Iron Flame (The Empyrean, #2)

by Rebecca Yarros

To my fellow zebras. Not all strength is physical.

The following text has been faithfully transcribed from Navarrian into the modern language by Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant at Basgiath War College. All events are true, and names have been preserved to honor the courage of those fallen. May their souls be commended to Malek.

In this, the 628th year of our Unification, it is hereby recorded that Aretia has been burned by dragon in accordance with the Treaty ending the separatist movement. Those who fled, survived, and those who did not remain entombed in her ruins. —Public Notice 628.85 transcribed by Cerella Nielwart

It would have killed me if it hadn’t been for Brennan, who won’t stop smiling as I chew. This might go down as the most surreal experience of my life. Brennan is alive. Venin, dark wielders I’d thought only existed in fables, are real. Brennan is alive. Aretia still stands, even though it was scorched after the Tyrrish rebellion six years ago. Brennan is alive. I have a new, three-inch scar on my abdomen, but I didn’t die. Brennan. Is. Alive.

He’s just so…him. And yet he looks different from what I remember. His brownish-red curls are cropped close to his skull instead of waving over his forehead, and there’s no lingering softness in the angles of his face, which now has tiny lines at the edges of his eyes. But that smile? Those eyes? It’s really him.

“Yeah, yeah,” I reply in kind, mentally reaching out for Andarna again as one of the kitchen workers hurries by, offering a quick smile to Brennan. There’s no response from Andarna, but I can feel the shimmering bond between us, though it’s no longer golden like her scales.

Basgiath? Another rider here? How many are there? Exactly how big is this revolution? Questions fire off in my head faster than I can find my tongue. “Wait. You’re a lieutenant colonel? And who is Aisereigh?” I ask. Yeah, because that is the most important inquiry to make. “I had to change my last name for obvious reasons.”

“And what would you have done with the knowledge had he shared it?” Tairn asks. “Stop bringing logic into an emotional argument.” I fold my arms across my chest. It’s my heart that won’t fully let my head forgive Xaden.

My throat tightens, and I blink back the burn in my eyes. Soleil and Liam didn’t survive. Liam. Blond hair and sky-blue eyes fill my memory, and pain erupts behind my ribs. His boisterous laugh. His quick smile. His loyalty and kindness. It’s all gone. He’s gone. All because he promised Xaden he’d guard me.

Who do they see? Lilith’s daughter? Or Brennan’s sister? I lift my chin because I’m both…and I feel like neither. “Not every life,” Suri says as she looks straight at me. Ouch. “How could you have stood there and let her overhear the conversation of the Assembly?” “If you didn’t want her to hear, you should have closed the door,” Bodhi responds, stepping into the room.

It is the valley above Riorson House, heated by natural thermal energy, that is its greatest asset. For there lie the original hatching grounds of the Dubhmadinn Line, from which two of the greatest dragons of our time—Codagh and Tairn—descend. —Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind

“How many?” I ask him. “Where are they making them?” “Do you mean hatching them?” “Making,” I repeat. “Don’t you remember the fables Dad used to read to us? They said wyvern are created by venin. They channel power into wyvern. I think that’s why riderless ones died when I killed their dark wielders. Their source of power was gone.”

Turns out, falling in love with someone only brings that blissful high all the poets talk about if they love you back. And if they keep secrets that jeopardize everyone and everything you hold dear? Love doesn’t even have the decency to die. It just transforms into abject misery. That’s what this ache in my chest is: misery. Because love, at its root, is hope. Hope for tomorrow. Hope for what could be. Hope that the someone you’ve entrusted your everything to will cradle and protect it. And hope? That shit is harder to kill than a dragon.

I walk into the copse, and Sgaeyl does me a solid favor and doesn’t make me ask her to move, taking two steps to the right so I’m in between her and Tairn, directly in front of… What. The. Fuck? That can’t be… No. Impossible. “Stay calm. She’ll respond to your agitation and wake in a temper,” Tairn warns. I stare at the sleeping dragon—who is almost twice the size she had been a few days ago—and try to get my thoughts to line up with what I’m seeing, what my heart already knows thanks to the bond between us. “That’s…” I shake my head, and my pulse begins to race. “Wasn’t expecting that,” Brennan says quietly. “Riorson left out some details when he reported in this morning. I’ve never seen such accelerated growth in a dragon before.” “Her scales are black.” Yeah, saying it doesn’t help make it feel any more real. “Dragons are only gold-feathered as hatchlings.” Tairn’s voice is uncharacteristically patient. “‘Accelerated growth,’” I whisper, repeating Brennan’s words, then gasp. “From the energy usage. We forced her to grow. In Resson. She stopped time for too long. We—I—forced her to grow.” I can’t seem to stop saying it. “It would have happened eventually, Silver One, if at a slower pace.” “Is she full-grown?” I can’t take my eyes off her. “No. She’s what you would call an adolescent. We need to get her back to the Vale so she can enter the Dreamless Sleep and finish the growth process. I should warn you before she wakes that this is a notoriously…perilous age.” “For her?...

“If there’s a morningstartail on her—” “Tails are a matter of choice and need.” He huffs indignantly. “Don’t they teach you anything?” “You’re not exactly a notoriously open species.” I’m sure Professor Kaori would salivate over knowing something like that.

“We’re approaching. Get ready.” “Guess we should have worked on rolling dismounts earlier in the year,” I joke, gripping the pommel of my saddle tight as Tairn banks, my weight shifting right with him. My body is going to punish me for the hours in the saddle, but I wouldn’t trade the feel of the summer wind against my face for anything. “A rolling dismount would tear you limb from limb on impact,” he retorts. “You don’t know that,” Andarna counters with what seems to be her new default form of conversation—telling Tairn he’s wrong. A growl rumbles through Tairn’s chest, vibrating the saddle beneath me and the harness that holds Andarna to his chest. “I’d watch it,” I tell her, biting back a smile. “He might get tired and drop you.” “His pride would never allow it.” “Says the dragon who spent twenty minutes refusing to put on her harness,” Tairn fires back. “All right, kids, let’s not argue.”

“You remember that you can…” He taps the side of his head and walks backward in front of me. I clench my fists to keep from brushing a lock of dark, windblown hair off his forehead. A few days ago, I would have touched him without reservation. Hell, I would have threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled him in for a kiss. But that was then, and this is now. “Talking that way feels a little too…” Gods, why is this so hard? It feels like every inch I sacrificed for in the last year when it comes to Xaden has been erased, putting us back at the starting line of an obstacle course I’m not sure either one of us ever chose to run. I shrug. “Intimate.” “And we’re not intimate?” He lifts his brows. “Because I can think of more than one occasion that you’ve been wrapped around—”

“How do you do it?” I whisper at Xaden as we turn the corner into the crowded main corridor of the first-year dorms. “Do what?” His arms hang loose at his sides as he continuously scans the people around us, and he puts his hand on my lower back like he’s worried we might get separated. We’re in the thick of the rush, and for every person too busy to notice us, there’s another who does a double take when we cross paths. Every marked one we see gives Xaden a subtle nod, signaling that they’ve been warned by the others. “Lie to the people you care about?” Our gazes collide. We pass one of the busts of the First Six and follow the flow of the crowd past the wide spiral staircase that connects the higher-years’ dorms. Xaden’s jaw clenches. “Vi—”

“You are going to tell me everything once I can properly shield, right?” It’s all I can do not to grab onto him and start shaking. Hard. “That’s what you promised in your bedroom.” He is not doing this to me. “‘Anything you want to know and everything you don’t.’ Those were your words.” “Everything about me.” Oh, fuck me, he is doing this to me. Again. I shake my head. “That is not what you promised.” Xaden starts to take a step toward me, but I lift my chin, daring him to touch me right now. Smart man that he is, he keeps his feet planted. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Look, I will answer any question you want to ask about me. Gods, I want you to ask, to know me well enough to trust me even when I can’t tell you everything.” He nods like those words had been included in the original promise when we both know damn well they weren’t. “Because you didn’t fall for an ordinary rider. You fell for the leader of a revolution,” he whispers, the sound so soft it barely carries to my ears. “To some degree, I’m always going to have secrets.”

“Or what?” He leans in, his eyes sharpening. “Or I’ll get busy unfalling for you,” I spit out. Surprise flares in his eyes a second before a corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk. “Good luck with that. I tried it for a good five months. Let me know how it works out for you.”

As dragons ferociously guard both their young and any information regarding their development, only four facts are known about the Dreamless Sleep. First, it is a critical time of rapid growth and development. Second, the duration varies from breed to breed. Third, as the name suggests, it is dreamless, and fourth, they wake up hungry.

“Violet!” Dain breaks formation, moving toward us as we reach Second Squad, Flame Section. The worry and relief that etch the lines of his face make power prickle in my hands. “You cannot kill him here,” Xaden warns. “You’re alive! We’d heard—” Dain reaches for me, and I recoil. “Touch me and I swear to the gods, I’ll cut your fucking hands off and let the quadrant sort you out in the next round of challenges, Dain Aetos.” My words earn more than a couple of gasps, but I don’t give a shit who hears me. “Violence, indeed.” The hint of amusement in Xaden’s tone doesn’t reach his face. “What?” Dain stops dead in his tracks, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “You don’t mean that, Vi.” “I do.” I rest my hands alongside the sheaths at my thighs. “You should take her at her word. In fact…” Xaden doesn’t bother to lower his voice. “If you don’t, I’ll take personal offense. She made her choice, and it wasn’t you. It will never be you. I know it. She knows it. The whole quadrant knows it.” Oh, just kill me now. Heat flushes my cheeks. Getting caught in his flight jacket before War Games is one thing. Outing us in public—when I’m not sure there is an us—is another.

The shimmering shadow of my connection with Xaden strengthens, curling around my mind like a second shield, and I glance over my shoulder to see him across the hall, leaning against the wall next to the door, his hands in the pockets of his flight leathers. Garrick is talking to him, but his eyes are locked on mine. “Having fun?” he asks, pushing through my shields with annoying ease. A shiver of awareness rushes over my skin. Mixing alcohol and Xaden is definitely not a good idea. Or is it the best idea? “Whatever is going through that beautiful mind, I’m here for it.” Even from this distance, I can see his gaze darken.

“You aren’t waiting for tomorrow morning to leave?” I ask Xaden, keeping my voice low as we cross the stone floor of the expansive space. “They prefer wingleaders to vacate their rooms first, since the new guys like to move in quickly.” He glances at the crowd around the announcement board. “And since I’m guessing you’re not offering a place in your bed—” “I’m not nearly drunk enough to make that lapse in judgment,” I assure him as he opens a door to the rotunda. “I told you, I don’t sleep with men I don’t trust, and if you’re not offering full disclosure…” I shake my head and immediately regret it, nearly losing my balance. “I’ll earn your trust as soon as you realize you don’t need full disclosure. You only have to have the guts to start asking the questions you actually want answers to. Don’t worry about the bed. We’ll get back there. The anticipation is good for us.” He smiles—really fucking smiles—and it almost makes me rethink my decision.

“And you’re picking a fight with me?” The world tips slightly when I look up at him. “Picking a fight for you. There’s a difference.”

“I’m going to miss you.” His hand flexes on the back of my neck as a couple of riders from Third Wing get a little too close. “You can only fully trust those who were with us at Resson.” “Think of all the spare time you’ll have without having to constantly train me on the mat.” I give in to the ceaseless urge to touch him, lifting my hands to his chest so I can feel the steady beat of his heart under my fingertips, and blame the alcohol for the utter lapse in judgment. “I’d much rather have you under me on the mat than spare time.” His arm wraps around my waist, tugging me closer. “When it comes to the other marked ones, don’t risk trusting them. Not yet. They know they can’t kill you, but some of them would be happy to see you hurt given who your mother is.” “Back to that, are we?” I try to smile, but my lower lip trembles. I’m not actually upset about him leaving. That’s the lemonade talking. “Never left that,” he reminds me, keeping his voice low even though the others in the courtyard are now giving us more than enough privacy. “Keep yourself alive, and I’ll be back in seven days.” His hand slides to the side of my neck, and his thumb grazes my jawline as he lowers his mouth to only a breath above mine. “We managed to keep each other alive today. Trust me yet?” My heart jolts. I can almost taste his kiss, and gods, I want it. “With my life,” I whisper.

“No anticipation.” I outright glare, but my words lack bite. “We aren’t happening, remember? That’s your choice. I have every right to walk right back into the gathering hall and pick whomever I want to warm my bed. Someone a little more ordinary.” It’s a bluff. Maybe. Or alcohol. Or maybe I just want him to feel the same uncertainty I do. “You absolutely have every right, but you won’t.” He gives me a slow smile. “Because you’re impossible to replace?” It does not come out as a compliment. At least that’s what I tell myself. “Because you still love me.” The certainty in his eyes pricks every inch of my temper. “Fuck off and leave, Riorson.” “I would, but you’ve got a death grip on me.”

I’m four steps away from Dain and his memory-stealing hands that could pluck every secret from my head. I lock my shields in place just like Xaden taught me and fantasize about shoving Dain off the tower. He’s made one attempt to talk to me, which I quickly shut down. And the look on his face? What the hell kind of right does he have to look…heartbroken?

But the note Xaden left on the stack of books? The one that read I meant what I said on the parapet. Even when I’m not with you, there’s only you. That needed no explanation. He’s fighting.

“Who was that?” Rhiannon asks. “Officially? Aaric Graycastle,” I tell her. She lifts a brow, and guilt settles in my stomach. There are too many secrets between us already, and this is something I can give her. Something she deserves to know, since I just directed him to our squad. “Between us?” I whisper, and she looks over at me with an arched brow. “King Tauri’s third son.” “Oh shit.” She looks over her shoulder at the parapet. “Pretty much. And I can guarantee his father doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“It is not only the first-years who earn their leathers at Basgiath!” he shouts, and I swear he’s speaking directly to me. “The wings are only as strong as their weakest rider!” Rage overwhelms my senses, scalding hot and undeniably not mine. A girl with blackish-blue hair two rows ahead makes a run for it, running from our squad, and my heart stops when Solas leans forward again despite a snap from Cath on the right, the orange’s mouth opening. Oh. Gods. I’m considering tackling her to the ground myself when a set of wingbeats as familiar as my own heartbeat sounds behind me. And the anger consuming my every breath, overruling my emotions, turns to something deadlier—wrath. Tairn lands on the wall behind us, his wings flaring so wide one nearly touches the dormitory as he takes out the top row of stones next to the parapet. First-years scream, running for their lives. “Tairn!” I shout with more than a little relief, but there’s no breaking through the absolute fury coursing through him. My attention whips back and forth between Tairn and the dragons behind the dais. The wingleaders’ dragons all rear back, including Cath, but Solas holds his ground, his tongue curling when Tairn’s chest expands. “You do not have the right to burn what is mine.” His words consume all my mental pathways as Tairn lets loose an earth-shattering roar in Solas’s direction. Everyone slams their hands over their ears, including me, my entire body vibrating with the sound, hot air blasting the back...

“If Solas comes near you again, he knows I will devour his human whole and let him rot within me while his heart still beats, and then I’ll take the eye I so graciously left him.” “That’s…graphic.” I’m not touching the question of their history with waves of anger still rolling off Tairn like a thunderstorm.

“You said you won’t make it.” Imogen gets to the handle before I do and holds the door shut. “When I asked you why you’re running. What did you mean?” For a second, I debate not telling her, but she was there, too. She’s not sleeping, either. “Soleil didn’t.” My gaze locks with hers, but her expression doesn’t change. Swear to the gods, nothing fazes her. I envy that. “She was on the ground when she killed her. The way she channeled…it drained everything from the land. Everything touching the land. Including Soleil and Fuil. I watched it happen. I watch it happen every night when I close my eyes. It spread so quickly, and I know…I can’t outrun it. Not if I’m too far from Tairn. I’m not fast enough for any considerable distance.” I try to swallow the tightness in my throat, but the knot seems to live there lately. “Yet,” Imogen says, yanking the door to the tunnel open. “We’re not fast enough yet. But we will be. Let’s go.”

“I want her instead,” Sloane says, pointing a dagger at me. She has to be kidding. But she’s not. Sighing, I cross my arms and shake my head at Liam’s little sister. “Gods, Sloane.” Imogen snorts, laughing off to the right, where she watches with Quinn. “You really feel like dying on your first day?” “Did she compliment you?” Rhiannon whispers. “Oddly enough, I think so.” “I can take her,” Sloane fires back, white-knuckling her knife. “From what your letter said last year, her joints pop right out. How hard can it be?” “Seriously?” I shoot a reproachful look at Imogen. “I can explain.” Imogen puts her hand over her heart. “You see, I didn’t like you last year, remember? You’re kind of an acquired taste.” “Great. I appreciate that,” I quip back sarcastically. “I couldn’t care less about whatever grudge you think you hold against Sorrengail, Mairi.” Emetterio sighs like this year has already exhausted him. “I know who trained her, and I’m not unleashing her on a first-year.” He lifts a dark brow at Imogen. “I, too, made an error last year.” He turns back to Sloane, the corners of his mouth slashing down. “Now disarm and take your place against Graycastle.”

“Fucking die, already,” he seethes, his voice blending into the ringing in my ears as he lowers his face to mine. There’s no air as his grip tightens on my windpipe. “Secrets die with the people who keep them,” he whispers, bringing his nose an inch from mine. His eyes are light brown but rimmed in red as though he’s on some kind of drug. Aetos. Fear floods my mind, breaking past my shields, but it’s not mine. I can’t focus on Tairn’s fear. That way lies shock and death. And I’m not about to die under some no-name first-year. My vision tunnels as I grab one of the daggers sheathed along my ribs with my free left hand, draw quickly, and plunge the blade into the giant’s back, angling right where Xaden taught me. His kidney. Once. Twice. Thrice. I lose count as I stab over and over and over, until the grip on my throat releases, until the first-year sags on top of me. He’s dead weight.

“It’s your room, Violet.” His eyes track the movement of the brush through my hair, and the way his fingers curl in his lap makes me swallow. Hard. “The room is warded to let in whomever you pull through.” He clears his throat and shifts his weight as I finish another pass with the brush. “And selfishly, me.” I fucking love your hair. If you ever want to bring me to my knees or win an argument, just let it down. I’ll get the point.

“Then tell me how your week was instead.” He changes topics smoothly. “I couldn’t watch them all,” I admit. “At Parapet. I tried, but I…couldn’t.” “You were on the tower?” His brow furrows. “Yes.” I shift, tucking my sore knees to the side. “I promised Liam I’d help Sloane, and I couldn’t do that from the courtyard.” A sarcastic laugh escapes my lips. “And she fucking hates me.” “It’s impossible to hate you.” He stands and walks to where his rucksack is leaned up against the wall. “Trust me. I tried.”

“How do I find you once I’m there?” My fingers clench the folded parchment. I’ve never even seen Samara. Mom has never been stationed there. He turns at the door and looks back at me, holding my gaze. “Third floor, south wing, second door on the right. The wards will let you in.” His barracks room. “Let me guess—warded for sound and to let in you, me, and anyone you tug through?” The idea of him using that soundproofing for breaking armoires with someone else is enough to curdle the soup in my stomach. We might not be together, but jealousy’s not exactly a rational emotion. “No, Violet.” He lifts both swords overhead, then slips them into the sheaths on the pack behind him with practiced expertise and a hint of a smirk. “Just you and me.”

Garrick has always been my best friend. His father was my father’s aide, which in a way makes him my Dain, except trustworthy. After Liam, Bodhi was and still is the closest thing I have to a brother, perpetually tagging along a step behind. —Recovered Correspondence of Lieutenant Xaden Riorson to Cadet Violet Sorrengail

“Hey, has Tairn said anything about another black dragon in the Vale?” Ridoc asks me over his shoulder as we make it past Claw Section, coming to Tairn first, who’s standing in the lead position despite Rhiannon and Sawyer outranking me. It’s all I can do to not trip over my feet. “I’m sorry?” “I know, it sounds ludicrous, but when we walked by Kaori back there, I swear I heard him say something about another black dragon being spotted. The guy was practically jumping with excitement.” “Tairn?” If the professor of dragonkind knows about Andarna, we’re screwed. “Only a few dragons saw her before she entered the caves for the Dreamless Sleep. You try keeping her hidden and see how it goes for you.” Awesome.

“You’re the best way of getting information to him,” he admits. “Without actually knowing anything.” “Precisely.” He nods. “It’s safer this way until you’re capable of shielding from Aetos at all times. Xaden was supposed to continue teaching you last visit, but then…” “I got strangled.” At least I’ve only been attacked once so far this year, but challenges open back up in a week. “Yeah. It kind of fucked with his head.” “I imagine that dropping dead randomly would have been inconvenient to him,” I mutter, half listening. Shit. Challenges open up in a week. It’s time to start checking the list the cadre keeps so I can go about my poisoning ways again. “You know it’s not like that for him,” he says in a lecturing tone that reminds me of Xaden. “I’ve never seen him—” “Let’s not do this.” “—care like this—” “No really. Stop.” “—and that includes Catriona.” My gaze whips toward him. “Who the hell is Catriona?”

Sgaeyl watched me kill another cadet for bullying Garrick during Threshing. She says she chose me for my ruthlessness, but I think I just reminded her of my grandfather. —Recovered Correspondence of Lieutenant Xaden Riorson to Cadet Violet Sorrengail

“Call if you need me. I’ll be nearby.” A second later, wingbeats fill the air. Like hell am I going to call him for anything. In fact, I’ll consider these next twenty-four hours a success if I can block him out altogether. I’ve been on the wrong mental side of the bond during one of his trysts with Sgaeyl, and no thank you.

His room is austere, with serviceable furniture and a door that probably leads to a neighboring room, but there are touches of him here and there. He’s in the books that sit stacked along the shelves of the bookcase by the window, the rack of weapons I recognize from his room at Basgiath, and the two swords that sit near the door, like he’ll be back any second to retrieve them.

“She has a hell of a right hook.” She nods, her knuckles grazing the scar on her jaw. “She does,” I agree, my smile widening. Looks like Mira left her mark. Xaden lands a solid hit to Jarrett’s jaw with a crack. “It appears Riorson does, too.” “He does.” “You sound pretty confident.” She turns her attention back to the fight. “I am.” My confidence in Xaden is almost…arrogance. Gods, he’s beautiful. The mage lights illuminating the chamber highlight every carved line of roped muscle on his chest and abs and play off the angles of his face. And when he turns, the hundred and seven scars that mark his back catch the light under Sgaeyl’s relic. I stare. I can’t help it. His body is a work of art, honed to lethal perfection. I know every inch of it, and yet I’m still gawking, transfixed like it’s the first time I’ve seen him half-dressed. This should absolutely not be turning me on, but the way he moves, the lethal grace in each and every calculated strike… Yep. Turned on.

My heart pounds like a drumbeat and my stupid chest aches just watching him maneuver around the floor of the pit, toying with his opponent. I’ve missed watching him in the gym, sparring with Garrick. I’ve missed being with him on the mat, feeling his body over mine as he puts me on my back over and over again. I’ve missed the tiny moments in my day when our eyes would meet in a crowded hallway, the bigger moments when I’ve had him all to myself. I’m so damn in love with him that it hurts, and for the moment, I can’t remember why I’m denying myself.

“You’re early,” Xaden says, but the look in his eyes is anything but condemnation. I lift a brow and try to ignore the way my palms itch to touch him. “Is that a complaint?” “No.” He shakes his head slowly. “I just wasn’t expecting you until noon.” “Turns out Tairn flies pretty damned fast when he’s not being held back by a riot.” Gods, why is it so hard to breathe suddenly? The air between us is thick, and my heart thrums as my gaze wanders to his mouth. He’s killed people for me before, so why is him fighting for a weekend pass stripping every ounce of self-control straight out of my bloodstream? “Violet.” Xaden’s voice drops to that low, quiet tone he only ever uses when we’re alone, and usually naked. Very naked. “Hmmm?” Gods, I miss the feel of all his skin against all of mine. “Tell me what’s spinning around that beautiful head of yours.” He moves closer, invading my space without touching me. Fuck, I want him to touch me, even if it’s a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. “Does it hurt?” I lift my fingertip to the corner of my lip where his is split. He shakes his head. “I’ve had worse. It’s what I get for blocking with my shields to concentrate on the fight. Otherwise, I would have felt you. Look at me.” He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently tilts my head back before searching my eyes. “What are you thinking? Because I can read a lot into the way you’re looking at me, but I’m going to need the words.” I want him. How hard is that to say? My ...

“Like a moth to a damned flame.” The lament slips from my mind, into our mental pathway. He’s gravity, pulling me back to him by the force of his existence. “I’m more than willing to let you burn me.”

My hands slide into his hair as his lips slip down my throat, and my pulse leaps when he finds that sweet spot right above the collar of my flight jacket, then mercilessly worships it with his mouth. I’m instantly liquid, melting into him. “Gods, I’ve missed the taste of you.” Even his mental voice comes across as a groan. “The feel of you in my arms.”

His hand squeezes my waist gently, then stretches up, the tips of his fingers reaching just beneath my breasts. Fuck it, the jacket can come off. So can the top. The armor. Everything that separates me from him. I reach for the buttons. But he eases his kiss, taking it from urgent and deep to thorough and deliciously slow. “We should stop.” “What if I don’t want to?” The physical sound that leaves me is pure denial. I’m not ready for this to end, not ready to return to the reality where we’re not together, even if I’m the one standing in our way. “We have to, or I won’t be able to keep to the only kiss limitation of your hypothetical question.” His hand drifts to my ass as his mouth softens, drawing on my lower lip with one last, lingering kiss. “Fuck, I want you.” “Then don’t stop.” I look him in the eyes so he knows I mean it. “We can keep it to nothing but sex. We did last year… Not that it worked well.” “Violet.” It’s part plea, part moan, and the war in his eyes makes my chest tighten. “You have no idea how badly I want to peel these pants off your amazing ass and fuck you until you’re hoarse from screaming my name, so limp from orgasms that you can’t fathom leaving my bed ever again, and every tree around here goes up in flames from lightning strikes.” His hand slides from behind my head to the nape of my neck. “Until you remember exactly how good we are together.”