“Do you only spar with Sara?”
I stop short. “What?”
Aurora finally looks at me, a stubborn set to her expression. “Do you only spar with Sara?”
“Aurora,” I say her name slowly. “I know you’re a masochist, but this is not a scene and I have no desire to harm you.”
“Malone.” She matches my tone and yanks a hair tie off her wrist to pull her hair back. “Maybe I’m the one who will hurt you.”
Who is this woman? I’ve spent far too long studying her, to the point where it borders on inappropriate. Distraction does not begin to describe Aurora. She’s a blazing light in any room she walks into. I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t have the desire to bottle it up and keep it for myself. But this? I don’t have the information to respond appropriately to this. I’ve only ever seen her in the club.
It never really occurred to me that she’d have hobbies outside the Underworld. Or that it would matter. After all, we become our truest selves in that place. All the polite masks are removed and there’s only base need. No right way, no shame, no rules but consent. I know Aurora right down to her core.
But I also know next to nothing about her on a surface level.
“Clear the room.” I speak without looking away from her.
Sara sighs. “Try not to break her.” They nudge Ivy with their shoulder as they walk past, which prompts her to pick her jaw off the floor and follow Sara from the room.
I wait for the door to close behind them to motion Aurora onto the mat. “I’m not capable of going easy.”
“I don’t expect you to.” She rolls her shoulders and, after some consideration, kicks off her shoes and socks.
I try to view her through the lens of an opponent, but it’s like my brain skips every time I look at her. All I can see are her graceful movements, the curious tilt of her head, how fucking breakable she is. No matter what she believes, it was never my intention to shatter Aurora. I’m not sure I can do this without harming her. “Aurora—”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.” I answer without thinking, still trying to find the right words to let her down gently without harming her pride.
She comes at me like a whirlwind. One moment, she’s several feet away, and the next she’s too close, delivering a punishing kick to my thigh and following it up with a right hook I barely dodge. Fuck, she’s quick. And well-trained.
I move out of the way before she kicks the same spot on my thigh. A few more hits there and the leg will buckle. Damn. I shove my hesitations away and feint a few times, testing out her response time. Fast. So fucking fast. “You’ve done this before.”
“Many, many times.” Aurora knocks my hand away, but I’m expecting it, and I come in with my other fist, forcing her to block me to avoid a hit to her face.
I retreat, still studying her. Now that I know what I’m looking at, I realize I recognize the way she moves. Smooth and dangerous and intent on her mission. Not like Aurora at all. No, she looks like… “Allecto.”
Aurora grins. “We’re good friends.”
I know that, of course. In the last year or so, it’s been impossible to miss the strange sort of friendship that’s cropped up with Aurora and several other women in the Underworld. Maybe it was always there, but they’re out in the open with it now.
Allecto is one of the few people in Carver City that gives me pause. She could be an Amazon for how superior she is to everyone around her in every way. She’s smart, capable, and famously brutal with the people who cross Hades. I always assumed her friendship with Aurora was one where she took on a dominant role and looked after the younger woman like a protective older sister.
If they’ve trained enough to make Aurora this skilled, they’re closer to equals than I could have imagined.
Which means Aurora is a threat in a way I didn’t anticipate.
I’m thinking too hard. It slows my reaction time, which is the only excuse I have for Aurora sneaking past my guard and clipping my chin. It’s a glancing blow, but it snaps me into the present. I step back a few times, putting myself out of her range, and touch the spot. “Are you angry at me, Aurora?”
A fine sheen of sweat glistens on her skin. She clenches and unclenches her fists. “Why would I be angry at you, Mistress?”
Answering with a question is its own kind of confirmation. The knowledge creates a strange feeling in my stomach. No matter what else has happened, I’ve inundated her with orgasms this afternoon. She shouldn’t want anyone touching her pussy for a few hours yet, no matter how insatiable she is. Surely she’s not still angry that I pushed the issue with aftercare?