Page 31 of Tempest Blazing (The Dragonne Library #3)

Theron

I stood with my arms crossed at the scorched edge of the training ring, watching Thalon's massive form descend through the darkening sky.

Tess dismounted with an ease that shouldn't have surprised me anymore, but every time I watched her slide down from his obsidian back like she'd been born to it, something kicked hard in my chest.

Her fingers brushed along the dragon's scales as she landed—casual, unconscious. The gesture made heat crawl up my neck despite the evening chill.

Yrdren lifted his massive rust-colored head from where he'd been resting nearby, rumbling a greeting that vibrated through the ground beneath my boots. The sound made Tess laugh—bright and unguarded—and I had to clench my jaw.

Yrdren doesn't warm to just anyone.

I'd been attracted to her since the moment they first met—a fact that was becoming more problematic with each passing day. This is how it starts. The losing. The caring. And I can't afford to lose again.

" She carries herself well, " Yrdren's deep mental voice rumbled through both our minds, his tone respectful. " There is strength in her that runs deeper than magic. "

Natural instincts, maybe, but raw power isn't enough. Not against what's coming.

Now she was my student. Forbidden territory in every way that mattered—and that didn't stop me from noticing the determined set of her shoulders as she approached, or the way the dying light caught the purple in her wind-tangled hair.

When those golden-brown eyes met mine with that unflinching focus, heat crawled up my neck despite the evening chill.

Don't be a fool, Blackwell. She's forbidden.

I wanted Tess to be safe. And for that to happen, she needed to be stronger. Much stronger. She had less than a week to prepare for whatever Silvius had planned, and I'd be damned if I let her walk into that unprepared.

Tess stopped in front of me, brushing windblown strands from her face with fingers that still sparked faintly with residual magic. "You said you'd push me today," she said, her voice steady despite the exhaustion I could see creeping in at the corners of her eyes.

Those eyes burned with that particular fire I'd come to recognize—too sincere, too damn bright, like she could see straight through all the walls I'd spent decades building.

I gave her a curt nod, shoving down the dangerous warmth that threatened to unfurl in my chest. "We're working on magical control transitions," I said, not bothering to soften the edge in my voice. "The kind that'll keep you alive when everything goes to hell."

Her gaze held steady, accepting the challenge with quiet determination. Good. She'd need every ounce of that resolve.

"Golden Shield into a defensive dome," I outlined in clipped terms, pacing a slow circle around her. "Then immediately flip to Shadow Fire. No hesitation, no breathing room. If you can't control the switch, you'll be useless in a real fight."

Her mouth tightened, but she didn't flinch. Just nodded with that sharp-eyed determination that made my chest tighten.

This is getting out of hand. Dangerous.

"If you can't handle the pressure—" I started.

"I can handle it," she cut me off, magic already beginning to flicker around her fingers like golden sparks.

I folded my arms tighter across my chest and stepped back to give her room. "Prove it."

Tess closed her eyes for a moment, centering herself the way I'd taught her. When she opened them again, her hands were glowing with warm, golden light. The shield flared to life around her—a perfect dome of energy that hummed with controlled power.

I didn't give her time to admire her work. I circled her like a predator, slamming waves of magical pressure against the barrier to test its strength. The shield held, bending but not breaking.

"Again," I commanded before the energy had even begun to fade, forcing her to summon Shadow Fire while still breathless from maintaining the shield.

Her magic flared purple-black, wild and scorching, dark flame licking at the air around her hands. The transition was rough—I could see the strain in the tight line of her shoulders—but she managed it.

" She has natural instincts, " Yrdren's voice echoed in my head with a low, amused rumble. " Perhaps better than her teacher's were at that age. "

Thalon's response came with quiet pride threading through the mental connection. "She trusts the magic instead of fighting it. That is... unusual for one so new."

I ignored them both, focusing on the way Tess's magic wavered as she tried to hold the Shadow Fire steady. Her control was improving, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.

"Faster," I barked, throwing another wave of pressure at her defenses. "In a real fight, your enemies won't wait for you to catch your breath."

Tess stumbled slightly as I forced her to increase the tempo, sweat beading her forehead, hands trembling with the effort of channeling magic that was still too new, too unpredictable. But she didn't quit. She never quit.

I threw another wave of magic at her—brutal and sharp, designed to overwhelm rather than test. She met it with a pulse of gold that sang through the air, slicing my spell apart with almost careless grace.

The ease of it made something in my chest recoil. Her power was raw, yes—but it was resonant in a way that set my teeth on edge. Beautiful and unstable and completely forbidden.

I stepped closer, voice low and cold. "Again. Don't let it get to your head."

But my own heartbeat betrayed me, thudding louder than it should as she looked up at me with those too-bright eyes. The space between us felt charged, electric with more than just the residual magic crackling in the air.

She has Mason, I reminded myself harshly. She doesn't need you—and you sure as hell don't need this complication.

Tess nodded, panting, magic flickering at her fingertips like dying embers. Her knees buckled slightly, but she straightened them through sheer force of will. I watched her grit through the exhaustion, and something in my chest twisted painfully.

Every time she rose to meet my challenges, the world tilted a little more off its axis. And I was the bastard pushing her toward the breaking point because I was too much of a coward to admit what this was doing to me.

But something had shifted in her approach over the past few days.

Where she'd once hesitated, asking questions about technique or seeking reassurance, now she simply executed.

Her magic had become more precise, more disciplined—but also more isolated.

She no longer glanced toward Thalon for encouragement or looked to me for approval.

Instead, she worked with a cold efficiency that reminded me uncomfortably of myself.

The change should have pleased me. This was what I'd been pushing for—strategic thinking, emotional control, the kind of mental discipline that kept Riders alive. But watching her shut down everything soft and vulnerable about herself felt like watching a light slowly dim.

Her next strike came fast but imprecise, too emotionally charged. The Shadow Fire lashed out wild and unfocused, leaving her open.

"You're losing control," I barked, trying to provoke her into the kind of angry focus that might sharpen her technique. "That's what gets Riders killed."

But she didn't lash out the way I expected. Instead, she centered herself, drew in a deep breath, and reshaped her shield with deliberate precision. The golden dome reformed around her, steady and strong.

The movement was flawless—and completely devoid of the instinctive joy I'd seen in her magic before. She was mastering the techniques, yes, but at the cost of something essential. Something that made her who she was.

Damn it.

I pushed harder, because I had to. Because if she broke now, Silvius would destroy her. And if she didn't break—she might break me instead.

"Focus on the strategy," I called out, my voice carrying the same harsh edge I'd used on countless other students. "Magic without tactical thinking is just flashy suicide."

She absorbed the criticism without flinching, adjusting her stance with mechanical precision. No wounded pride, no flash of defiance—just cold acceptance. The kind of response I'd trained into dozens of Riders over the years.

So why did it feel wrong coming from her?

The magical pressure I sent at her this time was relentless, wave after wave designed to test not just her power but her endurance. Her shield held for long moments, but I could see the strain building in the tremor of her hands, the way her breathing grew shallow and quick.

Her magic flared bright—brighter than I'd ever seen it—and then sputtered like a candle in the wind.

Tess collapsed forward, knees hitting the sand with a soft thud, her light dimming to nothing. Her body swayed, threatening to topple completely.

My body moved before my mind caught up, crossing the distance between us in two quick strides. I caught her under the arms before she could hit the ground, her weight settling against me as her head lolled back against my chest.

The contact jolted through me like a live wire.

Her skin was hot with residual magic, feverish and electric where it touched mine.

Her face was slack with exhaustion, lips parted as she drew in shallow breaths.

I could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse against my forearm, could smell the faint scent of ozone and something uniquely her—warm and bright and completely intoxicating.

I held her longer than I should have. Long enough for the wrong feeling to settle in my chest, heavy and dangerous.

Long enough to notice the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the way her hair had escaped its ponytail to frame her face in soft waves.

Long enough to imagine what it would feel like to lean down and—

Stop. Stop before you destroy everything. Before you become another predator she has to guard against.

I swore under my breath and lowered her gently to the ground, settling her back against the sand with more care than I wanted to admit to myself.

A soft groan escaped her lips, and her eyes fluttered open—hazy and unfocused at first, then sharpening as they found mine.

For a moment, neither of us moved. She was still half-sprawled against me, close enough that I could count the flecks of gold in her dark eyes, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath.

"Theron?" Her voice was barely a whisper, rough with exhaustion.

The way she said my name—soft and vulnerable and trusting—hit me like a physical blow. My hand moved without permission, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"You're okay," I managed, my voice rougher than it should have been.

Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes, and the air between us crackled with something that had nothing to do with magic. I could feel myself leaning closer, drawn by some invisible force—

Then reality crashed back. The Guild. Silvius. The fact that she belonged to others who could give her everything I never could.

I jerked away, putting distance between us as I helped her sit up properly. "You pushed too hard," I said, forcing my voice back to its usual professional tone. "Magical exhaustion isn't something to take lightly."

Confusion flickered across her features at my sudden withdrawal, followed by something that might have been hurt. She struggled to her feet, swaying slightly before finding her balance.

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice carried a note of uncertainty that had nothing to do with her physical state.

But even as she said it, I could see her rebuilding those walls—the same ones I'd been unconsciously teaching her to construct.

Her expression smoothed into careful neutrality, emotions locked away behind the kind of practiced control that would serve her well in battle but might cost her everything else.

"I need to work on endurance training," she said, her tone clinical and detached. "And tactical response patterns. Individual practice sessions might be more efficient than—"

"Tess." The name escaped before I could stop it, sharp with something I couldn't name.

She looked up at me with those golden-brown eyes, but the warmth I'd grown accustomed to was carefully banked now, replaced by the kind of professional distance I'd been modeling for her. It was exactly what I'd been pushing her toward—and it felt like a punch to the gut.

Yrdren lowered his massive head beside us, rust-colored eyes gleaming with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. But I ignored the dragon's knowing gaze, focusing instead on maintaining the careful distance I'd just rebuilt.

"Class is over," I said, my tone clipped and professional. "Get some rest."

The words came out harsher than I'd intended, but I couldn't take them back. Couldn't soften them without revealing too much of what was churning beneath the surface.

I turned away before I could say something I'd regret. Before I could do something even worse.

As I walked off the field, every step away from her felt like walking against a current. I didn't look back—couldn't afford to—but I could feel her watching me go.