—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant
(Unauthorized Edition)
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
I’ve never gotten dressed so fast in my entire life, and I’m not even bothering with the thigh sheaths. “What time is it?” I ask Xaden, pulling on my formal dress and slippers and blowing my hair out of my face.
Mandatory, urgent formation for the entire quadrant means now.
The wards are falling. How many Navarrians are we going to lose?
“Four fifteen.” He finishes lacing his boots, already armed to the teeth as I’m picking up my sheaths, pretty sure I’m missing one of them. “You’re going to freeze out there.”
“I’ll be fine.” I drop to my knees and locate the missing dagger, hauling it out by the strap of the sheath before standing again.
“Here.” Xaden throws one of his flight jackets over me, trapping my hair. “If Garrick’s right and we’re under attack, then my guess is they’ll order the older years to staff the mid-guard posts, so you shouldn’t be out in formation too long. I can’t stand the thought of you being cold.”
Which means he’ll be leaving.
My heart somersaults as I clumsily shove my arms through the sleeves of his jacket. He’ll be safe, right? It will just be a midland assignment, and he’s the most powerful rider in the quadrant.
With my hands full of weapons, I don’t argue about him buttoning the flight jacket over my chest.
“We have to get to formation.” His hands cradle my face. “And if I have to go, then don’t worry. I’m sure Sgaeyl will drag me back in a few days.” He leans in and kisses me hard and quick. “Wanting you will be the death of me. Let’s go.”
The best thing about a war college in complete and utter chaos? No one notices when I slip out of my wingleader’s room and into the sea of riders, all tugging on their own clothes to get to formation. Everyone is running on adrenaline, too busy getting their shit together to notice what I’m doing or the brief touch of Xaden’s hand against mine before he heads toward leadership gathered near the dais in the courtyard.
I’m not the only one still in my dress uniform, either.
The wind has a bite to it as I make it into formation, but at least Xaden’s flight jacket keeps my hair tucked away.
“This had better be good, because I was finally taking my shot with that gorgeous brunette healer,” Ridoc whines as he steps into formation behind me.
Liam stands to my right, still buttoning the top on his uniform.
“Good night?” I ask Liam.
“Fine,” he mutters, his cheeks turning pink in the moonlight.
“Anyone seen Dain?” I ask Nadine as she steps into formation ahead of me.
“All the squad leaders are with leadership,” she answers over her shoulder as Rhiannon jogs up.
Rhi cracks a huge yawn, then glances my way and does a double-take. “Violet Sorrengail,” she whispers, moving closer. “Are you wearing Riorson’s flight jacket?”
Liam’s head snaps in my direction, curse his stupidly good hearing.
“Why would you say that?” I do a shitty job of feigning shock and shove the sheaths into every available pocket in this thing. All three of them, which are considerably deeper than the ones in my own jacket.
“Oh, I don’t know. Because it’s huge on you and there are three stars right here?” She taps where there’s only one star on her uniform.
Well, shit. Just goes to show that neither of us was thinking clearly.
“It could be any third-year’s.” I shrug.
“With a Fourth Wing shield on the shoulder?” She cocks an eyebrow.
“That does limit it a bit,” I agree.
“And a wingleader emblem beneath those stars?” she teases.
“Fine, it’s his,” I whisper quickly as Commandant Panchek takes the dais, followed by Dain’s father and the wingleaders. Xaden’s damn good at keeping his eyes off me, but I can’t say the same, especially when there’s little doubt he’s about to be sent away and I can still feel his mouth on my skin.
“I knew it!” Rhi grins. “Tell me it’s good.”
“I broke his window.” I wince and my cheeks heat.
“Like…you threw something at it?” Her brow knits.
“No. As in, lightning struck…a lot, and I shattered his window.” I glance toward the dais. “And look, there he is now, all calm, cool, and collected.” My chest tightens as I wonder which is the real version of him? The one standing up there, in complete control, ready to command his wing? Or the one I had inside me less than a half hour ago? The one who declared that he doesn’t deserve me but is going to keep me?
Xaden looks anything but pleased, and his gaze locks with mine for a millisecond. “Fucking War Games.”
Relief and disbelief hit me in equal measure.
