“Because that’s not creepy.” I let the coffee warm my freezing hands.
“Can’t know how to ruin someone without understanding them first,” he says quietly.
I lift my gaze to find that his is already on me. “And is that still your plan?” Mira’s words have haunted me for two days.
He flinches. “No.”
“What changed?” Frustration tightens my grip on the mug. “When exactly did you decide not to ruin me?”
“Maybe it was when I saw Oren holding a knife to your throat,” he says. “Or maybe it was when I realized the bruises on your neck were fingerprints and wanted to kill them all over again just so I could do it slowly. Maybe it was the first time I recklessly kissed you or when I realized I’m fucked because I can’t stop thinking about doing more than just kissing you.” My breath catches at his admission, but he just sighs, lets his head fall back against the wall. “Does it even matter when, as long as it changed between us?”
“Don’t do that,” I whisper, and he lifts his head again to hold my gaze.
“Don’t do what? Tell you I can’t get you out of my head? Or speak directly into yours?”
“Either.”
“You could learn to do it, too.” Why the hell is it so impossible to look away from him? To remember that kiss on that tower had been a game to him, that this all might be a game to him? To quell this impossible ache that swirls in my stomach every time I think about him? “Come on, give it a try.”
As I stare into his gold-flecked eyes, I decide he’s right. I could at least meet him halfway and try. I put one mental foot in my Archives and feel power ripple through my veins. Bright orange, crackling energy streams in from the door behind me, and there’s a golden light that shines from the window I created just for Andarna. I take a deep breath and turn slowly.
And there, swirling along the edge of the roofline, is a shadow of sparkling night. Xaden.
Footsteps sound on the stairs, and we both look.
“Guess you two had the same idea,” Dain says when he sees us, coming to stand along the wall beside me. “How long have you been waiting?”
“Not long,” Xaden answers.
“Hours,” I say simultaneously.
“Damn, Violet.” Dain runs a hand through his damp hair. “Are you hungry? Do you want to get breakfast?”
“No, dumbass, she doesn’t, obviously.” Xaden’s snide commentary fills my head.
“Knock that the fuck off,” I toss back. “No thank you.”
“Look who figured it out.” Xaden’s mouth quirks upward for a heartbeat.
Another set of footsteps echoes up the staircase and I hold my breath, my eyes locked on the doorway.
Professor Markham pauses when he sees the three of us outside his office, then continues toward us. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Just tell me if she’s dead.” I move into the center of the hall.
Markham looks at me with more than his fair share of disapproval. “You know I can’t give out classified information. If there’s anything to be discussed, we’ll do it in Battle Brief.”
“We were there. If it’s classified, then we already know about it,” I counter, my hands starting to tremble as I squeeze the pewter harder and harder.
Xaden takes the mug from me.
“It’s hardly appropriate for me to—”
“She’s my sister,” I plead. “I deserve to know if she’s alive, and I deserve not to hear about it in a room full of riders.”
His jaw tightens. “There was considerable damage to the outpost, but we lost no riders at Montserrat.”
Thank gods. My knees give out and Dain catches me, pulling me into his familiar hug as relief floods my system.
“She’s fine, Vi,” Dain whispers into my hair. “Mira’s fine.”
I nod, fighting against a swell of emotions to keep my control. I will not break down. I will not cry. I will not show weakness. Not here.
There’s only one place I can go, one person who won’t chide me for crumbling.
The second I have myself in hand, I step out of Dain’s arms.
Xaden is gone.
I skip breakfast and miss formation to head to the flight field, holding myself together long enough to get to the middle of the meadow, where I drop to my knees.
“She’s all right,” I cry, my head falling into my hands. “I didn’t leave her to die. She’s alive.” There’s a ruffle of air and then the hard feel of scales against the backs of my hands. I lean forward into Andarna’s shoulder, sagging against her. “She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.”
I repeat it until I believe it.
…
“Do you have any siblings?” I ask Xaden the next time we’re on the mat. Maybe it’s Mira’s comment about me not knowing enough about him, or maybe it’s my own conflicting emotions, but he knows way more about me than I do him, and I need to level this playing field.
