Rhys circled me warily, his movements controlled and cautious. I could see the hesitation in his eyes—the reluctance to engage a Luna in combat, especially one who hadn't trained in years.
"Come on," I goaded him, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet. "I won't break."
He threw a half-hearted jab that I easily sidestepped. Another punch, pulled back at the last second.
"Stop holding back," I growled, frustration building in my chest. "I need a real fight."
Rhys shook his head. "Luna, I can't—"
"She's right. You can't."
The deep voice cut through our exchange. I turned to find Ronan Nightwing standing at the edge of the ring, completely naked, his bronze skin glistening with droplets of water from what must have been a recent shift. My breath caught as my eyes involuntarily traced the sculpted planes of his chest, down to the V of his hips and—
I jerked my gaze back up to his face, heat flooding my cheeks.
Ronan's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "You're dismissed, Rhys."
