“Thank God,” said Adrian, when we broke out to practice. He and I were partners. “I thought I’d come to a fight class to learn how not to fight.”

“But he’s right,” I said. “If you can avoid the fight, so much the better.”

“But what if you can’t?” asked Adrian. “Like with your sword-wielding friends? What do you do once you’re in trouble?”

I tapped our blank-faced stuffed practice dummy. “That’s what this is for.”

Wolfe’s main move today was on how to break out of someone’s hold if we were grabbed from behind. He had a couple of techniques which weren’t much more complex than head-butting or stomping on feet. Adrian and I took turns being the attacker while the victim practiced the maneuvers—in slow motion and with almost no contact on our partners. That was what the dummies were for. I was about five inches shorter than Adrian and seemed pretty implausible as an attacker, which made us both laugh each time I made a move. Wolfe chastised us for not being serious enough but gave us high marks for learning the techniques.

This made me feel a little arrogant, enough so that when Adrian turned his back to get a water bottle, I sneaked up from behind and flung my arms around him, pinning his arms in turn. Wolfe had shown us how to break that type of hold, and I honestly thought Adrian had seen me coming enough to slip away before I even touched him. Apparently not. He froze, and for one moment, we stood locked in time. I could feel the silk of his shirt against my skin and the warmth of his body. The lingering scent of the overpriced cologne he wore floated around me. No smoke for a change. I’d always told him the cologne couldn’t be worth what he spent, but suddenly, I reconsidered. It was amazing.

I was so awash in sensory overload that I was caught completely unaware when he did push me away.

“What are you doing?” he exclaimed. I’d thought he’d be impressed at my sneak attack, but there was neither approval nor humor on his face. My own smile faded.

“Testing if you could handle a surprise attack.” My tone was hesitant. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong. He looked uncomfortable. Almost upset. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he said gruffly. For a moment his eyes locked onto me with an intensity that left me breathless. Then, he glanced away, as though he couldn’t handle looking at me. I felt more confused than ever. “Never thought I’d see the day when you’d throw your arms around a vam—someone like me.”

I barely even noticed his public slipup. His words drew me up short. He was right. I’d touched him without even thinking about it—and not just a formal Moroi handshake, like usual. Sure, it was in the context of our class, but I knew that I never could have done this a few months ago. Touching him now had seemed perfectly natural. Was that why he was upset? Was he worried about the Alchemists and me?