CHAPTER 58: SMELL

Kaya

"You smell more of tree resin and warm spice when you’re calm," I explain as I start all over again. "It’s sweet. But your scent becomes colder, more earthy when tension bolts through your muscles. I can still smell it––it’s like taking a morning stroll in the winter woods."

Then, I notice another change, though now, I don’t think it’s tension. The moment I uttered that last sentence, the air around him shifted into sweetness again, but when I looked into his eyes again, I felt a slight tingle deep inside my chest.

"It’s like reading an old book by the fire with a fresh scent of the pine forest seeping through the open window," I mumble quietly, more to myself than for him to hear.

Magnus says nothing, his expression carved from stone, but I see the flicker of something behind his eyes—a slow burn that mirrors the heat crawling up my neck.

And Goddess help me, every time I fill my lungs with that scent, I lose track of what I’m supposed to be doing because all I can think about is how damn good he smells.

I lunge again. My hand reaches for his chest, but he twists his body just slightly. I don’t even feel the movement until I’m spinning past him and landing on my side with a soft grunt.

"What did you notice that time?" he asks, turning toward me slowly, his hand outstretched to offer me some help.

I grab it and push myself to my feet, brushing dirt off my palms. "I think you breathed in. Not much. But your ribs expanded, and your chest shifted left. Just enough to dodge."

His lips curve, only slightly. "Good. Again."

I grit my teeth, stepping back into position. My heart pounds with more than just exertion. It’s the way he watches me, as if I’m something to be studied, unraveled. And that’s what I’m supposed to be doing right now.

This time, I change my tactics. My sneakers off my feet, I toss them to the side, hoping to add more stealth into my movements. Then, I circle him slowly again, my bare feet silent on the packed earth. The moon is high above us, casting pale silver across the ring. He doesn’t move.

But his scent does. Again.

Warm spice, tree resin... and then, just a touch of something darker. Bitter pine, cold earth. He’s ready. Now, I can feel that, too.

I go for his side. This time, I feint first, and his leg tenses—just for a second. I pivot, trying to use his momentum against him. But again, I miscalculate. He sidesteps me with infuriating ease.

"And now?" Magnus asks again, his voice nearly brushing my skin.

"Your left calf tensed before your hips turned," I say through a breath. "I saw it too late."

"Better. Again."

He wants me to read him like a book. So I focus. Harder. My skin tingles, and not just because of the cold air on my scars. Every breath he takes, every flex of his jaw, every flutter of muscle beneath his shirt becomes a signal. I never knew I could ever be this alert.

So I try again. This time, I let instinct guide me. I reach, aim for his shoulder, and my fingers graze his collarbone before he ducks and twists. Somehow, we end up chest to chest.

The air crackles.

His warm breath ghosts over my cheek. For a moment, we stand completely still.

Then Magnus murmurs, and I can clearly hear that tiny tremble in his voice. "What... did you notice?"

I swallow thickly, unable to lie. "Your scent changed again. It was... the scent of pine warmed in sunlight. Like it’s not just calm anymore. It’s something... else."

His gaze drops to my lips for half a second, and I can feel my throat go dry. "Good... Go again."

I want to scream. Or kiss him. Possibly both.

Instead, I step back and shake out my arms. My body is trembling now—not from exertion, but from the overwhelming awareness of him.

I lunge.

This time, I don’t go for the obvious attack. I spin, let him follow the feint, then drop and sweep his legs. He hops over me with feline grace.

But his shirt lifts. I catch a glimpse of his toned stomach, slick with a sheen of sweat, the V of his hips leading downward in a way that makes my thoughts scatter.

He lands in front of me, and I’m on my back again, gasping. Why do I keep getting distracted by his body? Devil. He is the devil.

"And?" Magnus seems a bit flustered, too. "What did you see?"

I growl at him, unreasonably annoyed. "That you’re smug. That you like this."

He kneels beside me, leans down, and murmurs, "I do. Because you’re learning. And fast."

And then he offers me his hand again.

I take it. He pulls me up with ease, and for a moment, our faces are inches apart. Our breath mingles.

"Again," I whisper, my fingers brushing his chest before I push away.

I circle. I study. How many times has it already been? I’m pretty sure the sun is going to rise soon.

But every time I failed, I learned something. How his weight shifts before he moves. How his shoulders drop half a second before he ducks. How his scent blooms into something heady and golden when he lets his guard down around me.

I gather all of it now.

And then I move.

It’s not just instinct this time. It’s precision. Muscle memory. All the tiny observations stacking up.

I feint left, twist right, duck beneath his arm, and push hard into his center of gravity just as his foot is rising for a pivot.

He stumbles.

And then he’s out of the circle.

He lands with a grunt. And me?

I land right on top of him.

Our chests heave in unison. My palms are splayed against his chest. His arms are around my waist, the heat of his skin sinking through my thin shirt.

The moonlight dances across his cheekbone, and for a moment, neither of us moves. We’re pressed together in the dirt, skin to skin, breath to breath.

His eyes search mine.

"What... do I smell like?" I hear myself asking, too late to stop these ridiculous words from leaving my lips.

His hot hand slowly trails up my back, and when it carefully slides over the line of my spine, my stomach catches fire––all-consuming, dangerously destructive.

Magnus hesitates, and the longer this silence stretches, the more I feel like I’m about to melt right into him.

"You smell like a freshly-baked apple pie, sprinkled with cinnamon," he finally starts, his amber eyes turning strangely sad. "Like a slow spring morning with a steaming cup of coffee and a slice of that fragrant pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of it."

I don’t think I can even remember my name now. He looks so beautiful when he describes my scent, and yet... why does he look so heartbreakingly sad?

"You smell like..." Magnus’s fingers gently swipe over the back of my neck, pausing just for a split second to feel the broken mark left there by Damien. He frowns. "You smell like something I don’t want to share with anyone."