handed to me.

Decision made, I bow to one knee to retrieve the weapon. He immediately reacts, but I figured as much. Instead of grabbing my weapon and rearing up to meet his attack, I lower my torso to the mat, sliding across it with the dagger now in hand.

He realises a moment too late. At his side now, I launch up and slash across his side.

The blade cuts clean through skin and muscle, blood immediately welling at the wound. It's decently shallow, and being that he is an Alpha, he'll heal in a matter of days.

Still, I'm satisfied.

From the corner of my eye I see Edwin flinch, but he doesn't rush to his Alpha's aid. I scramble up while Everin straightens, turning to face me.

We've traded places now, facing each other down once again.

Everin inspects the wound, which is now spilling blood down his side and hip. It runs in rivulets along the defined lines of his abs, bright crimson in colour.

When he looks up at me, I expect ire in his gaze. Instead, he seems grimly impressed.

"Shall we end this, then?" His words carry a darker taunt. I swallow thickly, not certain I want to feel the brunt of this ending.

We fall back into sparring again a moment later. This time, the energy has shifted, and Everin falls more into the offensive than the defensive.

I don't get the opportunity to land another hit. Not a single opening is offered to me again, and every attempt I make it swiftly and painfully deflected. With a sweaty palm, I almost lose my grip on the dagger's handle multiple times, but by some miracle, it doesn't fall.

Everin strikes me over and over. Never with a closed fist, but each time I'm hit it hurts. He manoeuvres around my body with a skill that comes from more than just natural strength, but it is clear that he is spending most of the time taunting me, holding back.

Battered and bruised, I right myself from a particularly brutal hit once again, desperately searching for breath.

My hair is wild and messy around me, my skin slick with sweat.

Everin hasn't yielded, despite the amount of blood he has lost. In fact, he barely looks affected. The slightest sheen of sweat bathes his torso and glistens above his brow, but I would sooner believe it's from the sun than from my attacks.

I advance on him once again, fuelled by the deepest hatred and resentment, and the need to wipe that smirk from his face. But I'm weak, my blade barely coming within an inch of his flesh before he deflects.

Instead of adding his own hit to add to my failure, he grabs my, manoeuvring me down until my back hits the mat.

I expect him to back off and make me clamber up again in shame, but this time, he mounts me.

A small yelp of panic escapes my throat as his massive form straddles me. Dark hair pools around temples as he looks down at me, hands gripping my wrists.

My attempts to push him off are useless. He's heavy and strong above me, and in one movement, he's disarmed me.

I flinch as he brings the knife to my throat, under my jaw.

He has every reason to kill me right here. Edwin surely wouldn't protest. It would be clean and I deserve it, ultimately.

And the darkness in his eyes tell me that even for a moment, he's contemplated it.

"I yield," I immediately blurt out, praying he honours it.

Without hesitation, he removes the dagger from my throat and tosses it away. It lands in the grass at Edwin's feet.

"Good girl," he praises under his breath, settling the weight of himself against my hips.

I squirm helplessly beneath him. "Get off me, you brute."

He doesn't move right away. He just stares down at me, his smile slowly fading. I stop moving, frowning. He looks as though he has realised something.

He's unhurried as he rises from me, offering me his hand. I don't take it, fumbling upward on my own, feeling the extent of my injuries.

He really hurt me. I'll be nursing these scrapes and bruises for days to come.

"That was an impressive showing," he says, looking down at his wound. It still bleeds, with some of it having gotten on me.

"I had a good teacher," I muse, trying to stay as still as possible so I don't wince.

He smiles knowingly. "I'm aware. I'm still trying to decipher which of my death row inmates were close enough in your proximity, and equipped with the right tools to teach you."

"Who's to say it was him who was teaching me?" I muse. "Perhaps I was just fucking him."

Everin's gaze rises to me again, and I stiffen. I said too much.

"I thought you were fucking Lennox," he murmurs.

Well shit. I hope that accidental admission doesn't get someone killed.

"You should get that cut stitched up. It's probably going to scar." I point at it, wanting to angle his focus at something less incriminating.

"Indeed." He looks over me, pausing on areas of exposed skin already flushing with bruises. "You should head to the infirmary. See the healer."

I shake my head. "I'm fine."

A bath and a long sleep will do me fine enough. I don't need to rely on his resources here, especially when he dished this out to me.

His stare hardens. "Aesira—"

"Have a good rest of your day, Everin. Thanks for the opportunity to spar." My farewell isn't friendly, but to some extent, I do appreciate what just occurred.

He only went so hard on me because he knew I could take it. He respects me enough, and believes I am strong enough as a sparring partner to not do me the disservice of holding back too hard.

I turn to walk away, trying not to limp.

"Don't forget our deal," he calls out after me.

I sigh. I almost forgot.

I guess I'll be meeting Everin's formidable father, whether I like it or not.

❤️••❤️

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~Midika 💜🐈‍⬛