Page 205 of Emylia

He smirked, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "You done showing off?"

"Hardly."

I surged forward, bloodied fists clenched tight–if he wanted a war I’d give him one worthy of legends.

Right jab—blocked. Left hook—ducked. Knee to the gut—he caught it, gripped my thigh with maddening ease—Iusedit, jumped off the other foot, vaulted over him and landed behind his back.

He spun just in time to meet my boot to his chest.

He stumbled.

Laughed.

Gods, he was enjoying this.

I didn’t let up. We clashed again—hands, feet, sweat, breath.

No weapons. No magik. Just muscle and memory.

Every strike was a flirtation.

Every block, a dare.

Every graze of skin, a promise not yet made.

I barely had time to breathe before he was moving—fast, fluid, deadly. I struck high again, a brutal hook aimed at his jaw—he blocked it, twisted, and caught my wrist. With a flick of force and a turn of his hips, Maalikai spun me around so fast the ground tilted—my back slammed into his chest, breath knocked from my lungs.

His breath skimmed my ear, voice low and taunting. "You're trembling?"

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

I elbowed back into his ribs, spun, and shoved him.

He let it happen.

We crashed into the dirt, rolling, wrestling for dominance—but this time it wasn’t about winning. It was something more.

Something animalistic.

He pinned me again, body hovering above mine, his knee sliding between my legs, this time it did caress me.

His forehead dropped to mine. “Say the word and I'll stop.”

I didn’t.

He surged down.

And we collided.

Lips. Bodies. Souls.

We weren’t fighting anymore.

We were burning.

An exquisitely gentle finger glided over my cheek, catching a tear I hadn’t realised escaped.

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