“Tairn is really fast,” I say in way of explanation. It’s not a lie, but it isn’t the full truth, either.
“And thank gods for it. Zihnal must really love Liam, cheating death twice today.”
But it wasn’t Liam who cheated death.
It was me.
And I can’t help but wonder if somewhere, on some plane of existence, Malek sits on his throne, angry that I stole a soul from his grasp.
But then again, I gave him Jack’s.
Of course, it might have broken mine forever.
…
The wooden target in my room wobbles as one of my daggers sinks into the wood beside the last one I threw. I might be angry with the world, but at least my aim isn’t off. If I miss, there’s a good chance the blade is flying out the window, considering where I have the target propped up on the wall.
I throw three more, rapid-fire, and hit the throat of the person-shaped target every single time.
What’s the point of going for shoulders anymore if I’m already taking people out with bolts of lightning? What was my restraint for? With a flick of my wrist, I send the next dagger soaring, putting it straight through the figure’s forehead just as there’s a knock at my door.
It’s either Rhiannon asking for the tenth time if I want to talk about what happened today or it’s Liam—
I pause. It can’t be Liam, checking to see if I’m actually turned in for the night, because Liam is still in the infirmary, healing from the sword he took to the side.
“Come in.” Who cares if I’m in nothing but my dressing gown? It’s not like I can’t strike an intruder dead with a knife. Or lightning.
The door opens beside me, but I don’t bother looking as I throw another dagger. That height? That hint of dark hair I catch in my peripheral vision? That incredible scent? I don’t even need to look fully—my body tells me it’s Xaden.
Then my body reminds me exactly what it feels like to have his mouth on mine, and my stomach flutters. Shit, I’m too on edge to deal with him or the way he makes me feel tonight.
“Imagining that’s me?” he asks, shutting my door and leaning back against it, folding his arms across his chest. Then he does a double-take, his heated gaze roaming over my body.
Suddenly, the spring breeze coming through the open window isn’t enough to cool my skin, not when he’s looking at me like that.
My long braid swings across my back as I take another dagger off my dresser. “No. But it was you about twenty minutes ago.”
“Who is it now?” He raises a brow, crosses one ankle over the other.
“No one you know.” With a flick of my wrist, the next blade goes through the sternum. “Why are you here?” I glance his way just long enough to note that he’s bathed and wearing our standard uniform instead of flight leathers, and definitely not long enough to note how fucking good he looks. Just once, I’d love to see him disheveled or unnerved, anything outside that calm control he wears like armor. “Let me guess. Since Liam is out of commission, it’s your duty to lecture me about sleeping in plain cotton.”
“I didn’t come to lecture you,” he says softly, and I can feel the warmth of his gaze like a caress as it rakes over the thin black straps of my dressing gown. “But I can definitely see that you’re not wearing your armor.”
“No one is going to be ridiculous enough to attack me now.” I take another dagger from the dresser, my pile dwindling. “Not when I can kill them from fifty yards away.” Tapping the end of the razor-sharp weapon, I pivot slightly, just enough to face him. “Do you think it works inside? I mean, how does someone wield lightning if there’s no sky?” Keeping my eyes locked on his, I fling the dagger at the target. The satisfying sound of split wood tells me I hit true.
“Fuck, that’s hotter than it should be.” He pulls in a deep breath. “I think that’s something you’ll have to figure out.” His gaze drops to my mouth and his arms tense.
“You’re not going to step in and say you can train me? You can save me?” I click my tongue and have the absolutely ridiculous urge to run it up the lines of the relic on his neck, tracing the intricate pattern. “How very un-Xaden of you.”
“I have no clue how to train a lightning wielder, and from what I witnessed today, you don’t need saving.” There’s pure longing in his eyes as he scans the length of my body from my bare toes to the hemline that skirts my thighs, over my breasts to my neck, finally reaching my eyes.
“Only from myself,” I mutter. The things I think about doing to him when he looks at me like that would surely ruin me, and tonight I’m not sure I care. That’s a dangerous combination. “So then why are you here, Xaden?”
“Because I can’t seem to stay away.” He sounds anything but pleased by the admission, but my breath catches anyway.
“Shouldn’t you be out there celebrating?” Everyone else is.
“We won a battle, not a war.” He pushes off the door and takes a single step, closing the distance between us, and lifts my braid from over my shoulder, slowly rubbing his thumb along the strands. “And I figured you might still be upset.”
“You told me to get over myself, remember? So why the fuck would you care if I’m upset?” I fold my arms across my chest, choosing anger over lust.
“I told you that you’d have to develop a stomach for killing. I never said you’d get over it.” He drops my braid.
“I should, though, right?” I shake my head and retreat into the center of the room. “We spend three years here learning how to become killers, promoting and praising those who do it best.”
He doesn’t even flinch, just watches me in that observant, infuriatingly calm way of his.
“I’m not mad that Jack is dead. We both know he’s wanted to kill me since Parapet, and eventually he would have. I’m mad that him dying changes me.” I tap my chest right above my heart. “Dain told me that this place strips away the niceties to reveal who someone really is.”
“Not going to argue there.” He watches me as I begin to pace.
“And I just keep thinking that when I was younger, I asked my dad what would happen if I wanted to be a rider like Mom or Brennan, and he told me that I wasn’t like them. That my path was different, except this place has peeled away my civility, my niceties, and it turns out my power is more destructive than any of theirs.” I stop right in front of him and hold up my hands. “And it’s not like I can blame this power on Tairn, not that I would. Signets are based on the rider, just fueled by the dragon, which means this has always been there under the surface, just waiting to be unleashed. And to think—” A knot forms in my throat. “All this time, I had this tiny, driving hope that I would be like Brennan, and that would be the twist in my little fable. That my signet would be mending, and I could put all the broken things back together. But instead, I’m made to split them apart. How many people will I kill with this?”
His eyes soften. “As many as you choose. Just because you gained power today doesn’t mean you lost agency.”
“What is wrong with me?” I shake my head, my hands clenching into fists. “Any other rider would be thrilled.” Even now, I feel the power simmering just beneath my skin.
“You’ve never been like any other rider.” He moves closer but doesn’t touch me. “Probably because you never wanted to be here.”
