Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 171

Inheritance.

Sage

60

There’s that sharp, electric heaviness in the air, the kind that makes the hairs on your arms stand up, a warning that the storm looming overhead might tear the sky apart at any moment. The entire day has been charged with this restless energy, and you can almost taste the metallic tang of the coming rain in the thick atmosphere. The recruits seem to sense it too; their movements quicken, as if the weather itself is urging them to finish what they’ve started before the heavens open.

Out by the training field, Connor is busy, sleeves rolled up, gripping a hammer as he tightens bolts on the sparring posts with focused determination. Meanwhile, I sit on the cold stone steps of the armoury, methodically sharpening a knife I haven’t touched in years. It’s more ritual than necessity—the familiar weight in my hand feels grounding, a connection to a past I can never quite leave behind. Some skills never fade, no matter how much time passes.

From this vantage point, I have a clear view of the compound: the rustic cabins scattered around, the main hall standing solid and unyielding, and the small vegetable gardens Ma insisted we plant to add a “domestic touch” to this rough place. The recruits move through the yard in pairs, sparring and laughing, their bodies slick with sweat and the first gentle droplets of rain that have begun to fall. This isn’t the army I grew up in. There’s no terror here, no shouting or pain inflicted for its own sake. Instead, there’s a structure built on something far more enduring—belief.

Connor catches me watching and shakes his head with a teasing grin. “You going to help, or just sit there looking dangerous?”

I spin the knife between my fingers, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Why spoil a good thing?”

“Suit yourself,” he calls back, “but when it really starts pouring, don’t expect me to come rescue you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, though I’m lying.

He finishes tightening the last bolt and glances up at the sky, now heavy and swollen with dark clouds. The first rumble of thunder vibrates through the air, and that mischievous grin spreads across his face—the one that always means he’s about to do something reckless. Without warning, he strides toward me.

“What are you—” I begin, but before I can finish, strong arms lift me effortlessly from the step. I start to protest, but he’s already sprinting into the rain. The sky bursts open, soaking us instantly. I yelp, half laughing, half cursing as the knife slips from my fingers and clatters harmlessly into the mud.

“Connor!” I shout, pushing at him, but he spins me around once, sending droplets flying in a sparkling arc.

His laughter is deep and free, and I can’t help but join in. The rain is icy, the ground slick beneath our feet, and his shirt clings to him like a second skin, dark hair plastered to his forehead. In this moment, he looks younger, wilder—just like the man I first fell in love with.

Eventually, he sets me down, my boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. “You’re insane,” I say breathlessly, brushing wet strands of hair from my face.

“Probably,” he admits with that smile that always undoes me. “But you’re laughing.”

He reaches up, gently brushing a raindrop from my cheek before pressing a fierce kiss to my lips, stealing my breath away. The world narrows to thunder, rain, and him.

When we finally break apart, I’m grinning like a fool. “You’re going to track mud all through the armoury after this.”

He shrugs, unfazed. “Worth it, if it means I get to kiss my girl in the rain like one of those cheesy love stories you secretly adore.”

Together, we dash toward the shelter of the overhang, laughter spilling from us as the sky cracks open again behind us. We find refuge beneath the eaves, soaked to the bone and breathless.

The clouds gather thick and fast, turning the sky into a bruised canvas of swirling grey and purple. Most of the recruits have retreated indoors, seeking warmth and dryness. Only a few remain outside—stubborn souls like me who can’t sit still, who need a spark of fear to keep moving.

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