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Emilia wiped the sweat off her forehead, as she prepared to repeat the sequences on the dummy. Her arms were noodles, her calves screamed and her lungs may or may not be preparing to jump ship, but she needed to continue.
She assumed her stance and began: jab, jab, cross. Retreat, dodge, uppercut. Do it all again. Her knuckles didn’t even hurt anymore. If another demon tried to get her, she’d be ready. She was Emilia DiCarlo and she had no reason to be afraid.
Except her heart didn’t seem to register that. Her nightmares now were a mix of finding Vittoria’s body with being rendered powerless by the creatures that lurked in the shadows of her new world. Wrath didn’t know. She could imagine His Royal Pain mocking her for not being in control of her thoughts.
Suddenly, a dark blot surged on the dummy. Emilia frowned. Blood. She looked down at her hands, and noticed the open skin on her knuckles. The burning pain hit her and she winced.
“Shit,” Emilia hissed. “Shit.”
Emilia needed to clear the wounds. For the day, she was done with practice. She looked back down at her hand, as she started making her way to the door. Maybe for the week.
“Witch?”
Emilia allowed her eyes too widened just for a moment before mustering an expression of boredom. She shoved her hands casually into her pockets –one of the reasons she liked her training outfits so much. If she also enjoyed how molded her body and drew a certain someone’s eyes, Emilia would never admit it.
Wrath stood by the door, on his usual dark and golden attire. He never had even one button on the wrong angle. It was infuriating, especially considering she was flushed, sweaty and with her hair in disarray. Still, Emilia adjusted her posture, ignoring the pain in her hand.
“You’ve been practicing,” he said, his expression thoughtful. “On your own.”
It wasn’t a question, so Emilia didn’t say anything. Wrath walked into the room, eyes intense trained on her. She kept her gaze fixed to his. In the time she had spent in House Wrath, Emilia had noticed Wrath’s eyes seemed to shift whenever they fixed on her, like he was trying to memorize her and failed every time.
Emilia inhaled his scent instinctively when he approached. She wanted to scold herself as a corner of his lips lifted up. She wanted to reach for it and pull it down again. But that would involve touching him, which was an unwise idea for more reasons than one.
“You can’t know all my moves,” was what she ended up saying.
“I know all the moves, Witch,” he said, his expression fiendish.
Emilia scowled, ignoring the shivers his voice sent all across her body.
“Yes, well. I have to go.”
“Show me what you have been doing.”
“No,” she tried walking past him, but Wrath started following her. She stopped by the door. “That would defeat the whole purpose of my training alone.”
Wrath expression became stern: “Then show me the moves I taught you. So I can point out how your stance still probably needs to improve.”
Emilia glared at him. “I will not stand here and be insulted.”
Wrath shrugged and his eyes fell on the hands she still had tucked into her pockets. Emilia wanted to scream. Of course he knew.
“Then prove me wrong. Or are your bloody knuckles going to be a problem?”
Emilia removed her hands from her pockets with a scowl. Wrath hesitated, before reaching for them. His touch was gentle and firm, his eyes burning ambers. His jaw worked. Emilia narrowed her eyes. He seemed mad.
“Why are you angry?”
“Remind yourself who you are speaking to, Witch,” he said, letting go off her hands and walking past her. I bristled, but her continued. “Follow me.”
*
His witch was hurt and it was all his fault. Wrath needed to let his anger fade away into something acceptable before they reached her rooms. If not, he’d yell at her for overdoing, she yelled at him for being… well, him, and her hands would remain bloody. Wrath may like their screaming matches, but he needed to fix her hands first.
Wrath could not remember when her well being had become a priority for him. If it had happened all at once, or if it had been a process.
“Why don’t we just go to the healer?” Emilia asked as he opened the doors to her room. Instinctively, Wrath searched it for threats. It was difficult, when the whole place smelt like her, but he managed.
“Because you need to learn your lesson,” he said, walking over to the bathroom. In the cabinets, there were balls of cotton and a bottle of alcohol.
Emilia had taken a seat in one of the armchairs. The live fireplace dyed her hazel hair in orange tones and made her eyes glow. She stared ahead, her jaw locked. Wrath wondered if Emilia knew she looked like a living flame herself.
“My lesson about hiding things from you?” she asked as he approached her.
Wrath ignored her. He knelt by the arm chair, his eyes falling on her knuckles. At least, Wrath considered, she had been hitting between the index and the middle finger, like he instructed.
“Your lesson about overdoing it. You’ve been practicing with me and with Anir, but you still haven’t figured out how to set your limits.”
She should have, was what he didn’t add. His Witch didn’t like asking for help –his help, precisely. Emilia was stubborn and determined and a force of nature, but she was also human. It wasn’t Wrath’s place to tell her what she could or couldn’t do when I came to everything else, but he knew fighting. And he knew she was being stupid instead of determined this time.
He just wished she’d tell him why.
“I know my limits,” she said, reaching for the alcohol bottle. Wrath frowned, picking it up first. “I can do it.”
“Consider this your punishment,” he replied blandly, soaking up a piece of cotton with the alcohol. Before she could ask, he added: “For getting blood on my training equipment.” Like he cared. Like those hadn’t had blood on them before.
She scowled and Wrath struggled against a smile. Then he reached for her hand, ignoring the electric current jolting up his arm at the contact. Wrath noticed Emilia’s breathe hitch, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he carefully pressed the cotton against the open skin.
“Son of a bitch,” she breathed out and flushed.
“It’s better it hurts a bit now than a lot later,” Wrath said, trying to lighten the weight of his touch.
He kept working, cleaning the wound until the blood flow stopped. Wrath had to ignore a lot of things when he was around Emilia: her eyes trained on him promising murder, her lips pressed on a thin line he wanted to take on to his, the curve of her neck he desperately wanted to taste, the cusses she let out in that tone that drove him to madness, the way her clothes hugged her soft curves. He definitely ignored the thoughts of her lithe fingers on his hair as he made her scream.
Yes, all of that was thoroughly ignored. Filed away for later. For careful consideration.
Wrath finished cleaning her hand and couldn’t help himself pressing his lips to her hand. Emilia’s chest rose and fell, her cheeks flushing.
“I will come yell with you about this tomorrow, yes?” Wrath said, leaping to his feet. Emilia narrowed her eyes at him, but he leaned down and placed a kiss on her temple, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Now, shower and rest, witch.”
Wrath left the room and allowed himself five seconds to wonder what it’d be like if she ever asked him stay.