The Nameless Luna – Book Two: What Binds and Breaks

‘So, where do we begin?’
Tristan watches me from the edge of the veranda, stepping out onto the training floor.
I try not to stare as he takes off his shirt. His tan brown skin looks almost bronze in the sunlight. Every inch of him is toned and taut, his messy brown hair combed back away from his face.
‘Did you already warm up?’ he asks, and I nod.
Honestly, I had to. I’d arrived early to training this morning, knowing that Tristan would be the one to work with me today. I’d been anxious enough that I started the exercises Amara taught me right away, needing to dispense some of the nervous energy building up inside of me.
Tristan had put some distance between us since that night in the bath, and I couldn’t say I blamed him for it. Things between us are… complicated.
But I can’t deny that there is a part of me that longs to close that gap between us. It’s like something opened up inside of me when he saw my scars and did not turn away, He was, perhaps, the first person in the world who’d ever seen all of me that way. My flaws, my faults, my limitations.
And he had not condemned me for them. Instead, he’d just watched me much as he did now. No one had ever looked at me the way that he did. No one had ever touched me the way that he did.
And the way that he kissed me….
It still kept me up at night.
‘Why don’t you catch me up?’ he says, suddenly drawing my attention back. ‘What have you been working on with Amara?’
‘A lot of strength building. She says my balance is good, and I’m quick on my feet, but I need to work on my endurance.’
It’s no secret that I’m hardly the picture of good health and fitness. Though my time at the Villa Du Lac has had a significant impact on my body, I am still the smallest among the Rovers.
Scrawny, and without a wolf, I’m at an obvious disadvantage when it comes to defending myself. Which I suppose is precisely why the training is so important.
I was hesitant at first, of course, but Amara was a patient teacher. She knew just when to praise and just how hard to push, and though she could still beat me easily on the mat, she made me feel safe within my own body in a way that I’d never experienced before.
Maybe it’s not much, but it is stronger than I’ve felt in my entire life.
‘Amara says I need to learn to trust myself. Apparently, my reflexes aren’t bad, but I question myself too much. I hesitate. She said if I want to defend myself, I have to learn to act more and think less,’ I tell Tristan. ‘I… I don’t exactly have a warrior’s instincts.’
The corner of Tristan’s lips twitch in the echo of a smile, and something flickers across his gaze as he surveys me.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I seem to remember a certain brave young woman who defended herself against the unknown with nothing more than a broken champagne glass.’
I wince at the memory, recalling how desperate I’d been to fight Oscar off the first time I met Tristan.
‘Don’t remind me,’ I say with a sigh. ‘That wasn’t brave. It was stupid. I didn’t even know what I was fighting for.’
‘Freedom,’ he says softly, an old and tired sort of understanding washing over his expression. ‘You were trying to fight for your freedom. Besides, not anyone can say they’ve drawn blood from an Alpha’s son.’
‘You make it sound so grand,’ I say with a sad little smile. ‘But that fight would have ended with broken bones. It doesn’t matter what my motives were. The truth is, Oscar would have beaten me into the dust for what I did.’
‘He would be dead before he could lay a hand on you,’ Tristan says, and I’m startled by the sudden force behind his words as something brutal hardens his amber eyes.
I believe him.
There’s a warmth pooling somewhere deep within me, and I feel my cheeks flush as he stares at me, unwavering and unyielding.
I sag slightly when he finally looks away.
‘Amara is right, though,’ he says, shifting the subject. ‘Most of your opponents will be physically stronger. So, you have to be smarter and faster. Let’s see what you can do.’
We start with the basics, going over the proper posture and showing me how to use my hands to protect my face. I mimic his stance, feeling awkward and uncoordinated in contrast to his graceful movements, an effect I’ve become accustomed to after watching Amara train with me. Like Amara, Tristan is patient, repeating the moves until I get them right.
Then it’s time to put what I’ve learned to practice. I feel my heart rate quicken as we face each other to spar.
‘Go on, little flower,’ he tells me, a hint of teasing creeping into his voice. ‘Hit me.’
I lunge forward with a punch, and he effortlessly dodges it.
‘Again.’
He shows me how to block his attacks, using my arms to deflect his punches and kicks. In the back of my mind, I can almost hear Amara’s words guiding me.
‘Breathe. You are a feather fighting a brick. You do not bend or break. Flow.’
Tristan throws a punch, and I duck underneath it. I feel a rush of excitement as we circle each other, and I spin around and deliver a swift kick to Tristan’s side. He barely stumbles back, but surprise flashes across his eyes, along with a glint of pride.
‘Good.’
We continue to spar, and I’m beginning to understand what Amara meant by using my small size to my advantage. He’s strong and fast, and I know he’s taking it easy on me. But thanks to Amara’s lessons, I’m holding my ground—or rather, darting around it.
It’s a rush, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. As we move around the mat, our heat begins to build between us, and I have to focus to avoid glancing at the glistening sweat on his skin. He moves, and I counter, and it’s a strange sort of dance that makes my insides tight and tingling.
This close, it’s impossible not to notice the way his body moves in response to mine. The way his biceps bulge as he throws a punch, the way his abs ripple as he twists his torso, muscles tightening and shifting beneath his skin. I feel a flutter in the pit of my stomach and nearly lose my footing as I throw a wide punch that he easily sidesteps.
‘Easy,’ he breathes. ‘Use your momentum with intention.’ He motions for me to come towards him, and I approach him warily, unsure of what he’s going to do next. ‘Let’s try something a little different.’
He suddenly lunges towards me, and I try to block him with my arms, but he easily pushes me down, and we tumble onto the mat. Before I can gather my bearings, he has me pinned down beneath him, his weight trapping me under his body.
‘You good?’ he asks quickly, and I nod, surprised by the pang of competitive frustration that stings my pride at being taken down so easily.
Pride.
Since when do I have that?
‘Good,’ Tristan says with a grin before I can ponder the thought any further. ‘Now get me off you.’
I struggle to move, feeling his weight bearing down on me.
‘We’re not arm wrestling, little flower. You’re trying to use sheer force, and it won’t work.’
That’s an understatement. In a contest of strength, he could snap me like a twig.
He shifts over me, tightening his grip on my wrist slightly, not enough that it’s painful, but enough to make it clear that I’m not going to escape.
Again, I hear Amara’s instructions in the back of my head: ‘When you can’t use your fists, use your head. Literally or metaphorically.’
As if echoing her coaching, Tristan says, ‘With your back against the ground, you don’t have to worry about balance. You have a strong foundation. Use it.’
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, his words reaching deep within me.
‘Don’t hold back.’