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the parapet is roughly eighteen inches wide, two hundred feet aboveground,
He’s tall, with windblown black hair and dark brows. The line of his jaw is strong and covered by warm tawny skin and dark stubble, and when he folds his arms across his torso, the muscles in his chest and arms ripple, moving in a way that makes me swallow. And his eyes… His eyes are the shade of gold-flecked onyx. The contrast is startling, jaw-dropping even—everything about him is. His features are so harsh that they look carved, and yet they’re astonishingly perfect, like an artist worked a lifetime sculpting him, and at least a year of that was spent on his mouth.
the diagonal scar that bisects his left eyebrow and marks the top corner of his cheek
Statistics say about a quarter of us will live to graduate, give or take a few on any year, and yet the Riders Quadrant is never short volunteers.
His worry sits on my chest like a stone.
“Sgaeyl is a Blue Daggertail,
“SKAH-il”, means “shadow”.
“In war, people die. It’s not glorious like the bards sing about, either. It’s snapped necks and two-hundred-foot falls. There’s nothing romantic about scorched earth or the scent of sulfur. This”—he gestures back toward the citadel—“isn’t some fable where everyone makes it out alive. It’s hard, cold, uncaring reality. Not everyone here is going to make it home…to whatever’s left of our homes. And make no mistake, we are at war every time we step foot in the quadrant.” He leans forward slightly. “So if you won’t get your shit together and fight to live, then no. You’re not going to make it.”
“You know the problem with this place?” I tug my arm back again, but he holds fast. “Besides you touching things that don’t belong to you?”
“My name is Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from the cunning Dubhmadinn line.”
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t think I’d make it this far.” A loud sigh resonates through my mind. “I didn’t think I would, either, so we have that in common.”
“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.”
He grabs a boot, then taps my foot. “Can you lift it up?” I nod, lifting my foot. Then he robs me of every logical thought by putting on my boots and lacing them one at a time.
We’re a tangle of tongues and teeth, questing lips and hands as the snow falls around us, and the kiss consumes me the same way the power had before, so thoroughly I can feel it in every cell in my body. Need pulses between my thighs, and I jolt at the simple knowledge that there’s nothing he could do that I wouldn’t welcome. I want him. Only him. Here. Now. Anywhere. Whenever.
I am the sky and the power of every storm that has ever been. I am infinite.
“Stop. Fucking. Coddling. Her.” Xaden bites out every word at Dain. “She is not a child. She’s a full-grown woman. A rider.
“Stop being so fucking honorable and fuck me, Xaden.” His eyes flare, and then he kisses me like I’m the air he’s been missing, like his life depends on it,
There’s nowhere in existence you could go that I wouldn’t find you, Violence.”
