Page 31 of Of Blood and Banes (The Arterian #2)

The other dragons within the formation are fairly similar: shades of reds, oranges, and yellows.

Horns of different sizes crowd their skulls, spines, and tails.

But what really draws my attention are the scars marring each of them.

Holes tatter all of their wings, causing a soft whistle as the wind tunnels through them.

Sections of scales are shredded with deep scars, the sheen of their bodies dulled by the ragged marks.

One of the dragon’s horns is broken in half, its wicked edges standing proud from its head.

Another dragon has a chunk missing out of the top of its tail.

“You’re staring. Even I can feel it.”

“Sorry.” I duck my head, focusing instead on the expanse of sky ahead. I can’t look down. Because if I look down, my queasiness will resurface as fast as the blink of an eye. At least admiring and watching the other dragons distracted me for a split second.

“A’nala wants us at the front with her and Sethan,” Daeja explains before she cuts around the line of dragons we were following.

She pumps her wings harder to pass the other dragons, each flap draining more of her energy.

The dragons likely have years of experience over her—she’s still only a baby. Their wings are almost double in size.

The group must notice or words are exchanged, because one by one the dragons slow to a glide, allowing Daeja to advance forward.

I glance sideways at the other dragons and riders we pass, dipping my head awkwardly as they glance our way.

We make it to the front of the formation, and A’nala’s yellow eyes shift over to us lazily before refocusing on the path ahead.

Sethan turns his head to me as we level out beside them.

He points at me, then holds up one finger, and taps his head.

My first lesson.

He takes his hands off the saddle horns, unhooks the metal attached to his waist belt, and pushes up off the saddle through his feet in the stirrups.

He stands with his hands held out open and to the side, tilting his head back and allowing the wind to whistle over his face, his eyes closed and face relaxed.

He makes it look so damn easy.

I scan A’nala, the positioning of Sethan’s feet in the stirrups, his lonely saddle horns, and the hooked straps fluttering freely in the wind.

He turns to me with a challenge in his eyes, dipping his head in encouragement. Oh, hells no.

“You’ll be fine. You’ve ridden me plenty of times before without a saddle and hooks.”

“Yes, but we weren’t even above the treeline! We had a lake beneath us whenever I did fall. And not to mention, we’ve never flown at this speed ? —”

Sethan shouts something inaudible and flips me a middle finger.

Ex- fucking -cuse me?

He must see the shock and annoyance wash over my features because he shakes his head vigorously and points at the base of his middle finger.

Ohhh. I flick my attention down to my gloved hands.

Despite the dark tattoo of a ring around my finger being covered, I understand it all the same.

Daeja won’t let me die. And it isn’t because our lives are interconnected.

But because she genuinely wants me to live—I’m her family, just as much as she is mine.

“Take it at your pace. You don’t have to do it all at once,” Daeja murmurs. “You don’t even have to do it at all, if you don’t want to.”

Pulling a breath into my lungs, I root myself in determination.

Shifting my weight into my heels as I unlatch one finger at a time from the horns, the tension collected in my joints nearly snaps as I let go.

I toss a sideways glance at Sethan. He’s seated back in his saddle, though I don’t fail to notice the hooks still aren’t secured to his waist band.

He nods, on the brink of disappointment as I stop moving. With another quick breath and shaking hands, I unhook one of the straps on my thick leather belt. Another glance at Sethan, and he gestures, implying his waning patience.

“ You’re doing great,” Daeja whispers, sensing my new spike of nervousness.

As my fingers brush the second hook to undo it, A’nala dives straight into us.

Her body slams into Daeja’s, and Daeja tucks her wings to cut away from her.

The sudden motion throws me clear off the saddle as I pathetically scramble for something to hold onto.

Each swipe for a horn, strap— something —slips.

I slide down and off the saddle and slam into Daeja’s shoulder.

Upside.

Fucking.

Down.

I have absolutely nowhere else to look but at the ground.

The forest is but a splotch of various shades of greens far below, and a thin blue river snakes through the valley.

I swear the one single strap holding me from falling to my death rips slightly, and I slip an inch down. Drawing out my inevitable demise.

“Can you get back up into the saddle?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart in my throat as I fumble for the one lifeline holding me to the saddle. But even trying to pull myself up is useless. “What the fuck was that?”

“Apparently A’nala and Sethan were getting impatient. I’m sorry!”

“I can’t even get back up!” Panic creeps underneath my skin. My head is heavy and tingling with all the blood rushing to it, a heavy constriction of terror gripping my chest in a vice.

“Unhook yourself!”

“Are you out of your godsdamned mind?”

“Do it!” she roars.

I open my eyes, my vision beginning to blur and blacken. The landscape below begins to fade in and out of view. Fuck. My head pounds, drowning out any reasonable line of thinking.

“Trust in me!”

I suppose it makes no difference if I die hanging upside down from Daeja or splattered on the ground far below.

As a last-ditch effort, I heave myself up, fighting gravity itself as I grip the strap with one hand.

With all my lasting strength, I push down the locking mechanism with my other hand and release the hook.

My stomach recoils as I slip from the one thing holding me to Daeja.

And freefall.