Greymoor Academy: I Accidentally Bonded With Four Lycan Royals! novel Chapter 22

Chapter 22: 22. Who Hurt You?

Maisie

I raised my hand in defense, but he braced himself low. "You’re on offense, Adams. Give it your best shot."

He was taunting me. Mocking me.

I lunged without thinking about it. I was tired and irritated and hot. And I went for a clean shot at that annoying face. But Mercer sidestepped without any effort and I stumbled through empty air, landing on my hands and knees.

My jaw tightened.

"Predictable." He called. "You went where your brain told you to go. Your brain is not your friend in a fight." He walked around to face me again. "What does your body want to do?"

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. "To punch your teeth out."

His eyes grew dark. The air suddenly felt heavier, thicker. "Then do that, if you can."

My teeth gritted and I lunged again, only to grasp at air.

Mercer circled me once more, sweat already gleaming along the sharp cut of his collarbones and the deep V that disappeared into his low-slung training pants. His green eyes never left mine. They were darker than they were ten minutes ago, and I hated how every part of me tightened as I noticed.

I hated noticing how thirsty I’d gone at the sight of him. How my breasts had tightened against my shirt, how the pain in my back had become secondary to the heat pressing between my legs.

Was this a normal thing to feel during the transition? Like I was on heat and ready to get down and dirty in front of a hall filled with people?

"Again," Mercer said. The word was quieter, almost intimate. "Tackle me like you want to put me on my back, Adams." His tongue flicked over his mouth. "You know you want to."

My skin was feverishly hot, my head still pounding, but all that mattered was the way he said my last name in a dark, taunting growl. Like he knew the disturbing thoughts plaguing my mind.

I charged at him, lips pulled back in a snarl. I slammed into his midsection with my shoulder, arms wrapping around his waist like I could snap him in half. He absorbed the impact, legs braced, then twists, using my momentum against me. We spun together in a violent, perfect dance, until he hooked an arm under my thigh and lifted, flipping our positions mid-air.

My back hit the mat first and I gasped at the pain. He followed, caging me in completely. One knee planted between my legs, the other braced outside my hip. His forearms bracketed my head. His face hovered inches above mine, close enough that I felt the heat rolling off his skin, smell the sharp cedar-and-salt of his sweat, taste the ghost of his breath when he exhaled.

I forgot the raw pain spasming in my back as I caught the gold highlights in his green eyes.

Neither of us moved. I could hear my own heartbeat slamming against my ribs. I could hear his too, faster than it should have been for a man who barely exerted himself.

His eyes lingered on my mouth for one dangerous second before flicking back up. "You’re trembling, Adams," he murmured, and the depth of his voice went straight to my core. "Do I frighten you?"

I bared my teeth. "You’re hard, Mercer. Do I arouse you?"

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