The dust of the training pits hung in the air like a red shroud, lit by the harsh, unforgiving glare of the midday sun. In the center of the ring, the sound of wood clashing against wood was like a series of gunshots.
Liam was a blur of lethal, controlled violence, his muscles slick with sweat and the grit of the arena as he sparred with two warriors at once.
His focus was absolute, his sapphire eyes cold and distant—until he saw her.
Aria stood at the edge of the pit, her fingers clutching a bundle of clean, white linens so tightly her knuckles were white.
She watched him with a heart that beat in rhythm with his strikes.
Every time he pivoted, every time he let out a low, guttural grunt of effort, she felt the mate-bond flare behind her ribs.
It was a secret, aching warmth that
