TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING novel Chapter 411

< CHAPTER 336 YOUR CENTRE OF GRAVITY

CHAPTER 336: YOUR CENTRE OF GRAVITY

EMBER’S POV

Where we’re going turns out to be a room in the sub level I didn’t know existed, all matted floor and low light and the specific smell of a place where people hurt each other on purpose.

It’s cold. I’m still half-asleep. I hate everything.

“So how does this-” I start, and he’s already moving.

“Stance.” He circles behind me. “Feet apart. Wider. Weight back on your heels, not your toes, or the first person who touches you puts you on the floor.” His hands land on my hips.

And my entire brain shorts out.

Because his hands are large, and they are warm even through the fabric.

They close over the curve of my hips and adjust me, tilting, squaring, and his chest comes up flush against my back, solid and unhurried, and his mouth drops to my ear.

“Centre of gravity here,” he says, low, clinical, one hand pressing flat and warm against my lower belly.” You fight from here, not from your shoulders. Feel it?”

What I feel is that I have forgotten how lungs work. What I feel is the entire heated length of him at my

back and his palm splayed low across my stomach and his breath stirring the hair at my ear.

And every single thought I have ever had evacuates my skull in a screaming panic, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek, hard, because I am supposed to be learning to fight and instead I am standing here doing a full forensic study of exactly how warm his hands are.

“Ember.”

“Mm.”

“Are you feeling your centre of gravity?”

“Yep.” My voice comes out slightly strangled. “Very grounded. Extremely centred. This is going great.”

He doesn’t notice. That’s the worst part.

He is entirely, professionally absorbed in the mechanics of not letting me die, correcting the angle of my back foot with his own, wrapping his hand around my fist to show me how to make one that won’t break my thumb, stepping into me, around me, a wall of heat and instruction, and none of it, none of it, registers to him as anything but a lesson.

Meanwhile, I am dying. I am being killed.

He nudges my chin up with two fingers and says, “Eyes on your opponent’s chest, not their hands; the chest tells you where they’re going,” and I make a sound that is not a word.

< CHAPTER 336 YOUR CENTRE OF GRAVITY

“Focus,” he says.

“I am the picture of focus.”

“You’re pink.”

“It’s cold in here.”

He steps in front of me finally, and thank goddess, because I need three feet of air between us before I d something unforgivable, and he plants his feet and lifts his hands in a loose guard.

“Hit me.”

I blink. “Hit you?”

“My palm.” He holds one up. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got, Everything I just taught you.”

So I hit his palm.

He looks at his hand. He looks at me. His expression could curdle milk.

臺灣

“That,” he says, “was the single worst thing I’ve ever seen a human body do. A stiff breeze hits harder than

that. My grandmother hits harder than that, and she’s been dead for sixty years.” He resets his guard.

Again. And this time pretend you mean it.”

“I did mean it-”

“Dead,” he says flatly. “You’re dead. Whoever you were fighting has already killed you and gone home for

dinner. Again.”

And okay

okay something hot and mutinous kicks up in my chest, because I did not get dragged out of bed at five in the morning to be told I hit like a dead grandmother, and I swing again, harder, with my

whole shoulder behind it-

“Better. Still dead, but a more respectable dead. Again.”

“Oh my God-”

“Less talking. More centre of gravity. Again.”

We go like that for what feels like a year.

He is relentless. He does not let one single thing slide that pulls at the last second.

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