Page 79 of Bound to the Dreadlord

The hesitation is infuriating.

"Defend yourself," I command.

She shakes her head. "I—I'm not a warrior."

"Then you will die as prey."

I move faster. Not enough to wound, but enough to make her stumble, enough to force her to react.

She does.

Clumsy. Untrained. But reacting.

She grips the blade tighter, trying to match me, trying to survive.

Something tightens in my heart, something dark, something hungry.

She is not fighting to win.

She is fighting because she refuses to lose.

That is what makes her dangerous.

Her breath is ragged, her stance weak, but she does not yield.

My blade stops just shy of her throat, the sharp tip grazing against her pulse.

She should cower.

She doesn’t.

Something thickens between us.

I lower the weapon, gripping her wrist instead, holding her still, forcing her to turn to me.

"You will learn," I say, voice rough, weighted. "Or you will break."

She swallows. I see it. The way her pulse betrays her.

She opens her mouth—to argue, to spit something reckless.

She never gets the chance as a voice interrupts.

"Distracted, are we?"

The world stills.

I release her immediately, and the moment shattered.

Hazeran stands at the boundary of the training grounds, arms folded, silver eyes gleaming.

I do not turn to fully face him. I don’t need to.

Sera does.

She tenses. The way prey does when it realizes it is in the presence of something worse than a predator.

Hazeran’s gaze flicks between us.

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