LEO
Willow is a study in contrasts.
Her eyes burn with anger, but her lips have fallen open, softening under my seduction. I can’t tell if she wants to kiss me or kill me. I’m not even sure which one I want her to try.
It’s thrilling.
Everything about her is thrilling. The last year has ignited a new aspect of her personality. She’s changed, inside and out.
The clothes are different—dark, tight-fitting, towering heels—but more important is the confidence she wears. The confidence to wield her looks like the weapon they are.
She’s been molded into a version of her mother, but she has something that Anya has never possessed: the perspective of a different life. A normal life.
One that she’s realized she’s never getting back.
She’s a ticking time bomb. And I’m very fucking excited to make her explode.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snaps confidently.
I arch my eyebrows. “So there’s another reason you’re trembling?”
“Call it preparation.”
“For what?”
“A fight,” she says.
The next thing I know, her arm is swinging towards me.
She’s fast, but I’m faster. Her fist hits my forearm instead of my face. I shove her back, but the fight in her eyes is simmering. She’s been waiting for this moment.
She wants to do damage, yes. But it’s more than that: she wants to prove herself, too. She wants to show me that the last eleven months has changed her. That she’s no longer the woman I married.
She moves again. Her body is lithe, agile. She has a grace that speaks to many hours of intense training.
And whoever trained her trained her well.
Unfortunately, not well enough to matter.
But she hasn’t realized that yet. She drops into a crouch, hands up, then makes her move, swinging a leg out in a wide arc designed to knock my feet out from under her.
I step out of the way and let her foot hurtle aimlessly through the air.
More kicks and punches follow. She’s a whirlwind of motion. None of it helps her in the slightest. I play with her, side-stepping every blow without breaking a sweat.
Her eyes narrow in frustration as her chest heaves. “You’re holding back!” she accuses.
“Did you expect that eleven months would be enough?” I taunt. “I’ve been training since I was a child. I never learned to play. I learned to fight.”
She lunges at me, but it’s sloppier now. She’s emotional and spent by our reunion.
“Fuck you,” she growls, trying to land another punch.
This time, I allow her the hit. The punch to the abdomen is more powerful than I expect, but the sting only lasts a few seconds. It hurts her worse than it hurts me.
She shakes her hand out. “Jesus. Are you wearing armor under there or something?”
I smile and lift my shirt to reveal the abs underneath. “I grow my own armor.”
She rolls her eyes and pretends to be unimpressed. “Sorry I asked.”
“Are you, though?”
Her eyes burn through me as she slides out of her coat and throws it across the sofa next to her.
Now, it’s my turn to be impressed. I can’t take my eyes off her body.
The coat hid a lot more than I’d assumed. Willow always had an amazing shape, but now she’s made of sharp lines and toned limbs.
Her stomach, which was always flat, sports new definition. She’s cinched tighter at the waist. She looks strong, capable.
“I’ve got news for you,” she tells me, shaking out her limbs. “I was holding back, too.”
She vaults over the sofa effortlessly. Her boots land in perfect synchronicity right in front of me, her black hair flows loose around her shoulders.
I pause and frown. “Why did you cut your hair?”
She shakes her head. “Really?”
I shrug, not bothering to hide my smirk. “Just curious.”
The frivolous question seems to irritate her more than anything else I’ve said in the last half an hour. She throws a punch again, but I dodge it.
“I thought you said you were holding back?” I say. “I couldn’t tell.”
She moves again, and again, I dodge.
I can tell she’s getting frustrated, but I’m not about to give her an easy win. She wants to fight me? Fine. It’s all tough love from here, little one.
She’s not without skill. Her new body is made for physical combat. But it’s more than that. She’s got drive and determination. The fire to fuel the engine.
She sends another punch my direction. I pluck it out of the air, spin her around, and pull her into my embrace backwards. Her spine hits my chest with a dull thud.