His eyes narrow dangerously. "You're playing with fire."

"You're more than just a fire, Raith. You're a person. A person I happen to respect and appreciate. So stop acting like you're going to burn me if I get too close."

The words hang between us, loaded with more meaning than I intended. For a heartbeat, I think he'll simply brush past me, end the session, retreat behind his walls again. Instead, he studies me with those burning eyes, something shifting in his expression.

"The only thing you'll get from me is pain, Nessa. I know you think otherwise, but believe me when I tell you that I'll hurt you. I won't want to. I won't try to, but I can promise you that much."

"After everything we've been through here… you really think I'm afraid of a little pain?"

"You should be." His breath is a whisper, eyes lowered to my lips, now. I can sense the resistance in his body language starting to fade.

We're standing close again, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to hold his gaze.

"No," he says suddenly, moving like he's about to walk away from me. "You don't know what you're asking for."

I catch his wrist, feeling the familiar surge of power flow between us. "Raith, wait⁠—"

He turns back so suddenly that I stumble against him, my free hand landing on his chest to steady myself. I feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm, the unnatural heat of his skin even through his sweat-soaked tunic. His eyes drop to my mouth again, and everything else—the training room, the academy, the whole world—seems to fall away.

I don't know which of us moves first. All I know is one moment we're standing there, balanced on the knife's edge of something dangerous, and the next his mouth is on mine.

The kiss is nothing like I imagined—and gods help me, I have imagined it. It's not gentle, not tentative. It's fire and hunger and need, raw and consuming. His hands frame my face, surprisingly gentle despite the fierce press of his lips against mine. I respond with equal fervor, my fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer.

He tastes like smoke and cinnamon, heat and danger. When he deepens the kiss, a small sound escapes me—half sigh, half moan—and something in him seems to break loose. His arms slide around me, lifting me slightly until I'm pressed fully against him, feeling every hard plane of his body.

Power surges between us, stronger than ever before. I can feel his fire affinity flowing into me, warming me from the inside out. But unlike previous times, it doesn't seem to scare him—if anything, the sensation seems to drive him wilder. His kiss grows more urgent, his hands more possessive.

And then, abruptly, he pulls away.