Loveless/ a POWERLESS fanfiction story

Chapter 10: Blair

I felt a warm warm breeze

That melted metal and steel

I pace nervously around my room, trying to shake off the tension accumulated throughout the day. I know Brian is go to arrive soon for our secret training session, and the anticipation makes me anxious. The shadows cast by the flickering candlelight play tricks on my mind, heightening my sense of foreboding.

Just as I am about to sit down and try to read, the door swings open, and Brian steps in. His movements are smooth and confident, and I notice his damp hair glistening softly in the candlelight. He has just showered—his dark shirt clings slightly to his still-wet body. It's the first time I've seen him out of his white guard uniform. The candlelight caresses his figure, and I can't help but notice how much better he looks in black.

"Ready for our midnight date, Miss Archer?" Brian smirks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Yet, there's something else in his different coloured eyes. It seems like excitement.

"Perhaps," I reply, raising an eyebrow. "But I didn't think you'd bother to clean yourself up just for me."

He laughs, running a hand through his wet hair. "I don't recall ever showing up looking like I've slept in a stable. But I'm glad you noticed my efforts." His lips twitch. "Or do you prefer rugged men?"

I roll my eyes but can't suppress the small smile forming on my lips. "I prefer men, not you. In any form."

A smirk touches his lips. I pretend to inspect my nails and ask in a bored tone, "So, what's on the agenda for tonight?"

He steps closer, and I hear the soft click of the door closing, sealing us off from the rest of the world. "First, we'll work on your stance. You have a bad habit of leaning too far forward. Then," he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I might teach you a few tricks to disarm an opponent twice your size."

I meet his gaze, and the spark in his different coloured eyes, which might just be a reflection of the candlelight, makes my heart skip a beat. "Really? And here I thought you were just here to charm me pointlessly with your wit."

He chuckles, not breaking eye contact. "Oh, I can multitask, Miss Blair. But first, let's see if you can handle the basics without losing your composure."

I scoff, trying to hide the blush creeping up my neck. "You could only see that in your dreams." Summoning two daggers with telekinesis, I tense my legs and assume a stance from which I can strike effectively. I flash my most cunning smile and say, "Shall we begin?"

Brian nods, stepping back and adopting an overly serious expression. I notice a blade in his hand and wonder when he managed to draw it.

We move to the center of the room, and he starts guiding me through the exercises. The blade of his knife lightly touches one of my daggers, prompting me to lift my arm slightly. I feel the muscles in my forearm burning, but I don't show it, instead making a thrust. Brian gracefully dodges and, with one swift, sharp motion, disarms me.

I squint in frustration and summon the dagger back with my power. "You're moving incorrectly," Brian says. "Too predictably. Plus, you can't gauge the strength of your strike because of your improper stance."

He steps closer and extends his hand towards my back. "May I?" Without waiting for an answer, he firmly places his hand on my waist, adjusting my posture by pressing on one of my vertebrae. This is the closest he has ever been, and I can smell him. A fresh, clean scent of soap mingles with a faint metallic hint.

It smells so much like fresh blood.

"Imagine someone you truly hate in front of you," he whispers. "And strike."

For some reason, I picture Kai.

Gripping the dagger, I make a sharp strike through the air, aiming directly at the invisible opponent's shoulder. I think about how I deserve as much glory as the prince. I wanted so badly to win the Trials, to secure my family's position forever...

Brian's hand is still firmly on my waist. My body instinctively responds to his proximity—I start breathing deeper.

He smirks, releases my waist, and steps back to his previous spot in front of me. "Yes" he says, assuming a combat stance. "You can be deadly. You just need to feel the hate."

"My father doesn't pay you to discuss my feelings," I snap, straightening up and feeling the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I tense my muscles and strike again, this time with the correct stance. Brian reacts instantly, blocking my blow with his blade, and our weapons clash with a loud ring.

"To be a fighter and to hate are practically the same thing," he says cheerfully, trying to catch his breath after the exchange of blades strikes. "And if you need someone to despise to win, I'm happy to be that person."

We move around the room, the clashing of our blades ringing out in the night's stillness. Brian dodges with graceful ease, his movements perfectly precise. We continue our dance, our bodies moving in unison, and I feel each movement bringing us closer together.

I take a deep breath, allowing myself to feel the moment. We continue fighting, our blows growing more intense, and the tension between us becomes more palpable. Each time our bodies come too close, my heart races faster.

But where had he been before he came to my room?

I try to catch even a hint of truth in his eyes. This distraction causes me to lose focus and end up on the losing side of our match. Our daggers crossed, Brian leans in, and I feel his warm breath on my neck.

"Good, but not enough," he whispers in my ear.

I get angry and attack again without warning, now faster, stronger. Our faces draw close, and I see every detail of his face: the tense lines of his jaw, the focused eyes, the droplets of water running down his temples. His scent becomes even more pronounced, and I can't shake this feeling.

Then I notice a barely visible mark on his neck. Blood.

Brian disarms me again, but I summon the dagger back with force before it touches the floor. I feel a fire ignite within me.

"Better," he acknowledges, his voice unexpectedly warm. "But you're still too tense. Relax, trust your instincts."

His words echo in my mind. We continue our dance, our bodies moving in synchrony, and the tension becomes almost unbearable.

"See? Much better," he says. "You're starting to get it."

I sweep his legs, dive under his arm, and, finding myself behind him, cross my two daggers at his throat.

"Understand what?"

He smirks and turns despite the sharp blades grazing his skin. Our faces are so close I can see the mesmerizing mix of colors in his irises.

"That sometimes the most dangerous weapon isn't the blade, but the mind," he says in a low voice.

I nod unconsciously. He grips my wrists, spreading the crossed knives, and I feel his body tense, holding me in place.

"That's enough for today," he says, releasing my hands instantly. "You did well."

He steps back towards the door, and I feel my heart pounding in my ears. Our eyes meet once more.

"Sleep well, Miss Archer. Tomorrow is an important day."

I watch him leave my room, unable to shake the feeling that something significant has slipped away from me. Or perhaps it's just my anxiety about the upcoming interview.

I crawl into bed and fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep.