Garrick's muscles burned with exertion, sweat slicking his tanned skin as he squared up against Xaden once more. Their bodies moved in sync, muscles flexing, feet shifting across the mat in a practiced rhythm. He smirked—he had the advantage in size, broader than his best friend, though Xaden was just as powerful, every muscle carved from relentless training. They exchanged blows, countering, dodging, testing each other’s limits.

But even as he fought, he felt it. The weight of her gaze.

A quick glance confirmed it—she was watching. The sharpest fighter among their year, the best female rider in Basgiath. He had admired her skill first, her precision in battle, but it was her attitude that drew him in. A blade’s edge of sharp wit and defiance, mirroring Xaden’s in a way that amused him. His best friend’s female equivalent, he sometimes thought. And somehow, his perfect match.

The fight ended in a final brutal clash, both men panting, bruised, and grinning. Garrick wiped his face with a towel, breath still heavy, before turning his attention fully to her. Catching the way her eyes lingered, the way she barely concealed her interest.

His smirk deepened.

“Close your mouth, sweetheart,” he teased, voice rich with amusement, watching for the inevitable fire in her glare. Gods, he loved getting under her skin.