Three

“You’re avoiding me.”

Roselle froze; her hand halfway to the top shelf of her equipment shelf. They were alone, and he was directly behind her. She felt a warm flush spread across her face, and she quickly grabbed her black combat gloves, her hands quaking as she rushed to strap them on.

“It’s okay,” she could hear the disappointment in Jacob’s sigh. The shuffle of his feet on the wooden boards as he turned to grab his gear sent shivers down her spine. “You don’t have to talk to me,” she felt the frustration he was trying his best to shove down. “But you shouldn’t let little comments rule your life.”

Roselle hesitated as she traded her ballet flats for her boots, foot halfway into one, before she resumed her action, tying the laces a little too tight.

“You know,” he continued. “Amber didn’t mean anything by it, but it’s been three days, and, I’m sorry, but running away from me isn’t going to do anything.” The hurt in his voice gave her pause, and it did nothing to calm her racing heart. “I just don’t get it, what is the big deal?”

“For being okay with me not talking to you, you sure are doing a lot of talking,” she muttered, refusing to look at him.

He was silent, but she could feel his eyes on her. He was a few feet away, but he might as well have been touching her. Her eyes fluttered shut, desperate to regain control of her senses. “Am I really that bad?” He released a laugh that held no humor.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” she forced out.

“I do,” he insisted. “You’re at least my friend,” she could hear the slight waver in his voice, and pretended it wasn’t there. “And you can’t even be in the same room with me?”

She let out a heavy breath, finally turning to meet his intense golden gaze. His disheveled appearance hardly caught her off guard, but it still sent a pang of guilt through her.

“What happens if someone actually says something?” He hissed, eyes not leaving hers. “Are you going to avoid me for a month? Are you going to transfer?”

She couldn’t help it, she couldn’t look at him anymore. She turned back to her equipment, grabbing the pile of throwing knives to shove into their holsters along her belt. “No,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.

“I don’t understand what happened,” he huffed, and she wondered if he had heard her or not. “Nothing even happened, and you’re acting like I burned you. It’s not even like I didn’t already know, okay?”

There it was. The confirmation that she dreaded. She whirled back to face him, finding that he had taken a step forward and was now face to face with her. “Did you ever think that maybe I didn’t know?” She rushed out, immediately cursing herself as her temper snapped. “That I don’t want this,” She gestured between the two of them. “To change?”

His jaw flexed, his eyes stormy.

“You already know everything though,” she spat bitterly. “You’re the stronger telepath between the two of us. Tell me how I’ve been trying to forget what I figured out and how long I’ve secretly liked you!”

“I’m not that good.” He had the gall to look sheepish, a blush tinting his tan skin. “You know that.”

“No, Jacob,” she emphasized his name. “I really don’t, because I have other things to worry about. Half of those are because of your father, so you should know all about that too.”

His eyes sparked with realization, his lips twitching. “So this is about my father,” he checked, suddenly wary.

“Nevermind,” she grumbled, gripping the hilt of her sword, moving to leave.

“I don’t agree with everything he does either,” he shuffled in front of her, eyes seeking hers.

“Really,” she raised her eyebrows. “You don’t act like it.”

“It-” his face twisted. “It’s complicated. He’s my father. Is that really all that’s wrong?” His eyes were wide, pleading for an answer.

“No,” she defended, scrambling for another reason. “I need to concentrate on my studies,” she told him, holding back a wince at the horrible excuse.

He blinked at her, not buying it.

“I’m a Verairacur who knows more about the British monarchy than my own family history,” she ducked in honest embarrassment.”

“You could still just not avoid me,” he told her, and she was surprised that was all he said.

When she looked up at him, she could feel the sadness wrapping around his heart, though it didn’t show on his face. His eyes were thoughtful as he watched her, but they lacked the signature glow of him using his power.

She pursed her lips, not missing how his gaze dipped to them for a split second before returning to her eyes. “Look,” she swallowed. “I’m sorry for avoiding you. I just want things to be normal.”

He was quiet for a moment, his frame smaller than she was used to seeing. “Okay,” he uttered, face suddenly pulled tight with a strained smile. “Normal it is.”

She nodded while trying to ignore the pit opening in her stomach.

“Now,” he straightened, reaching for his own sword. “Since we’re both appropriately dressed, would you be interested in a normal spar with a friend?”

She swallowed the sting rising in her throat, managing a small nod.

He turned to leave, while she lingered behind him. This was what she wanted, so why did it feel so wrong? She shook her head clear, after all, they were friends, it wasn’t like they hadn’t done this many times before.

When she entered the practice room, her eyes immediately were drawn back to him. When he turned to her, his eyes sparkling with the familiar glint he had during a fight, her heart traitorously contracted.

He shifted into his ready position, his thin golden blade splitting his eager grin.

She glanced at the silver sword in her hand, shrugging as she sheathed it. She embraced his confusion before she drew the two bronze blades that had been concealed along the forearms of her uniform, shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet as she watched for his reaction to her new toys.

His eyes narrowed with interest, a smirk pulling at his grin. “Risky,” he commented. “Have you had enough practice with those yet?”

“Enough to whip you,” she smiled in relief as the familiar banter between them returned.

“We’ll see about that,” he breathed, pupils dilating before he made his first strike, which she easily blocked with her right blade. He immediately followed with a side swipe, and she couldn’t help but notice how he had purposely made it easy for her to dodge.

She swiped forward with her left hand, startled as he stopped her with his hand, fingers curling around her wrist. She twisted in his grasp, trying to knock him loose to no avail. His smug smirk irked her, and she stopped completely. Just as his smug grin grew bigger, a light green haze encased her, and she felt her limbs shorten, fur growing everywhere, the clatter of her daggers on the floor marking her transformation.

He released her with a yelp, stepping back to look at the small red fox standing in her place. “That’s cheating,” he crossed his arms.

“So is grabbing me,” she sassed when she returned to normal, snickering impishly. “All’s fair. Now, why don’t you give me an actual challenge? Unless you don’t think you can…” she let herself trail off, watching his face set in determination, and marde if it didn’t make him more attractive. No, she told herself, picking her blades back up.

She lashed out at him again, the chorus of their blades crashing together ringing out in the large room. Their feet danced across the floor, in sync as they faced off, eyes gazing into each other as gold and bronze streaks encircled them. As they approached a wall, she ducked under his arm, turning them back around. He took advantage of her momentary distraction, his blade looping around her right blade and knocking it to the floor with a clang. There was no hesitation before he went after her left, her blend of offense and defense turning completely into defense as he quickened his movements, fixating on disarming her.

Much to her chagrin, he was succeeding in his onslaught. In an attempt to strengthen her grip on the blade, she adjusted her tiring fingers, which he immediately used to send it clattering to the ground. He held his blade between them with a proud smirk plastered on his face. “Yield?” He raised an eyebrow playfully.

She swallowed, hard. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breaths heavy, and a shudder ran through her body. “I yield,” she whispered, looking into his eyes, feeling how her face burned when he lowered the blade and stepped closer. Her breath hitched and she could feel her urge to reach for him, but she kept her arms stuck to her sides.

His gaze was intense as he glanced over her face, watching her for a moment before stepping back. “Not bad,” he remarked, his voice low and notably strained. “You just need some practice with the two blades and I’ll be no more than a bug under your shoe.”

She nodded mindlessly, her thoughts screaming incoherently until he bent down to hand her fallen blade to her. As her hand brushed his along the hilt, a jolt ran up her arm, causing her to almost drop it as she slipped it back into its sheath. Reality slammed into her when she regained her breath as he stepped further back, offering her that same tight smile.

Chu dans marde.