His hands tighten on my waist, and he looks away.
“Oh no, if I have to trust you and tell you what I’m thinking, then I expect the same from you.” I’m not going to be the only vulnerable one out on this ledge.
He grumbles, dragging his gaze back to mine. “I saw Aetos kiss you after Threshing and nearly lost my shit.”
If I didn’t already love him, that might have pushed me over the edge. “You wanted me then?”
“I’ve wanted you from the first second I saw you, Violence,” he admits. “And if I was short with you today…well, it’s just a shit day.”
“I understand. And you know Dain and I are just friends, right?”
“I know that’s how you feel, though I wasn’t sure back then.” He runs his thumb over the swell of my lips. “Now get your ass back on solid ground.”
He wants to stay out here and wallow.
“Come with me.” My fingers grasp the material of his flight leathers, ready to tug him along if I have to.
He shakes his head and looks away. “I’m not in a place to take care of anyone tonight. And yes, I know that’s a shitty thing to say, since it’s the anniversary of losing Brennan—”
“I know.” I slide my hands down his arms. “Come with me, Xaden.”
“Vi…” His shoulders dip, and the sadness that permeates the air between us puts a lump in my throat.
“Trust me.” I step back out of his arms and take his hands. “Come on.”
A moment of tense silence passes before he nods once, moving forward and holding me steady while I turn around. “I’m much better at this than I was last July.”
“So I see.” He stays close, one hand on my waist as I walk the last part of the parapet. “In a fucking dress.”
“It’s a skirt, actually,” I say over my shoulder, only feet away from the wall.
“Eyes forward!” he grumbles, and it’s only the fear in his tone that keeps me from doing something arrogant like skipping the last few feet.
The second we’re within the confines of the wall, he hauls me against him, my back to his front. “Don’t ever put your life at risk over something as trivial as talking to me again.” It’s as low as a growl against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Next year is going to be so much fun,” I tease, walking forward and lacing my fingers with his so he follows.
“Liam will be here next year to make sure you’re not doing asinine things,” he mutters.
“You’re going to love getting his letters,” I promise, jumping the final foot off the parapet to the courtyard below. “Huh.” I glance around the empty courtyard while putting my slippers back on. “Garrick and Bodhi were just here.”
“They probably know I’m going to kill them for letting you out there. A dress, Sorrengail? Really?”
I take his hand in mine and head across the courtyard.
“Where are we going?” He sounds just as much the asshole as the day I met him.
“You’re taking me to your room,” I say over my shoulder as we approach the dormitory.
“I’m what?”
I throw open the door, grateful for the mage lights that make it easy to see him now, sneer and all. “You’re taking me to your room.” Turning left, I lead us past the hallway to my room and then start up the wide spiral staircase.
“Someone will see,” he argues. “It’s not my reputation I’m worried about, Sorrengail. You’re a first-year and I’m your wingleader—”
“Pretty sure everyone already knows—we set half the forest on fire that night,” I remind him as we climb past the door to the second-year hallway. “Did you know that the first time I climbed these steps with Dain, I was horrified that there wasn’t a handrail?”
“Did you know I can’t stand to hear his name on your lips while you’re leading the way to my room?” He trudges up the steps behind me, shadows curling from the wall as if they sense his mood and want nothing to do with it. But his shadows don’t scare me. There’s nothing about this man that scares me anymore, except the magnitude of my feelings for him.
“Point is, and now look at me.” I grin as we reach the third-year floor, and I push open the arched door. “All but dancing on the parapet in a dress.”
“Probably not a good time to remind me.” He follows me into the hallway. It looks like the second-year floor, except there are fewer doors and a high, vaulted roof.
“Which one is yours?”
“I should make you guess,” he mutters but keeps my fingers laced with his as we walk to the end of the massively long hall. Of course it’s the last one.
“Fourth Wing,” I scoff. “Always has to go the farthest.”
He unweaves his own wards and opens his door, standing back so I can walk in first. “I’m going to have to either ward your new door before I go or teach you how in the next ten days.”
I’m not thinking about the looming deadline of his departure as I step into his room for the first time. It’s twice as big as mine—and so is the bed. Surviving to third year has some serious perks. Or maybe the size reflects his rank, who knows.
It’s immaculately clean, with a large armchair by the bed, dark-gray rug, wide wooden armoire, tidy desk, and a bookshelf that gives me instant envy. A sword rack consumes the area beside the door, complete with so many daggers that I can’t possibly count them all, and across the space, next to the desk, stands a throwing target just like I have in my room. There’s a table and chairs in the corner, and his window faces Basgiath but is framed by thick black curtains with Fourth Wing’s emblem on the bottom.
“We do leadership meetings for the sections in here sometimes,” he says from the doorway.
I pivot to find him watching me with curious eyes, like he’s waiting for me to pass judgment on his space. Walking past the sword rack, I let my fingers graze across the handles of the different daggers. “How many challenges have you won anyway?”
