Page 89

He slips out of my door and disappears off into the night.

I clasp Cole’s necklace around my neck, strap my dagger into my thigh sheath, and sheathe my sword. Sucking in a deep breath, I ignore the buzzing in my veins and head toward the healer’s quadrant.

“Daeja? We’re going to Blackfell. There’s been a breach by rebels. I’ll travel there with the rest of the squad and meet you on the outskirts of town near the forest.”

“I’ll head there now—”

“No. Wait until the sun sets. And stay behind us so you aren’t seen.”

I swing open the door to the healer’s quadrant and find Marge collecting bottles. She turns to me, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re staying here, and I’m taking your place at Blackfell,” I explain.

“Says who?”

“The captain.”

She blinks at me slowly, then tilts her head to a fully stuffed bag. “There’s bandages, splints, needles, and thread in there. A few vials for pain. Use them sparingly.”

I can’t imagine her having to make the trek there and how vulnerable she’d be near a battle. It gives me a sliver of relief that I’m going in her place. But my hands tremble under the heavy responsibility. I’ve never had to stitch a wound, nor apply a tourniquet on my own. As I turn for the door with the bag on my back, I lock eyes with Marge.

“Thank you for saving me, all those weeks ago,” she murmurs.

“No…problem. Are you saying this because you think I’m going to die?”

She pats my shoulder. “You’ll be just fine.”

It does nothing to quell my uneasiness. But I leave the room before I think about it too much. I head to the center of camp where a group of people thickens as more join. My shoulder brushes Archie’s as I come to stand next to him. He flashes a nervous smile, his hand busy twirling a dagger.

“What’s taking Darian so damn long? Someone fetch him,” Carlisle calls.

Archie raises his hand to volunteer, and I smack it down.

But Carlisle sees the motion. “Archie?”

“No, I’ll get him,” I interject. I speed toward Darian’s room, not leaving a moment for Archie to argue. I slam a fist intoDarian’s door. When he doesn’t answer, I push the door open and enter hesitantly.

Darian’s shirtless, pulling his pants up his thighs and tightening them at the waist. When he turns fully toward me, I get an unobstructed view of his chiseled olive-toned chest. A deep V lines his hips and lower abdomen. Where Cole is thick and powerful muscle, Darian is smoothly carved elegance. The muscles in his arms flex and work as he slowly buttons up his pants.

My breath catches, and I shield my eyes with the back of my hand.

He snickers. “Have you never seen a man before?”

I fumble for a shirt draped over the back of a chair, throwing it at him blindly. He cackles at my unmistakable nervousness.

“Can you hurry up? You’re the only one missing from the group,” I grumble.

“They can wait. They have to wait for me.”

“You are such a pompous piece of—”

“I know.”

I whip a glare at him, thankful his torso is now covered by the shirt I threw him. He has yet to button up the front of it, though. The dark fabric dips low between his chest and abdomen.

I avert my eyes again, my gaze sweeping around his room. A cluttered mess of sheaths, belts, and clothes lay in a heap on the floor near his bedpost. Tangled sheets and blankets wrestle on his bed. A black coat drapes over the chair pulled out from his desk, waiting for someone to trip over it. Piles of papers are scattered around his desk. One piece of parchment snags my attention.

Drawn on a large curling paper, pinned down by books at the corners, is the unmistakable outline of Dragon’s Back Ridge.