Pinned Down
1070 Words
Ariselle’s POV
My skin still felt like it was humming from the night before. I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Caelan’s breath on my mouth and the hard press of his body against the wall.
I needed to hit something. More importantly, I needed to remind everyone—especially him—who I was.
The training grounds were packed. My father sat in the raised stone gallery, looking concerned. Next to him were Caelan’s advisors, men with scarred faces and cold eyes who looked like they hadn't smiled in a decade.
I stood in the center of the dirt pit, checking the leather straps on my forearms. I had chosen my lightest gear for speed.
"You look like you're preparing for an execution," a voice said behind me.
I turned. Caelan was walking onto the field. He had stripped down to a thin black tunic that strained against his shoulders. He wasn't wearing armor. He didn't think he needed it.
"I am," I said. "Yours."
Caelan stopped three feet away. The morning sun caught the dark gold in his eyes.
"You want to do this in front of everyone, Ariselle? You want your pack to watch their princess lose to the man who is going to claim her?"
"I want my pack to watch their warrior humiliate an arrogant Alpha who thinks he can buy a wife with a dead man's promise," I countered. I picked up two wooden practice swords and tossed one at him.
He caught it out of the air without looking. "A bold move. You think speed will save you from my strength?"
"I think your ego will make you slow," I said.
I didn't wait for him to settle. I lunged.
The first strike was a blur. Caelan parried it with a grunt, the wood cracking loudly against wood. I didn't stop. I spun, aiming for his ribs, then his shoulder. He blocked every move, but I made him work for it. He had to step back.
"Is that all?" he mocked.
"Just warming up," I said.
I stepped into his guard, moving so close I could smell the woodsmoke on his skin. I feinted left and struck right. The wooden blade caught him across the bicep. He didn't flinch, but his eyes darkened.
"My turn," he whispered.
He swung. It wasn't a fast strike, but the power behind it was immense. I jumped back, the air whistling where my head had been a second ago. He kept coming, using his reach to keep me on the defensive.
Every time our blades met, a shock of heat traveled up my arms. It wasn't just the vibration of the wood. It was….a bond. It was screaming, demanding that we stop fighting and start touching.
No.
"You're breathing hard, Ariselle," Caelan said. He stepped forward, forcing me toward the edge of the pit. "Are you getting tired of running?"
"I'm waiting for you to trip over your own pride," I panted.
He lunged again, but this time I didn't retreat. I dropped low, sliding through the dirt, and kicked his lead leg. He stumbled. I jumped up, intending to pin his arm, but he was faster than I expected. He dropped his sword and grabbed my waist, his large hands locking around me like iron bands.
"Got you," he growled.
"Not yet," I said.
I used his momentum against him, twisting my body and pulling him down with me. We hit the padded mats at the edge of the pit with a heavy thud.
I ended up on my back, but I had my legs wrapped around his waist, trying to flip him. Caelan slammed his forearms down on either side of my head, pinning me to the mat. His weight was staggering. I couldn't move.
The crowd went silent. The only sound was our ragged breathing.
"Yield," Caelan said. His face was inches from mine. Sweat dripped from his chin onto my collarbone.
"Never," I whispered.
I bucked my hips, trying to dislodge him, but it only made things worse. Our bodies were pressed together from chest to knee. I felt every muscle in his legs, the hardness of his stomach, and the heavy thud of his heart against my own.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes. His expression wasn't cold anymore. It was raw. He looked like he was starving.
His hand moved. He shifted his grip from the mat and slid his hand under the edge of my tunic, his palm resting flat against the bare skin of my waist. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle against my hip.
I stopped fighting. My breath caught in my throat. The touch was electric, a searing heat that made my toes curl.
"Your heart is racing," he whispered. His voice was so low only I could hear it.
"You aren't fighting me anymore, Ariselle. You're waiting."
"I'm waiting for you to get off me," I lied. My voice was shaky.
"Liar," he said.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. The stubble on his jaw scratched my skin, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold morning air.
"Alpha Caelan wins by submission!" my father’s lead warrior called out.
Caelan didn't move for a long second. He stayed there, his hand still on my waist, his body holding mine down. He let out a slow exhale, then pushed himself up.
He stood and offered me a hand. I hesitated, then took it. He pulled me up with one sharp jerk, bringing me close to him again before he let go.
"You fought well," he said loudly for the crowd.
Then he leaned in, his voice dropping to that dangerous, intimate level.
"Your fire is the only thing keeping me from walking out those gates and never looking back. Don't let it go out. Yet."
He turned and walked away, joining his men without a backward glance.
I stood in the center of the pit, covered in dirt and trembling. I looked down at my hand—the one he had held. I should have been angry that I lost. I should have been planning my revenge.
But all I could think about was the heat of his hand on my waist, and the terrifying fact that when he let go, I had wanted to pull him back.
- Writer
