Private Rank and Style

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Lancel Atria



Two years prior . . .

Reveries Epica was a classier bar than Cal expected for being invited by a squadmate. She hadn’t thought the rank and file of a private military group would enjoy the finer things in life. And Cal had lost track of the squadmate that invited her faster than she expected.

Well, she couldn’t say she was surprised, exactly. The other woman did have a reputation shared in whispers.

Cal’s own reputation was far more . . . distant. No one had said as much, but she saw it in their glances, in the way protocol was observed in her presence, even off-duty. It was earned, moreso than her squadmate’s reputation. As sergeant of the platoon commanded by the younger Atria brother, she clung to the hierarchy of rank, the distance of discipline. Only three years ago, she’d escaped the cruel logic of a Sith master and her apprentice. She didn’t want anyone to have that kind of power over her again.

But the ranks she could achieve left something to be desired. She had no formal, standardized education and was common-born—worse, because she was an offworlder, unceremoniously delivered to the Epican countryside via escape pod. Cal had to enlist, rather than receive a commission, and while there were various higher ranks of sergeant, a sergeant would always be her rank. The beginning and end of it.

Cal gripped the tumbler in her hand, grinding her teeth. She’d been a specialist under a more minor lordling lieutenant, serving alongside a competent sergeant. The sergeant did all the work, and the lordling got all the credit. Soldiers were paid a little better than the average commoner, but she’d glimpsed the paycheck of that lordling and the injustice burned white hot.

Being second, being someone’s useful shadow, was not going to be the end of her story.

It was just the current chapter.

Well, she had to amend her scathing opinion. Lieutenant Atria was not the most incompetent she’d seen nor so full of himself that he disregarded criticism. The arguments she’d had were clipped, restrained by the discipline of a professional paramilitary operation, but no less heated. And in the end, she’d made her points. They were, at least, seen if not implemented—even as an officer and a lordling, Atria was subject to the hierarchy and its poodoo. If someone far less competent but higher in rank gave an order, it had to be followed.

Cal took a long drink from the brightly colored cocktail in her hand then turned to watch the dance floor. Plenty of bodies but none that caught her interest. What a waste. She’d worn a fitted white tanktop and close-fitting black pants, braiding her brown and copper hair to keep it out of her face. She’d dressed to be seen, the gold of her skin a rich contrast to her clothes. There weren’t many Firrerreo on Epica, and certainly none that she’d run into.

She’d been told she looked wild. Dangerous. That suited her. And certainly hadn’t deterred many from trying to pursue her, the Lord Faustus Atria among them. But they were all so dreadfully boring.

She wanted someone with fire. Someone with bite.

A feeling of expectation danced along her spine—the Force she’d spent three years trying to master. Something was going to happen tonight. Here. Cal allowed herself a small smirk. Based on the feeling, it was bound to be interesting.

 

[Lancel Atria]

"Hey Lieutenant," said Huec Vald, the most drunk of his squadron mates, "look who just walked in."

Lancel turned to look towards the door. He didn't see what Huec meant, not initially. The bar was a bit busier tonight than usual. There were the usual crowd of course. Off duty Aurodium personal. Women and men of common birth trying to grab a leg up in life via a leg over a Guard. And of course, the local artists that someone seemed even more popular with the best kind of women.

I picked the wrong career, Lancel mused, before his eyes settled on the one intended by Heuc's provocation.

His jaw clenched. She was here. And he was still royally pissed off with her. The way she skirted the line of insubordination to speak her mind the other night. It had left him unable to sleep that night, replaying each point she made, each impassioned plea for efficiency reforms and alternative paths to consider. It left him...unmoored emotionally.

She was better than him in every way. More deserving of his promotions. Lancel swallowed to keep the bile of insufficiency from resurfacing.

"So, what about it?" He instantly regretted asking.

"Ain't you a Lord or something?" Huec said, the alcohol freeing his words. Lancel glanced at him, and downed another shot. The heavy vanilla flavour barely masked the sting of the booze against the back of his throat. The Lord shot Huec a cautioning glare.

Huec was beyond noticing. And leaned further into Lancel's orbit. "She ain't flight...she's a pounder...it ain't fraternisation if she is assigned to a different squad."

Lancel slapped Huec's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Shut the frix up, Huec, or I will bust your ass down to Cadet so quick your arse will be numb for weeks."

Huec just laughed. And nodded towards Calypso again. Lancel turned, noted where she had gone in the room, and then looked back to his empty glass.

"It is as obvious as the nose job you got second year..." Lancel shot him another glare. "...that you got hard-lock on her, Lieutenant."

This time it was only his eyes that turned towards Huec and his foolishness. He did not reprimand this time, instead welcoming a second shot, which he downed with the promptness of a man seeking courage. "Sithspit. This is a bad idea..."

But he was already grabbing another glass of liquor, and standing, to head towards the Firrerrean. Each step felt like lead, each beat of his heart rang in his ears. He downed the next glass, and placed the empty glass on the corner of the bar.

"You were right. Reconfiguring the seating in the troop bay will make for a better Hot-Bore approach," he said, dispensing with introductions.

Taera 'Calypso'
​

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Lancel Atria

He was too close for escape by the time she noticed.

Lieutenant Lancel Atria.

Fething hell. He looked a little pissed. Karking feth. Was he still upset at their argument from… well, she couldn’t remember which argument he’d be most ticked off about. Cal grit her teeth and took a deep breath, bracing herself for a public, if quiet, dressing down about insubordination and respect. She’d skirted the line so often, it would be earned. Green eyes watched the dance floor as he approached, taking a drink to help keep the heat of embarrassment suppressed while he lectured her.

“You were right.”

Breath left her like she’d been gut-punched. She looked at him like he’d suddenly grown two heads, then returned her gaze to the dance floor. For the first time, she felt off-balance in his presence. That was something she’d never expected to hear from him. Cal took a drink, stalling for time to think. Acknowledging his admission, at least the way she was prone to, would only spark another argument. And even off-duty, hierarchy mattered on Epica. She felt like she was walking a knife’s edge.

And she couldn’t say the tension was unpleasant.

“If only every man could say those three words,” she said, opting for a joke. “There wouldn’t be a lonely man in the whole galaxy.”

She didn’t fully face him—it felt too familiar a gesture—but she did shift so that only one elbow leaned on the counter, body angled more for conversation. Idly, she wondered which body in the bar had caught his attention, who was his mark. Soldiers talked, especially when alcohol was involved, and gossiping about nobles was a favored pasttime.

Cal tilted her head towards him, eyes still on the dance floor. “You didn’t come over just to say that. What is it this time?”

Attractive though she knew she was, Lancel Atria had never looked her way more than he could help it. According to the tea, she didn’t fit the profile of his usual companions. There had to be some infraction, some slight she had offered. She thought through all of their interactions from the days previous, since their last argument about troop seating. It still galled her that she’d gotten so angry her skin had fully paled silver and only the thinnest thread of restraint kept her from snapping. Had he noticed that pattern? It was going to be embarrassing to explain if he brought it up.

The fingers of one hand traced circles on the counter’s edge while the other brought up the glass. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of a fault she’d committed that would force Lieutenant Atria to approach her off-duty. It set her on edge.

She hated to admit to herself she kinda liked it.

 

[Lancel Atria]

By the Force, she was made at him again. The way her eyes shifted, the change in the hue of her cheeks like when she was arguing with him, she was gearing up for another round. Lancel looked away, towards the door, a swift exit was probably the most prudent measure.

But.

And it was a nice one.

The way she spoke to him started to irritate. Scratching at the seams of his judgment. "What is this time?" He said, repeating her question but with a healthy serving of spite. It felt easier, with the numbing of his drinks, to speak back to her like she did to him.

"What's your deal anyway, Cal?" He said, using her nickname, something he had never done before.

He leaned against the bench, slightly towards her. A posture that was more aggressive than he realised.

"Me coming over to socialise with one of my team is so..." His hands moved to his head and made an explosive gesture, like his hands were a shockwave. "...unbelievable to you that you come at me with the same energy as...well, frankly, as usual."

He signalled to the barkeep for another drink. Then held up two fingers. Two more shots were slid his way. One was downed.

"What? You think I was going to hit on you...or something?" He said, rolling his eyes, and then downing his next drink.

"Ashla damn you, Cal," he said, hand waving dismissively. The drinks were starting to take effect now.

He turned, to walk towards the dance floor. Perhaps there was someone looking for some fun. "Don't know why I like you sometimes," he muttered in the clamour.

Taera 'Calypso'
​

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Lancel Atria

He spat back her question like it was a drink made wrong. She could hear the heat, the ire in his voice. This, this was familiar ground. Solid. Another argument where she was made to be at fault. Cal eased back into the conversation, the grooves, the roles well worn. She knew how this went.

“What’s your deal anyway—”

Her lips moved to sneer as the retort jumped to the tip of her tongue.

“—Cal?”

She finally looked at him directly, searching and unyielding. What was his game here? He never used her nickname, never. He never approached her outside of what was necessary for the function of their squadron, the coordination between pilots and marines. It was always Sergeant Five, Five, or even her full first name when formality wasn’t strictly required. The nickname closed that distance. She hated it. The way it sounded coming from him.

She hated that she liked it.

“Well when you spend every moment shooting down my ideas to help improve the squad,” she said, shrugging her shoulders dismissively. His next question sparked a scoff, the sneer coming into full force.

“I know your type, Atria, the whole damn squad does. Toothless.” Cal flashed a wicked, sardonic smile, showing her pronounced canines.

He cursed her and turned away. Good. She should leave it at that. Let him walk away. Find some other entertainment for the evening. But it had been her weakness under the Sith, and it had been her weakness during Basic Training.

She had to have the last word.

“Kriff you too,” she said, putting emphasis on her final word, “Lance.”

He wanted to play games? Cal would play games.

 

[Lancel Atria]

Toothless.

He heard that, alright. He heard it, and it stung. Not for its truth, but for the person lying to him. Why would she seek to hurt him so? Is that what the arguments were all about? She actually just, simply, hated him? It actually made sense, and that realisation stung more than the insult.

For some known damned reason, he wanted her to not hate him. Very, very much.

The strongest move was to walk away. It was the play. But then she called him Lance. It wasn't so much the nickname, but the tone of voice.

He turned. Stalked back towards her, nostrils flaring. He towered over her, though not a great deal taller than her, he felt immense. Perhaps it was just the liquor.

"Watch your tone, Sergeant. Or you will find out just how bad I bite," he snarled.

"You have a problem with me? Then let's settle it now...pick a place...no witnesses...just you and me...last one standing," he said, mind catching up with his words on seconds after they spilled from his mouth.

Taera 'Calypso'
​

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Lancel Atria

This conversation was a bad idea. Continuing it was a bad idea. This was her superior officer and she would undoubtedly pay for it tomorrow. Reprimands from him, their captain, retaliatory work. But when he offered up phrases like that?

She really couldn’t help herself.

“Don’t make promises you won’t keep,” Cal said, her smile growing sly. She’d provoked him—unintentionally, but provoked all the same. It made her want to keep pushing, to keep pressing until something broke. It was a dangerous and self-destructive game, one she had historically lost.

He challenged her. Cal could smell the alcohol on his breath as he loomed, pushed into her space. A duel. Just them, no witnesses. Her kind of party. The idea had appeal: no titles, no ranks, just effort. And it would be a proper fight, she had no doubt. In spite of him being a lordling, in spite of his screw-ups as an officer, he had the physicality. He did train. She stood up straight, refusing to give him the space to just loom. Her chin tilted up, defiant, as she studied the face he offered to be punched.

A traitorous thought noted that he was better-looking than many of the people here.

“No witnesses?” she repeated, heat from alcohol and something she refused to name flooding her veins. "How intimate, Lieutenant."

She wanted her drink, if only to steady herself in the alcohol. That Lancel had actually proposed a fight stirred something she didn’t want to examine too closely, if only because naming it meant giving him leverage over her. But backing down wasn’t an option. It wasn’t her style. She brought her drink between them, maintaining eye contact before she quickly finished off the remaining third.

“Didn’t think you’d be the one to suggest a fight first,” she said, setting her glass down on the countertop without looking. “It almost makes me like you.”

The admission was too close to the truth to be comfortable. But the pull of tension, that feeling of walking the knife’s edge between disaster and euphoria, was intoxicating. That feeling of being almost but not quite improprietous, that’s what excited her, what made her heart race. Surely that and nothing more.

“The woods just outside of town,” she said at last, smile turning both fierce and genuine. “Midnight. Don’t stand me up.”

 

[Lancel Atria]

His eye twitched. Not just the once. "No witnesses so you cannot be accused of fighting with a superior," he said, a redundant explanation if ever there was one. She was already fighting. Trying to get under his skin before a single punch was thrown.

He did not back down; his shoulders broadened with intent. Despite their size difference, she seemingly met him eye to eye. It was infuriating.

Lancel chastised himself immediately for giving into the fluster. Finally, taking a step back to allow the moment, and him, to breath. "Almost, huh?" He said, trying to smirk, but it came across as a poor, drunken attempt. "Let's not start with the almosts of all this...too many to count."

She named the place. He waved his hand dismissively. "Fine, I will see you then. No equipment. No recordings," Lancel pointed at her as he stepped away.

He felt a thrill coursing through him that was not entirely unwelcome. Even in his drunken state, he was under no allusions of superiority in fisticuffs with Calypso. But that didn't seem to both him. He was enjoying this. And that was a cliff he probably should stay well away from.

----​

He didn't stay away from it.

Instead, he arrived early. He had tried to rest, to let the booze wear off if even only a little. Sleep had evaded him. Thoughts trending in directions they ought not. So, instead, he ate something. It took the edge off things, but he still felt a little unsteady. As the minutes ticked closer to midnight, his pulse became less controlled, senses cleared and his focus narrowed.

He heard a crunch of leaves. Tugged down on the crisp white undershirt that clung to his upper body. The action did nothing, the shirt was tucked into his regulation utility trousers, which in turn were properly tucked into his combat boots.

"How long have you been lurking out there?" He said, figuring he only heard her approach because she wanted to be heard.

Taera 'Calypso'

​

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Lancel Atria

He was so riled up.

And she’d hardly said anything truly devastating.

A new personal record.

Lancel hadn’t stepped back—he tried to actually impose on the space more. So he did have more fight in him than just the bluster of rank and title. She was almost disappointed when he stepped back. Almost.

His smirk came off lopsided as he even talked about almosts. Cal’s eyes flashed but she kept her face carefully still—to avoid laughing at his drunk smile and reacting to how timely his statement about ‘almosts’ was. She wished she still had a drink. It was easier to hide microexpressions and little tells behind.

She leaned back casually against the bartop as the lordling waved his hand dismissively, telling her no equipment and no recordings. Like she needed those. She wasn’t above it but she didn’t need blackmail to humiliate Lancel.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, a satisfied and expectant look on her face. Then, when he had walked away, “Lance.”

~~~​

She’d tried to distract herself at the bar, but the upcoming fight—a real fight, not regulated by superior officers or paramilitary protocol—had her keyed up. Cal stalked through the woods, mindful of her steps, as she headed to a clearing just inside the tree line. Not far from the city but sheltered from prying eyes. She needed a good fight. It had been a while.

A flash of something decidedly not of the forest made her pause. Cal stopped behind a tree, the moon above casting deep shadows from the canopy. Ahead in the clearing, Lancel leaned against a tree, a sort of jittery tension in his body, the way he held himself. Nerves, or was he just as excited for a good scrap as she was? She took a look at her chronometer. There were still a few minutes until midnight. The lieutenant had arrived early but that information revealed nothing more about his possible mental states.

Might as well announce herself since they were both here.

Cal came out from behind the tree, no longer caring where she stepped. Lancel made a kneejerk reaction, pulling on his regulation undershirt even though it looked tucked in pretty tight. She raised an eyebrow then gave him a look when he asked how long she’d been lurking.

“Not long,” she said, eyeing just how tucked his clothes seemed to be. She looked back up at his face, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “And long enough.”

She wasn’t dressed all that differently from Lancel; knowing this was going to be an unobserved fight, she wanted to make sure she had the mobility she needed without there being anything for him to grab and use against her. Standard issue undershirt, loosely tucked into some uniform pants she’d needed to launder anyways. Braided hair had been pinned into a bun, making it harder for him to grab. She hadn’t tucked the legs into her boots like he had.

Cal approached at the same pace she’d had when she first entered the clearing, unhurried and calm. Until Lancel’s face was in range and she threw a hard jab.

 

[Lancel Atria]

He was already tense, not really holding any true expectations as to the decorum for such brawls. Lancel had opted for readiness. Despite having a rebuttal for her banter, he instead responded to the real reason they were here. The punch.

The jab was just that, quick, pulled slightly and meant only to test him more than really accomplish much. His eyes widened, and head shifted to the left. The jab missed, but barely. Lancel's arm brushed her's away with a swipe, and he stepped back to a preparatory stance.

Boxing was his forte, and his guard showed it immediately, as his head dipped behind his fists and his muscular shoulders tightened in preparation to absorb, and counterattack.

"Alright then, Sergeant...straight to it then," he said, smile hidden behind his defences.

She had already shown her willingness to be the aggressor, and Lancel was not about to rob her of the privilege.

As impetuous, arrogant and dogmatically aristocratic as Lancel was, Calypso was about to find out just how much Lancel valued timing when it really mattered. And this, for some unacknowledged reason, was extremely important to him.

Taera 'Calypso'
​

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Lancel Atria



He’d dodged. Pushed aside her strike and settled into a guard.

If he expected her to get frustrated by it, he’d be disappointed. Cal’s smile sharpened. This would be a real fight then.

Excellent.

"Did you expect anything less?"

She took a step back, raising one open hand near her face, with the other clenched into a fist near her waist. Her stance widened, balanced, and she started to circle. She threw a couple more feints, one towards his head, the rest towards his body. Testing. He seemed patient but how far did that restraint extend? Where did his guard slow, how quick was he to notice things? The opposing apprentice she’d fought for three years had relied on his size, strength, and power. She’d learned the dance of testing an opponent the hard way, gathering information before the strike.

“What are you waiting for, Lieutenant?” she said, poking, prodding at him. What would it take, she wondered. “Show me your ‘bite.’ Or was your bark in the bar bigger?”

Cal launched herself at him with explosive speed, committing to her attack now. Two body strikes in quick succession, putting her body into each before launching a hard roundhouse kick at his side. She held nothing back, every ounce of deceptive Firrerreo strength in each attack.

Success or failure, it would tell her more.

 

[Lancel Atria]

As intended, he absorbed the first blow. But Lancel staggered back, just a bit. The impact was more than expected, significantly so. The impact rattled his bones, a jolt of raw power that sent a spike of adrenaline through his system — suddenly it all felt more dangerous — and straight to his core. Her strength was invigorating.

With the initial shock waning, Lancel did as he intended, but steeled himself to absorb more pain. He leaned into her advances. He stepped into the storm of her strikes, moving so close he could smell the salt of her skin and the heat rolling off her. Her punches turned to glancing blows against his forearms, but the friction of her body passing his was a distraction he had to fight to ignore.

He was close. And he did not waste the moment. He didn't use a fist. He used the flat of his forearm, driving it toward her face not just to hurt, but to control her footing. He put his entire weight behind it, wanting to feel the resistance of her skin against his.

The attempt to stagger was followed up by him stepping forward some more. As his foot fell, he aimed his boot for the inner side of her leg, half way up her calf. If he could get her down, the pin was a quick and easy resolution to this fight.

He said nothing, not a word of verbal sparring. Instead, Lancel just leaned into the thrill, and the unexpected challenge that she provided. But why was he surprised by this? Calypso always found ways to excite.

Taera 'Calypso'
​

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Lancel Atria

He’d turned her blows aside, deflecting and redirecting. Not using brute strength like other opponents. And apparently perfectly content to let her be the aggressor in this fight. She’d have to adjust her strategy. Even as that thought hit, his forearm bore down towards her head.

Cal used an arm to shunt the energy of his blow away, side-stepping in the direction of the strike. His own boot fell heavily where one of her legs had been just a moment before, bringing him bodily close. Green eyes flashed up at him, sharp and calculating, even as she created a little bit of distance. He had just tried to pin her leg to end the fight.

She reset her guard, giving him another appraising once over. He was not the powerhouse apprentice she’d been made to fight but even letting him that close was dangerous. Coupled with the fact he’d been smart enough to try and make a fight-winning maneuver, it confirmed what she had already guessed.

This was going to be a real fight.

She felt a flush of heat at the thought, the very real threat he might win.

“Did you think I’d be that easy?” she said. Cal stayed ready, waiting to see how long he’d wait before he struck. “I’m going to make you work for it.”

 

[Lancel Atria]

She retreated, and Lancel gave ground, his boots scuffing the dirt as he reset. They had been close...dangerous, breathless close. The air between them was thick with talum, a scent that used to be his sanctuary before his brother claimed it as a personal favourite. Seeing Faustus' gift still resting against her skin sent a jolt of visceral memory through him, momentarily blurring his vision.

Snapping his fists back into position, he cursed the lapse in focus. He narrowed his gaze, fighting to unsee the only woman who had ever truly occupied his thoughts, the one destined to remain just out of reach.

Tonight, at least, she could be his outlet.

"Easy is boring," he rasped, swiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His pulse was already thundering.

He lunged forward with a flurry of testing jabs — shadows of strikes meant to gauge her rhythm rather than draw the fight's conclusion. As he feinted a heavy, committed blow, he pivoted sharply to the left, a calculated gamble to bait her into a counter-swing and expose her flank.

Taera 'Calypso'
​

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Lancel Atria

Her blood pounded in her veins and the night air felt refreshingly cool as they each took a pause to reset.

“Easy is boring.”

Cal laughed once, sharply. “On that, we agree.”

He came at her this time, chaining attacks together nigh effortlessly. It was only after the second strike she deflected that she recognized he was probing. He wanted to know more, did he? Fine, she could oblige. She kept up her defense, turning him aside and matching his strength. He committed then, a hard-hitting blow, the one she’d been waiting for. Cal turned to deflect him, deny him the satisfaction, but he pivoted last second.

Son of a schutta, this was his attack.

Cal could only mitigate at this point as it slammed into her. She staggered back, a bruise already formed on her arm from where she’d tried to take the blow. Even so, it was already fading. Healing.

“Don’t tell me you’re holding back,” she said, going on the offensive now, a relentless stream of punches and kicks. She wanted to see how he dealt with pressure. “I’m not.”

A wicked smile flashed his way as she launched a savage roundhouse kick at his side. “Don’t be gentle.”

A heartbeat’s pause.

“Lance.”

 

[Lancel Atria]

The brief rush of outmanoeuvring her was a cold spike of triumph, quickly swamped by a sickening lurch in his gut as he felt the heavy thud of his strike connect. He shouldn't have hit her that hard. That flicker of hesitation was all the opening she needed.
Lancel's guard buckled under the sudden, relentless storm of her retort.

"I can tell," he managed, the words strained as he backpedalled. She was a blur of controlled violence, pressing into his space, forcing him to feel every jarring impact through his forearms. It was more than pain. It was a rhythmic, suffocating pressure that made his skin itch and his pulse drum a frantic rhythm against his eardrums.

He fought for focus, but the air between them was disappearing. Every strike she landed carried the scent of that damned Talum, a ghostly tether to a past he couldn't outrun. She was dismantling him.

"Lance."

She goaded him with a sense of ownership that was not rightfully hers.

His nostrils flared, catching the heat radiating off her skin. Lancel stopped retreating. He lunged into the arc of her next kick, shoulders bunching as he took the blow against his ribs to bridge the final gap. His hand hooked behind her thigh, fingers digging into the muscle as he drove her back.

The impact with the tree was a dull, hollow crack. He pinned her there, his forearm a heavy bar across her collarbones, his weight leaning into her until there wasn't room for a heartbeat between them.

Inches. The rough bark against her, the furnace of his chest against hers. His rage curdled into something far more dangerous. He could see the dilation of her pupils, reflecting his own shattered composure.

"Is this it?" he rasped, his breath ghosting over her lips, ragged and uneven. "This the reaction you were looking for?"

Taera 'Calypso'
​

 

[Taera 'Calypso']

Tags: Lancel Atria

He’d been faltering. Victory, satisfaction, and disappointment blended into a strange cocktail of emotions. Disappointment had no place. None. Cal was winning. She was beating one of the people perpetuating her headache on this forsaken planet. He was part of the system. Her skin color started shifting cooler with the rage at herself.

Suddenly he was in her guard, hand pinning her thigh against his side. Surprise replaced rage. Cal’s head hit the tree behind her with a thunk, the leaves overhead rustling as the branches shuddered from the impact. Weight pressed against her collarbone. Instinctively, her hands rose and pushed against his wrist and elbow, fighting back. He’d pinned her solidly.

That’s not what kept her there.

He was still in her space, breathing hard. Close enough she could feel his body heat, feel his labored breath on her skin. Her chest heaved against his forearm as she fought for air. She could feel the tension in the air between them, his thinning restraint. His restraint had snapped twice this night. Cal wondered what would happen if it broke a third time.

“Precisely,” Cal said, smiling predatorialy. “Finally, a real fight.”

“What are you going to do about it?”