3

kaira astor

I inhale and exhale deep breaths, bowing my head as I cringe in pain. "Come now. You've grown weak, Kai." Dax taunts, circling me and I groan, standing up straight and narrow my eyes on him. "And you've become a sly cheater, it seems." I rush out, stepping forward as he halts in front of me, pushing his mop of curls out of his face and smirks. "Do you think your attacker is going to fight fair?" He chuckles, his blue eyes falling to my hands. "Come on," He nods, and I heave out a breath through my teeth. I lunge at him, throwing my clenched hand at his face, and he lifts his bulky arm, dodging the jab and, as he does, I launch my clenched hand, my fist landing against his chest. A huff of air leaves his agape mouth, and he steps back, giving me the opportunity to lift my leg and kick at his knees.

Before my foot can make contact with his knee, he bends down and grabs my ankle. In a swift movement, he raises my leg and I tumble to the ground, the oxygen knocked out of my lungs and I gasp, my eyes wide as I stare up at Dax. "Too predictable." He smirks, stepping toward me and I clench my jaw, kicking at his leg, and he stumbles, giving me the chance to stand up and the moment I do, he launches at me with force. I yelp, his shoulder digs into my torso and sends me falling backward.

The mat does nothing to soften the fall, and with Dax's body crushing me to the floor, I squeeze my eyes shut as the pain explodes across my ribs. "Fuck." I croak out, my fingers flexing against the mat. The weight falls away when Dax rolls to the side, and I gasp, my lungs expanding. "That was such a d**k move." I wheeze, placing my hand over my heaving chest. Dax's rough laugh pelts over the noise in the gym. I blink up at the ceiling and rise onto my elbows, heaving out a sigh. My gaze flints over the room, soldiers and guards scattered everywhere, all standing on separate mats as they spar, the sound of skin slamming against skin fills the room.

My eyes flick to the side, as if my gaze is pulled toward the man standing near the wall, observing the fight on the mat in front of him. His arms are folded across his broad chest, the muscles in his arms straining against the material of his black shirt, my eyes falling down the black ink scattered across his forearms, but he's too far away for me to make out what they are. He stands with a sense of confidence that has me exhaling a trembling breath. He's watching the fight with disinterest through a few strands of his black, silky hair that falls over his face, and I can't help but to think about his words last night. He hasn't allowed me to follow through on my threat. As if feeling my gaze, he flicks his eyes toward me. My heart lurches into my throat.

"He's one scary fucker, I'll give him that." Dax mumbles, falling back down on the mat. I lower my gaze and swallow, my throat dry. "At least I don't have to see him every day." I shiver at the thought. I still have to see him though. "Instead, you get to see me every day, lucky you." He flashes me a grin, weaving his fingers through his hair. "I'd hardly call that luck." I tease, gathering my tangled strands and pull it to the top of my head, tying my hair in a high ponytail. Dax pushes up on his elbows and stares up at me. "You wound me," He places his palm over his heart. "I thought I was your favorite guard."

I roll my eyes, leaning forward to push his shoulder. He catches my wrist with his hand. "The whole point of the two hours is for you to train, not lounge around." His voice folds around me like a mist of shadows, my muscles straining. I lift my gaze, a tremor rolling through me. Zyran tilts his head, his eyes falling down to Dax's hand wrapped around my wrist before flashing back up to my eyes. "We are," I quip, pulling my wrist from Dax's hold and stand. "We were just taking a break." I catch the hem of my shirt between my fingers and press down on the material.

Zyran's eyes darken. "A break? You hardly did anything," He pushes his hands into the pockets of his trousers, catching my attention. My eyes rove over his forearms, over the black flames licking up his right wrist and I squint my eyes, the skin raised below the tattoo as if he was trying to cover something with the flames. My eyes flick to his left forearm, bare of any tattoos, the skin smooth and tan, his veins prominent. I suck in a breath. "To me, it seems like slacking."

I look up at him, my eyebrows pulling together. "We were training." The words rip out of my throat. Sergeant or not, he doesn't get to speak to me this way. He arches a dark brow, his eyes cold. "Training for what exactly? Because it definitely wasn't for a fight." His remark is a clear insult to Dax, one directly aimed at Dax's ability to fight and train. I know what Dax is capable of, and I also know that he takes it easy on me, mainly to not hurt me. I take a step forward, narrowing my eyes into slits, my hands balling into fists. Zyran's eyes fall down to the movement, and I swear I see the edge of his lips twitch up into a smirk. "Dax is the best fighter I know," Rage weaves through my words as I spit them out. Zyran's eyes fly to mine, his pupils swallowing the green in his eyes.

His jaw flexes. "Yeah?" Slanting his head to the side, he watches my expression briefly before looking over at Dax. "Show me then." Zyran's voice is calm, but his eyes have a hard edge that dares Dax to refuse. I twist around to look at Dax, his head falling into a curt nod. I gape. From what I've gathered, Dax definitely shouldn't fight Zyran. I spin around. "Just because you're the training officer now, doesn't mean you can throw out orders as you please." I snap, throwing my arms out. Zyran bends, unsheathing the dagger around his thigh and looks up at me through his lashes. My breath hitches. "That's exactly what it means."

Standing to his full height, he lifts his arms and starts unsheathing the daggers by his ribs, ones I didn't even notice before. Why on earth would one need so many daggers? I shake the question from my mind and settle my gaze back on Zyran just as he hands his daggers to one of the soldiers, meeting my stare. "Get off the mat." He nods to the side and I gape. He takes a small step forward, his eyes narrowing only slightly. "Get off the mat before I carry you off." His threat lingers in the air between us, and I'm too baffled to defy him. I step to the side, my fingers trembling as Zyran steps onto the mat and every head swings toward us.

The quiet that falls on the room is telling. Zyran commands as much respect as his ego shows. Nausea rises like a tide. Both are equally matched in height, but Dax is bulky and looks to have about twenty pounds on Zyran, who's cut in deep, muscular lines. I blow out a low breath. Dax is a good fighter. The best I know. The intensity in the room only seems to grow as Zyran stands starkly still compared to Dax, who is slowly circling him.

Dax pushes forward and swings for Zyran's face, and I hold my breath as Zyran easily evades the punch, delivering one of his own to Dax's ribs. The sound is piercing, drawing a round of cheers from the soldiers in the room. Everything happens in a rush as Zyran dips and spins, avoiding another of Dax's attempted hits. My eyes latch on to Zyran, my lips parting as a definite sparkle shines in his green hues. He's playing with him. Dax rushes forward and swings with a force I've seen multiple times and Zyran deftly jumps back, denying the strike.

Zyran moves with lethal grace, in each and every strike, his moves swift. I've never seen anyone fight like this before. Dax is bleeding already. My heart pounds in my chest as I stare transfixed. With utter ease, Dax strikes and slams his fist into Zyran's cheek, his head snapping sideways with the force of the blow. A crowd has formed around the mat, and they all chant. Zyran thumbs a drop of blood off the split in his lower lip, a slow grin splaying over his mouth. I stare, barely breathing.

Swiftly, Zyran explodes forward and strikes with two quick punches, putting his full weight behind them, and I watch in horror as Dax falls to his hands and knees. The crowd erupts in cheers, and my head spins, my eyes following Zyran as he steps toward the side of the mat, sheathing his daggers one by one, his knuckles raw and bruised. His feral eyes flash to mine, my stomach lurching as he moves toward me, halting at the edge of the mat and sheathes his last dagger.

"He's considered the best you've seen?" He stares down at me with an intensity that seeps into every fold in my brain. He runs his tongue over the small cut at the corner of his lower lip as if testing it. "It's a wonder you're still alive then." With a lingering gaze, he twists and then halts. "Don't think I forgot about the threat. I implore you to follow through with it."

I wasn't sure before, but I am now; I f*****g hate him.

---

I trail down the hall, my limbs heavy and strained. After what happened at the gym this morning, I sent Dax to go rest for the day. Partly because of his injuries, but mainly because my stomach soured every time I saw his bruises. My fingers find the hem of my shirt and I press the material between my thumb and forefinger. Fortunately, I haven't seen Zyran either. I halt in front of my father's office door and drag a breath in before knocking on the wood. One, two, three, four seconds pass. "Come, Kaia." He calls out.

I push open the door and step inside, finding my father beyond his desk, a pen trapped between his fingers. I push the door closed and halt in my tracks when my eyes fling to the side. Zyran stands leaned back against the wall by the window, hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze flippantly meeting mine. Catching sight of the cut on his lip, the image of Dax on the floor flashes through my mind and anger spikes. "Dad," Running my tongue over my teeth, I slowly make my way over to his desk, biting down on the side of my cheek as Zyran's invading eyes track me across the room.

"What is this about?" I watch him warily. He huffs out a sigh and drops the pen. "Upon careful consideration, I've decided that Zyran will now be taking over the role as your personal trainer." My world stops. I pivot my head to the side, meeting his gaze and, I swear, amusement shifts through his piercing green eyes. No.