CURSED

CHAPTER ONE - ELARA

Her breath hitched, sharp and quick, each gasp scraping against her lungs. She raised her fists, every muscle pulled tight, ready to strike. Her opponent stalked closer, the distance between them narrowing with each calculated step. Dust hung heavy in the air, sticking to her skin, but the world had shrunk down to him—his footwork, his quick breaths, the way his eyes locked on hers like a predator.

Sweat dripped down her temple. She swiped it away, eyes never leaving him. She watched for the slightest opening—the flicker of his gaze, the twitch of a muscle—but he moved like water, fluid and quick. He pressed forward, relentless, his fists driving her back, every hit forcing her to retreat. She tried to counter, but he slid past her strikes with maddening ease.

Pain exploded in her arm—a sharp crack that jolted her bones. She hissed, stepping back, the sting biting through her resolve. Her boots slipped on the dirt, and he was already closing in. Another blow—this one to her ribs—crushed the air from her lungs. She staggered but stayed upright, sucking in a ragged breath.

"Come on," he taunted, circling. "Is that all you've got?"

Anger flared hot and fierce in her chest. She could feel the burn in her muscles, the ache in her bones, but she wouldn't yield. Not yet. She pushed off her back foot, throwing a punch aimed at his jaw—fast and hard. He ducked, catching her arm in mid-swing. Her momentum betrayed her, and he twisted, sweeping her legs out from under her.

The ground rushed up to meet her. Dust and pain blurred together as she hit hard, the impact rattling her teeth. Before she could roll away, his weight pinned her down, his hands trapping her wrists against the dirt. She sucked in a breath, glaring up at him, fury mingling with the dull throb of defeat.

"Yield?" he asked, breathless, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. She blinked up at him, her vision sharpening as Rowan Sterling's grinning face came into focus. His golden-brown hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his hazel eyes gleamed with that infuriating spark of mischief.

She huffed. "Release me."

His grin widened, but he obeyed, standing up with a fluid grace that only fueled her frustration. He offered a hand, but she swatted it away, rising on her own and brushing dirt from her clothes.

"For a moment there, I thought you had me," he said, chuckling as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "But you've got to work on that left. Far too predictable."

Her jaw clenched. "I'll keep that in mind," she muttered, flexing her wrist. It still stung from the impact, but the sting in her pride was worse.

He nudged her shoulder, a playful bump that did nothing to ease the knot of irritation twisting in her chest. "Don't sulk, Elara. You did better this time."

She turned away, stalking toward the benches at the edge of the training grounds. Her fingers fumbled for the water canteen, and she took a long, cooling drink, her gaze fixed on him as he stretched, completely unbothered by the fight. He was always faster—always just a step ahead. It gnawed at her, but she'd keep pushing, keep training until she was the one walking away with a smirk.

"Not bad today," he said, breaking the silence as he joined her by the benches. "You seemed... focused."

She shrugged, not trusting her voice to hold steady.

"El—" he started, but she cut him off with a sharp look.

"Don't." She didn't need comfort or reassurance. She needed to be better.

His expression softened, but he didn't push the subject. After seven years of friendship, Rowan knew her well enough to leave it alone. Instead, he let the silence settle between them, the sound of distant voices and the soft clatter of weapons filling the air.