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“Mira, Violet deals with more pain before lunch than you do in an entire week. If any of my children is capable of surviving the Riders Quadrant, it’s her.”
“How many rider candidates die on Conscription Day, Mom? Forty? Fifty? Are you that eager to bury another child?” Mira seethes.
Brennan
Knowing I am in direct disagreement with General Melgren’s orders, I am officially objecting to the plan set forth in today’s briefing. It is not this general’s opinion that the children of the rebellion’s leaders should be forced to witness their parents’ executions. No child should watch their parent put to death. —THE TYRRISH REBELLION, AN OFFICIAL BRIEF FOR KING TAURI BY GENERAL LILITH SORRENGAIL
“I’m more dangerous than you think,” I flat-out bluster. “So I see. I’m quaking in my boots.” The corner of his mouth rises into a mocking smirk. Fucking. Asshole.
“You missed.” He doesn’t even flinch. “Did I?” I reach for my last two blades. “Why don’t you back up a couple of steps and test that theory?” Curiosity flares in his eyes, but it’s gone in the next second, masked by cold, mocking indifference. Every one of my senses is on high alert, but the shadows around me don’t slide in as he moves backward, his eyes locked with mine. His back hits the tree, and the hilts of my daggers brush his ears.
“Tell me again that I missed,” I threaten, taking the dagger in my right hand by the tip. “Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you’re really a violent little thing, aren’t you?”
“Going for blood today, are we, Violence?” he whispers.
“My name is Violet,” I seethe. “I think my version fits you better.”
“And be denied the pleasure of your company?” he mocks. “I fucking hate you.” The words are past my lips before I can shut my mouth. “That doesn’t make you special.”
You are not attracted to toxic men, I remind myself, and yet, here I am, getting all attracted.
Fire races along my skin at the feel of his fingers lacing with mine. Toxic. Dangerous. Wants to kill you. Nope, doesn’t matter. My pulse still skitters like a teenager.
I swallow, refusing to think of other things that are a good fit at this angle.
“Oh, Violence, you’re good, but I’ve known better poison masters. The trick is to not make it quite so obvious.”
“Killing you wouldn’t be any trouble, Violence. It’s leaving you alive that seems to cause the majority of my trouble.”
You want to know why you’re still alive? Because you’re the scale I currently judge myself against every night. Every day I let you live, I get to convince myself that there’s still a part of me that’s a decent person. So if you want to quit, then please, spare me the temptation and fucking quit. But if you want to do something, then do it.”
“What changed between Parapet and now?”
“Me.”
“Step aside, Silver One,” a deep, gruff, definitely male voice orders. I blink. Wait. What? Did he just speak to me? “Yes. You. Move.”
“One does not live a century without being well aware of the space one takes up. Now get on.”
A low, frustrated grumble sounds in his chest, and then he shocks me to the core as he stretches forward, his front leg becoming a ramp. Dragons never supplicate for anyone, and yet here he is, bowing to make it easier for me to climb on. It’s steep but manageable.
“My name is Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from the cunning Dubhmadinn line.”
“You will not fall. I will not allow it.” The bands around my legs extend to my hands, and I feel the pulse of invisible energy. “You will trust me.”
Not a question. An order.
“But…” I shake my head. “Dragons value strength and cunning and… ferocity in their riders.” None of which defines me. “Please, do tell me more about what I should value.”
“You are the smartest of your year. The most cunning.” I gulp at the compliment, brushing it off. I was trained as a scribe, not a rider. “You defended the smallest with ferocity. And strength of courage is more important than physical strength. Since you apparently need to know before we land.”
“Andarnaurram.”
“Tell her,” the golden insists. “Tairn. What am I supposed to—” I think at him. “Tell the roll-keeper her name,” Tairn echoes.
“Both dragons?”
“They’re a mated pair, Tairn and Sgaeyl. The strongest bonded pair in centuries.”
Xaden’s not going to kill me.
“Dragons don’t make mistakes.”
“She should have killed you in the field, but she’s merciful. That’s not a flaw I possess.”
“Ingenious, though I’d say there are multiple reasons for why you’ve made it this far.”
“Your pick as long as I get to see if that fucker broke your ribs.”
his rescue was pretty damned hot,
This feeling is why I haven’t wanted anyone…else. Because I want him.
“Fucking mated dragons,” Dain seethes, keeping his eyes forward.
Holy. Fucking. Hot. Xaden and Garrick have stripped off their shirts and are sparring like their lives depend on it, a blur of kicks, punches, and rippling muscle.
I’ve never seen him shirtless.
“Serves you right,” Tairn lectures. “Pay attention!” Rhiannon yells,
am annoyingly aware of everything you do.”
“You choose the oddest times to defend her, Aetos.” Xaden all but rolls his eyes as he looks at Dain. “And the most convenient times not to.”
“You held your own and controlled your temper,” Tairn says, an immense swell of pride flooding my chest. “She’s ready,” Andarna adds with a giddy jolt of joy that makes me instantly light-headed. “She’s ready,” he agrees.
“Have you always been this tall?” I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “No. I was a child at some point.”
“Ask me nicely, Violence,” he whispers. “Or I’m gone.”
“As you prefer. Xaden?” I smile sweetly up at him and inch a little closer. “Would you pretty, pretty please teach me how to shield before I accidentally climb you like a tree and we both wake up with regrets?”
“Not at all. Just one of the perks of not thinking too clearly. You have incredibly touchable skin.”
Xaden studies me with an intensity that makes me sway toward him. “You are astonishing.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do that for weeks.”
“Fuck it.” One second he’s out of reach and the next his mouth is on mine, hot and insistent.
