The sharp, rhythmic thud of leather striking padded gloves echoed through the secondary training ring. Sweat slicked my forehead as I pivoted on my heel, throwing a sharp jab-cross combo straight toward Drakon’s chest.
He didn't even flinch. His heavy forearms came up in a seamless, instinctual block, catching my power with zero effort before sweeping his leg out in a low, controlled counter-strike. I leapt back just in time, the toe of his boot brushing the air an inch from my shin.
"You're holding back," I called out, circling him on the high-grip mat with my hands raised, breathing heavily through my nose.
Drakon tracked my movement, his massive frame hunched into a relaxed guard. His pitch-black eyes burned with an intense, playful heat. "I'm not holding back, sweetheart."
"Liar,"
