He moves in again, this time with a combination I can't possibly counter. I take a hit to the shoulder that nearly spins me around, duck under another that would have connected with my jaw, but his leg sweeps mine and suddenly I'm falling, weightless for one terrifying moment before impact.

I brace for the hard slam of stone against bone, but he's there—grappling my body while somehow softening my fall. His body burns against mine, unnaturally warm in a way that can't be explained by physical exertion alone. Up close, his eyes reveal streaks of pure red and gold threading through amber, like cracks in the earth revealing bright yellow magma beneath.

Something stirs where we touch. A jolt of energy that feels the same as when I touched Bastian—almost as if something is being pulled from his body into mine. A current that flows between us, invisible but unmistakable.

He shifts, hooks a leg behind mine, pressing his hips against me with deliberate force. Hard.

The weight of him steals what little breath I've managed to recover. His body is solid heat and coiled strength, and for one disorienting second, I feel certain he's holding back.

A lot.

I groan, trying to fight free of him, twisting beneath his weight in a desperate bid for leverage that never comes. It's useless. He has me pinned completely, his larger body caging mine against the mat.

Raith turns his head, breath hot against my ear as a shiver races down my spine. "I could break you in half right now," he murmurs, voice dropping to a rough timbre that vibrates through my bones. "You need to do better. Much better."

As he grapples me, I still feel that strange draining sensation, stronger now with more points of contact between us. It's almost as if I'm pulling pure fire from his body, watching it flow through invisible channels and gather inside myself like water into a reservoir. Heat builds beneath my skin, seeking release.

"That's enough," Bastian's voice cuts through the haze of pain and confusion. "He clearly has her."

"I'm not done, legacy," Raith growls—actually growls—before he flips me to my back with sickening ease, his body pressed tight against mine as he secures an arm around my neck. The pressure is tight enough to be threatening, but I can still breathe—just barely. The message is clear: he could end this in seconds if he wanted to.

The fucking bastard is toying with me.

Sending a message.

"Submit," he commands, his mouth so close I can feel the heat of the word on my skin. When I don't immediately obey, he tightens slightly. "Submit," he repeats, louder this time.

But surrendering isn't in my nature, even when logic screams that I should. Maybe I'm still hopeless in a fight, but I can at least prove I have the grit to keep trying. To keep fighting even when victory is impossible.