Page 18

18

Vaylen

I sit at the edge of the bed, staring at the patterned carpet and trying to decide whether or not to go out again. The room is kept warm by a fire in the hearth, comfortable. Yet, it’s not even midnight. I could go to Drake’s Row red district and…

Bah! Who am I kidding?

I’ve never set foot in the red district. I wouldn’t know what establishment to visit. I’ve overheard some of my Clutch members talk about Madame something or another, but I’d be lying if I said I remember the exact details. Besides, my earlier mood has sharply changed.

Anger simmers in my gut. Skysinger Wyndward seems to have that effect on me. Everywhere she goes, trouble seems to follow.

First, there was that strange interaction of our powers. Then the body of a Neutro in the privy, two dragons fighting over her, one bonding her, and last but not least, a Skysinger’s death. I’m afraid that if I leave, the hotel will collapse on top of its guests.

I’ve had to send copious reports to Commander Voltguard about all these developments, more paperwork than I care to push around. I fear to think what will be next. I suppose that means I’m not going anywhere. Perhaps tomorrow.

With a sigh, I stand and remove my jacket. I hang it in the wardrobe, making sure it drapes without creases. Next, I unbutton my shirt and fold it with less care. I have a spare shirt in my suitcase. After kicking off my boots and the rest of my clothes, I take a cold bath. My teeth chatter when I come out, but I feel much better… clear-headed.

I slip on a pair of loose cotton pants and get under the covers, enjoying the feel of the feather-filled mattress and pillow. These comforts aren’t for the likes of me. Skyriders are the most revered citizens in Embernia—after the King, of course—yet admiration is about all we get to enjoy. The high salaries we earn remain stashed in the Sky Order’s vaults, while we fight on the front lines and enjoy precious few breaks from the battle. I don’t even have a place to call home in Emberton, and instead, sleep in hotels when in town.

A good night’s sleep between these silken sheets is a close second to a woman’s body draped over mine.

I interlace my fingers behind my head and stare at the ceiling. Like smoke seeping under a door, the image of Skysinger Wyndward in her black, form-fitting dress takes shape before me.

Fuck!

I push the image away and cast my mind outward, searching for Fragor. Our bond allows me to connect with him no matter how far away from each other we are. In a flash of lightning, I see a lush forest speeding below me. He’s flying… hunting and in the mood for elk. I know this as if he’d told me, even though no words cross between us. I sense only contentment from him, which lets me know everything is well at Sky’s Edge.

I clear my mind and tell myself it’s time to sleep.

Like a damn plague, her image returns to haunt me. She moves across the crowd at the party, hips swaying, black hair moving in synchronicity. Tantalizing glimpses of skin peek from under the lace over her arms and neck as light from the candelabra dances across her figure. She stops, whips her glossy hair out of the way with a practiced hand, and glances back over her shoulder. Her red-painted lips stretch in a crooked smile. Her hazel eyes twinkle, inviting. My gaze drops slowly, descending from her long, graceful neck down the length of her spine, all the way to the curve of her lower back. My hand tingles. I want to snake my fingers over the area where her backside begins to curve. I want to pull her close and feel her breasts pressed against my chest. I want to?—

Dammit!

My cock is rock hard.

I sit up with a jolt, get out of bed, and pace in front of the bed. This is highly irregular. I can’t allow this to happen.

You need to head to Drake’s Row right this minute. The only reason you keep thinking of her is because you’re aroused.

The idea doesn’t comfort me. It might if it were true, but that’s not the only reason thoughts of her keep infiltrating into my mind’s eye the way a damn Screechclaw infiltrates our border.

The real reason is that I find her extremely attractive and alluring.

Dammit all to the Seven Hells!

Despite her power and the fact that her impending bonding proves my decision right, I should never have chosen her. I should have listened to my gut when it warned me she’d be trouble.

I collapse back into bed. Tossing and turning, I fight to go to sleep. When her figure appears before me, I push it away, imagining shadows raining down on her. They attack her, slowly eating away at her edges until they devour her completely and only darkness is left behind.

* * *

An insistent knock at the door sends me from a troubled sleep to an upright position. Immediately, I reach out through our bond and touch Fragor’s mind. I get a glimpse of his lair, a large cave carved into Sky’s Edge, a shelter as old as time. A jolt of anger and restlessness shoots through me. He’s upset.

Dammit! What’s going on?

In three strides, I’m at the door. I pull it open before I even think of putting on a shirt. A messenger boy dressed in a red suit stands there, looking pale and slightly terrified, as if worried I might eat him. He holds a small silver tray in both hands, a folded and sealed note sitting on top. He meekly proffers the tray. I take the note and close the door.

The black wax seal belongs to the Sky Order’s Bolt Signals.

I sit at the edge of the bed, a bad feeling washing over me. It’s a Boltgram , a type of message reserved for matters of utmost importance. Boltgrams require Bolts to tap electrical impulses into devices connected through a wire network to receivers stationed in distant locations. A certain combination of impulses represents each letter, which are then interpreted by someone trained to do so. The Bolt Signals officers hand write the message, then deliver it to the person and address indicated by the sender. Official seals are used to mark the legitimacy of the missive. Only my superiors know where I’m staying, which means the boltgram must contain orders that are most certainly accompanied by unwelcome news.

I don’t want to open it. Though I’ve been worried about the continued fight at the border, I can’t deny I’ve enjoyed the respite, short as it has been. The other Primes and I only arrived in Emberton four days ago. We flew in on our dragons for the Rite of Flight and the new Skyriders’ short training. Something tells me this reprieve from battle is about to come to an end.

Reluctantly, I break the seal and read the message. The transcription comes from Commander Voltguard herself. When I finish reading, I crumple the piece of paper, teeth grinding. With a flash of anger and a small Wind Blast, I sent the note into the fireplace, where it burns to a crisp.

Damn Screechclaws!

Quickly, I put on my uniform, repack my small suitcase, and exit the room. I set my load on the floor and stare at Skysinger Wyndward’s door as if it’s an enemy I’d rather avoid. I never cower from a fight, but what if she answers the door in some sort of lace nightgown? I’ll definitely be unable to get her out of my head then.

Goddess!

But orders are orders, and I’m supposed to gather her to begin her final training immediately. Steeling myself, I knock on the door once. I wait, looking both ways down the length of the long, empty corridor.

No response.

I knock harder.

Still no answer.

Maybe she left, decided to enjoy her last night of freedom. Relief washes over me. It turns out I am a coward. Damn!

I lean down to pick up my suitcase when the door opens. At the sight of her, I freeze. She stands there, wearing a crumpled uniform shirt, a single button fastened in the middle. The seam reaches mid-thigh, leaving her long shapely legs exposed. They’re tan, strong, and deliciously smooth. But it’s the wide Y the shirt forms on her chest that captures my full attention. It dips tantalizingly low, a flat valley between the peaks of her perfectly round breasts, which tent the shirt to visible points.

My mouth goes dry. It takes me a moment too long to glance up and meet her gaze. A flush of embarrassment rises up my neck, a foolish sensation I haven’t experienced since my first illicit encounter with a girl during my teenage years. However, when I take in her full-blown pupils and the absent quality of her expression, my embarrassment is replaced by a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Skysinger Wyndward, are you all right?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer. She only continues to stare blankly, gaze pointed straight ahead, drilling into my chest. A door opens at the end of the long corridor and, without taking any time to process my decision, I grab my suitcase, push Skysinger Wyndward into the room, and close the door behind us. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see me in front of her room, the Sky Order’s High Prime standing in a compromising position with a scantily clad woman, one of my subordinates no less.

It isn’t until I’m alone with her in the gloom of her chamber that I realize I’ve put us in an even more compromising situation.

It’s not a situation unless someone sees you leave the room, Vaylen.

Besides, nothing is going to happen.

I glance around. Scraggly shadows dance on the floor, cast by a tree outside the window. Her bed is in complete disarray, as if a tornado spun the covers around. Her uniform lies discarded on the floor, not an encouraging sight. They teach us better at the Academy, behaviors that are required in the barracks. But I suppose I can’t judge. Sometimes it feels good to rebel against even our most ingrained habits.

“She’s gone,” Skysinger Wyndward says in a trembling whisper.

“Who’s gone?”

She hugs herself and shivers.

“Do you feel ill?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer. It’s possible she’s sleepwalking, playing out some dream she can’t escape from. Against my better judgment, I take her by the shoulders and shake her. Her head bobs back and forth. Her vacant look remains.

I shake her once more. “Wake up, Skysinger Wyndward. I think you’re having a nightmare.”

Her expression doesn’t change. She just continues to look catatonic.

“She’s gone, and… and I…” Her gaze is still fixed on my chest, though what she sees isn’t at all in this room. I’m sure of that.

“And you what?” I ask.

She shakes her head, though I doubt she’s doing it in answer to my question.

If she’s sleeping, perhaps the best thing is for her to go back to bed.

I gently push her backward. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“He did it,” she says. “I… I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me. I promise.” The last two words are a plea, pitiful and desperate.

My chest tightens in response, a protective feeling overwhelming me. She belongs to my Clutch now. She’s my responsibility.

I push her down onto the bed, forcing her to sit. She teeters on the edge, resisting. I kneel and hold her arms down, forcing her to stay put.

“I promise it wasn’t my fault,” she sobs, grabbing my lapel and shaking me in turn. Tears spill from her haunted hazel eyes as she finally meets my gaze. “I promise.”

Her vehemence causes my chest to tighten further. What could she possibly be talking about?

“Please,” she begs.

“I believe you,” I blurt out, unsure of what else to say or do.

At the words, all tension falls away from her body. Her gaze softens, filling with gratitude. Unexpectedly, she pushes forward, her legs flanking my hips at each side, and kisses me.

I stiffen as her lips move supplely against mine. I know I should push her away, but her scent and the honey taste of her mouth capture me. Instead, my own lips respond to the kiss and my arms go around her waist, pulling her closer.

The kiss deepens. Her hands tangle in my hair. My hands climb up her back then back down as I lose myself in the intoxicating scent and softness of her femininity. Our tongues brush for a split second, sending a jolt straight to my cock.

My sense returns.

By Heratrix, what am I doing?!

Gathering my will power, I heave her up and lay her down in the middle of the bed, deftly detangling her arms from around my neck. The back of my hand pressed to my mouth, I back away as she hugs her pillow and twists her body around it.

The shirt rides up, exposing the curve of her buttocks, a swatch of smooth, toned muscle that shines in the dim light. I turn away, heart hammering, and cock twitching at the same rhythm.

For fuck’s sake!

I walk away, the knowledge that she’s asleep the only thing keeping me back from climbing on that bed and…

The hell with Commander Voltguard’s orders.

Collecting her to go back to Sky’s Edge to begin training was a doomed mission from the start anyway.