Luca's POV
"Again."
I'm flat on my back for the fifth time in ten minutes, staring up at the training room ceiling. Everything hurts.
Rian stands over me, barely winded. "You're telegraphing your movements. I can see every punch before you throw it."
"Maybe because I've never been in a fight before," I snap, accepting his offered hand. He pulls me up effortlessly.
"Then you need to learn. Fast." His expression is serious. "My enemies will come for you, Luca. I need to know you can defend yourself."
We've been at this for two hours. Rian teaching me basic self-defense—blocks, strikes, how to break holds. Every lesson requires him touching me, adjusting my stance, positioning my body.
It's torture.
Not because it's difficult. Because every time he touches me, my body ignites. The mate bond hums between us, pulling me toward him with magnetic force.
"Focus," Rian says, moving behind me. His hands grip my hips, adjusting my stance. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Weight balanced."
His breath is warm on my neck. I can feel every inch of him pressed against my back—his chest, his thighs, the hard planes of his stomach.
"Now," he murmurs, voice dropping lower. "If someone grabs you from behind like this—" His arms wrap around me, pinning my arms to my sides. "—what do you do?"
My brain short-circuits. All I can think about is how good he feels, how right this proximity is, how much I want—
"Luca. Focus."
"Right. Um." I try to remember the earlier lesson. "Stamp on their instep?"
"Good. What else?"
"Head-butt backward?"
"Better." But he doesn't release me. His nose traces up my throat, finding the mate mark. I shiver. "You're distracted."
"You're distracting."
"Am I?" There's dark amusement in his voice. "Tell me to let go, and I will."
I should. Should put distance between us. Instead, I melt back against him.
"Luca." It's a warning. A question.
"Don't let go."
His arms tighten. "Dangerous thing to say."
"Maybe I like danger."
He spins me around, pinning me against the wall. His hands cage my head, body pressing into mine. Golden eyes burn with barely controlled hunger.
"You don't know what you're playing with," he says roughly.
"Then show me."
Something in him snaps. He kisses me—hard, dominant, consuming. His tongue invades my mouth, claiming, and I kiss him back just as desperately.
This is different from before. Before was gentleness, patience. This is raw need.
His hands slide down my body, gripping my thighs and lifting. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, grinding against him.
We're both hard. The friction is delicious and nowhere near enough.
"Fuck," Rian groans against my mouth. "You're killing me."
"Good."
He grinds against me deliberately, and I gasp. His mouth moves to my throat, teeth grazing the mate mark.
"I want to throw you down and fuck you right here," he growls. "Claim you against this wall until you're screaming my name."
"Then do it."
He pulls back, eyes pure amber. Wolf surfacing. "No."
"What? Why?"
"Because when I claim you properly—completely—it won't be rushed." His thumb brushes my swollen lips. "It'll be ceremonial. Traditional. I'll take my time making you fall apart. Hours, Luca. I'll spend hours worshiping your body."
Heat floods through me at the promise in his voice.
"When?" I breathe.
"When you agree to bond with me. Fully. Permanently." His forehead rests against mine. "Accept the mate bond, become my husband, and I'll give you everything. Pleasure. Protection. Freedom."
"Freedom isn't something you give. It's something you take."
"Then take it." His smile is challenging. "Accept the bond willingly, and I'll unlock every door. You can go anywhere on pack lands. No guards. No restrictions."
"Except I can't leave."
"The bond won't let you leave. Not without pain." His expression softens. "But within our territory, you'd be free. Free to paint, explore, live. Just... stay with me."
It's still manipulation. Gilded cage with a larger perimeter. But it's more than I have now.
"How long do I have to decide?"
"One week." His hand cups my face gently. "Seven days to accept this. Accept us. Then we perform the bonding ceremony."
"And if I refuse?"
Pain flashes across his features. "Then we continue like this. You in a bedroom. Me desperate outside your door. Both of us miserable." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "But you won't refuse. Because you feel this too. This pull. This need."
He's right. I do feel it. Every moment away from him aches. Every touch feels like coming home.
"One week," I agree quietly.
His kiss is soft this time. Reverent. "Thank you."
He sets me down carefully, and I immediately miss his warmth. The bond protests the distance.
"Continue training tomorrow?" he asks.
"If you can keep your hands to yourself."
His smile is wicked. "No promises."
I leave the training room flushed, aroused, and terrified. Because I'm starting to want this. Want him.
And that's the most dangerous thing of all.