Page 30 of Tempest Blazing (The Dragonne Library #3)

Tess

I slumped against the wall outside the classroom, my brain turned to mush.

Two hours of Crisis Management Strategies had left me mentally drained, especially after the morning's Physical Training.

Beside me, Anya looked irritatingly composed, her black hair still perfectly in place while mine had escaped its braid in at least twelve different places.

"How are you not exhausted?" I groaned, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor.

Anya's lips quirked in that subtle way that passed for a smile with her. "Necromancers don't get tired. We become more corpse-like."

I snorted. "Was that a joke? Did you make an actual joke?"

"Don't sound so surprised." She knelt beside me, her violet eyes studying my face. "You look terrible."

"Thanks. Needed that confidence boost before bootcamp."

Anya reached into her bag and pulled out a small vial with swirling purple contents. "Here. Restoration elixir. I made it last night when I couldn't sleep."

I hesitated. "Is this going to turn me into a zombie or something?"

"If I wanted to zombify you, I wouldn't waste my good elixir." She pressed it into my hand. "It's perfectly safe. I drink them all the time."

The fact that she'd thought to make this for me last night—before I'd even mentioned being tired—did something warm and unexpected to my chest. I uncorked the vial and downed it in one gulp. Warmth flooded through my limbs, washing the fog from my brain like a cool breeze.

"Holy shit, that's amazing." I blinked rapidly as energy coursed through me. "What's in this?"

"Trade secret." Anya stood and offered me her hand. "Come on. You've got training with Mason first. I'll meet you in the library afterward."

I took her hand and let her pull me up. "You're coming to the study session?"

"Someone needs to make sure you don't blow yourself up with miscast spells." She adjusted her bag on her shoulder. "Besides, necromancy has useful applications for the written portion. Death magic is often misunderstood in the exams."

"Anya Ravenspell," I said, linking my arm through hers as we walked, "I think you like me."

I noticed she didn't pull away. "Don't push your luck, Whittaker."

Mason waited by the training entrance, all six-foot-whatever of him managing to look relaxed as he leaned against the wall.

"Thanks, Anya. See you later."

Bootcamp. The nickname had stuck —fitting for this week of hell before the final Guild trial. Day one. No easing into it.

This was my shot. Prove I could handle whatever they threw at me. No more being the weak link.

When Mason's eyes found mine, the corners of his mouth lifted. Not much, but from Mason? Everything.

Our bond flared as I got closer—that warm, steady pulse wrapping around me. The sensation hit deeper this time, not just warmth but something that made my pulse quicken and my muscles feel more responsive. For a heartbeat, I felt his love for me. Deep. Unwavering. So pure it stole my breath.

"Hey," I said softly, my voice catching.

"Hey," he replied, his voice low and gruff. "Come with me."

I raised an eyebrow. "Where are we going?"

"The gym," he said simply, taking my hand. His thumb brushed over my knuckles—quiet reassurance that spoke louder than words.

The Guild's gym hit me with sensory overload—sharp tang of sweat and iron, chalk dust dancing in light, the rhythmic thud of fists against heavy bags.

A few other applicants were scattered around, their grunts and the slap of feet on mats creating a constant backdrop of effort.

Mason led me to a quieter corner where we could breathe.

I kicked off my shoes, the cool mats solid under my feet.

Good thing I'd worn clothes I could move in.

Mason had already shed his boots and stood a few feet away, rolling his shoulders.

His tank top revealed those corded muscles and the faint shimmer of tattoos running down his left side.

For a moment, I was distracted. The sharp clap of his hands yanked me back.

"Focus, Tess," Mason said, his voice a low rumble. His lips quirked—the faintest crack in his stone-faced calm. "We're starting with defensive maneuvers."

I groaned, dragging a hand through my hair. "Defensive? Can't we skip to the part where I throw you across the room?"

His smirk deepened, warmth flickering in those intense eyes. "You'll get your chance. But first, you need to learn how not to end up flat on your back."

"Great," I muttered. "Can't wait."

He stepped closer, his presence like gravity—grounding without crushing. "Use your size to your advantage," he said, his tone firm but patient. "You're fast, but you rely too much on brute force. That's not going to work against someone bigger or stronger."

"Like you?" I challenged, a grin tugging at my lips despite myself.

"Exactly like me," he said, gesturing for me to come at him.

The first few rounds were a disaster. Mason moved like water around my attacks, every step silent and precise. Frustration built with each miss, but Mason stayed unshakable, coaching me through every stumble.

Each failed strike only strengthened my resolve. This was what the Guild expected—precision, control, adaptation under pressure. I wouldn't be vulnerable. Wouldn't give them any reason to doubt I belonged.

"Good," he said after I managed to dodge one of his grabs and land a light tap on his arm. "You're getting faster."

"Thanks," I panted, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "But you're still kicking my ass."

"That's the point," he said, stepping back and crossing his arms. His focus was steady, unrelenting. "You're learning."

We circled each other, feet shuffling against the mat. I could feel the bond humming between us, sharpening my reflexes, making each movement feel more fluid.

I feinted left, then snapped my right leg up aimed for his jaw. Mason caught my ankle mid-strike, his grip firm but controlled. I twisted free, using the momentum to spin and drive my elbow toward his ribs. He blocked, but I felt the impact resonate through his guard. Progress.

"Again," Mason said, voice steady as ever. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're holding back."

One corner of his mouth quirked up—barely a smile. "You're improving."

"That's not an answer," I shot back, lunging forward with a series of quick jabs—left, right, left—forcing him to weave backward. My foot swept low, catching his ankle. Not enough to topple him, but enough to make him stumble. Small victory.

"Better," he admitted, tone giving nothing away.

We kept going, intensity building. Each strike felt crisper.

The bond seemed to anticipate Mason's movements, feeding me information I shouldn't have had—the shift in his weight before he moved, the tension in his shoulders before he struck.

It wasn't until I managed to land a solid hit against his shoulder that he finally called for a break.

I bent over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Sweat stung my eyes, and my heart hammered like it was trying to escape my ribcage. Mason stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching me with that same calm intensity. Not judgmental. Patient. Always waiting.

"I'm stronger," I said, more to myself than him. "And faster." I straightened, wiping sweat from my forehead. "Is it the training?"

Mason hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor before meeting mine. "It's the bond," he admitted. "Completing it enhanced your physical capabilities. Part of what happens when we're connected like this."

The words hit me like a physical thing, settling deep in my chest. The mate bond—still such a foreign concept, yet undeniably real. I could feel it even now, that invisible tether humming with shared energy, making me more than I'd been before. Undeniable. Exhilarating. Terrifying.

"So this is all because of you?" I teased, nervous laughter escaping. "Guess I owe you one."

He snorted softly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Not all me. You've been working hard. The bond just helps."

I wasn't sure how to feel about that—grateful for the advantage, or frustrated that I needed it. The Guild valued strength above all else, and if the bond made me stronger, I'd use every bit of that power. I couldn't afford to be weak.

Instead of voicing those thoughts, I followed his lead when he gestured for us to sit. The mat felt cool against my overheated skin as I settled cross-legged across from him. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

"Do you think the bond will help you become a Dragon Rider?" I asked, curious about how it affected him.

"It does more than that," he admitted, his voice carrying a weight that made me sit straighter. "The bond enhances my strength, sharpens my senses. Like drawing power from stone itself. Makes me more than I was."

He paused, meeting my gaze with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.

"But it's not about strength or power. Becoming a Dragon Rider is about Kali.

About proving to myself—and to her—that I can protect her.

After everything we've been through... after everything I failed to stop.

.. I need this. I need to be someone she can count on. Someone who won't let her down again."

I stayed silent, sensing the weight behind his words. Mason rarely talked about his past, and when he did, it was like pulling teeth. I didn't want to interrupt and risk shutting him down.

"But now…" He hesitated, voice softer. "It's more than that. I want this for me. To prove that I'm more than what they made me. And…" His gaze lifted, meeting mine with an intensity that stole my breath. "I want to be with you. To protect you. To stay by your side, no matter what happens."

My throat felt tight, his words sinking deep.

Mason wasn't the type to say things lightly, and the raw vulnerability in his voice was a rare glimpse beneath that steady exterior.

I managed a small smile, my chest tightening with something I couldn't name.

"You're already doing that, Mason. You don't have to prove anything to me. "

He didn't respond right away, gaze dropping to his hands. When he finally stood, his movements were deliberate, almost careful. He offered me his hand, and I took it without hesitation, his grip warm and steady.

As he pulled me to my feet, his hand lingered on mine just a moment longer than necessary. Not much—just a flicker of contact—but it sent warmth spiraling through me.

"You're stronger than you think," he murmured, voice low and rough. "You always have been."

The words hit me harder than I expected, something warm and fragile blooming in my chest. I looked away, trying to hide the sudden rush of emotion, but he caught my chin gently, tilting my face back toward him. His thumb brushed against my jaw—a fleeting touch that sent shivers down my spine.

"Mason…" I started, but whatever I was going to say dissolved into nothing.

His dark eyes searched mine, unspoken words swirling in their depths. "We should get back to training," he said, his voice returning to its usual gruffness.

I nodded, swallowing hard as I tried to steady my racing heart. "Right. Training."

I didn't want to disappoint him. I wanted to be worthy of the bond between us. I just hoped I was strong enough when it really mattered.