Page 67 of Kingdom of Shadows and Wings

I swallow hard. Although I’m surprisingly not terrified, I’m still cautious.

Approaching an oversized iron door, Thorne nods at the guard standing off to one side. The man proceeds to unbolt the bars locking the structure in place. The door creaks open and releases a gust of air that smells like a mix of hay, smoke, and, more disturbingly, raw meat. In the dim, windowless interior, my eyes adjust to the flickering mage lights on the walls. Thorne shuts the door behind us and leads me to the right, the walkway skirting some sort of giant paddock.

I’m not sure why, but the atmosphere inside the aerie reminds me of a giant tomb. Depressing. Smothering. I can almost feel an invisible entity leeching my energy with slow, steady sips, draining my strength bit by bit.

I stifle a groan. Thank the gods Thorne can’t read minds because my imagination just dove headfirst off the deep end. Not a huge surprise considering the life-altering events of the past several days. Stress exacts a toll on the mind, and the heavens know I’ve had plenty to stress about lately.

Even before we reach another large iron door, cold nips at my skin. Plumes of frigid air snake out from separations in the jamb, leaving a thin layer of frost on the metal.

I shiver. “What is this place?”

“Cold storage. It’s where we keep animal carcasses for the dragons to eat.”

For some reason, I had assumed that the dragons ate oats and hay like the alicorns. Not a high point for me, intelligence-wise. “How do you keep the temperature so low?”

His lips curve up. “How do you think?”

Magic. Of course. Probably his, given his ability to wield ice.

As he opens the door, frosty air billows out, stinging my cheeks. Goose bumps pebble my skin. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I’d brought my heavy cloak.

Thorne steps away. Before I can turn to see where he went, he returns and drapes something over my shoulders. A maroon blanket. Standing too close for comfort, he tugs the ends together and knots them to fashion a cape.

The thick wool instantly helps to banish the cold, stopping my goose bumps and toasting my skin. This thoughtful act causes a different kind of warmth to bloom in my chest. I stare up into his gold-flecked eyes, breathing in his minty exhales, fighting my body’s urge to lean toward him the way a plant reaches for the sun. “Thank you.”

I’m uncertain of my own facial expression, but his eyes flash with heat at whatever he sees before he clears his throat and backs up. “Your teeth were chattering. You never know what will set the dragons off.”

Turning away, he opens the door. I roll my eyes at his back. “Right. You brought me a blanket because thedragonsdon’t want me to be cold. You know, it’s okay if people discover that you can be nice sometimes.” He throws me a dark look. “Or not.”

I bite back a snicker. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me want to poke the bear, but I can’t help myself. Getting under Thorne’s skin might just be my all-time-favorite new hobby.

He piles what appears to be large deer carcasses into two wheelbarrows. He grabs the handles on one and gestures for me to grab the other. After closing the iron door, he pushes his wheelbarrow to the right.

I fall behind with my load, pausing a moment to shamelessly note the way his back muscles ripple against his shirt as he exerts himself.

He glances over his shoulder. “You coming?”

Feigning innocence—despite my hot cheeks—I catch up with him. “Don’t dragons prefer fresh meat?”

“Yes.”

I wait a beat for him to elaborate. “Very elucidating, thank you.”

A grunt, followed by a sigh. “Fresh meat is better, but apparently, it’s too big of a hassle for Flighthaven to bother with all the time. They get it occasionally, but frozen is more convenient.” His tone tells me he doesn’t agree.

Along with an occasional clank, huffs and snorts grow louder as we curve around the interior paddock and reach a series of cells. Each tall, wide enclosure reminds me of a dungeon, featuring iron bars along the front. A leaf-colored mountain flashes between the bars of the first cell. I stop in my tracks as a giant body moves and a pair of gold eyes fixes on mine.

My heart stops. Restarts. Gallops. Instinctive fear floods my veins, accompanied by an odd flicker of an emotion I can’t quite name. The pen keeps the dragon contained, but there are gaps between the bars. Big gaps. Plenty large enough for the dragon’s fire to burst out and char us both to a crisp.

“Thorne…” My attention darts to the dragon’s mouth. That’s when I see the iron wrapped around the beast’s muzzle and head, holding its massive jaw shut. Despite my initial reaction, a tight ball forms in my gut. My throat burns as a wave of despair flushes out my fear. “Oh, no.”

Movement ripples through the other enclosures. Huge triangular heads press up against the bars, and multiple sets of eyes gleam, their vertical pupils unblinking as they watch me. The colors vary between iron gray, cinder black, tan, red, and wheat-like gold. Scales pattern their enormous bodies, while wicked spikes protrude from their lower spines to the tips of their pointed tails.

They’re absolutely magnificent…and terrifying. They’re also all glaring at me as if they’d much rather peel my flesh from my bones and suck out the marrow than eat the dead deer and other large prey animals in the wheelbarrows. Even so, I’m not as terrified as I probably should be. Despite their circumstances, there’s something regal about them. Something beautiful and fierce that calls to me, making me itch to run my fingers along a scaly cheek.

“Poor things. You shouldn’t be here, should you? All caged up like prisoners in a dungeon. You’re meant to be out there, flying free.”

As I murmur, Thorne observes me with an intensity that rivals the dragons’. “I take it you disagree with how the dragons are kept at Flighthaven.”

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