Page 52 of Kingdom of Shadows and Wings

The weapons instructor winces. “High. There’s no possibility that he doesn’t have internal bleeding. I’m surprised he’s even alive.”

She shudders, and Thorne squeezes her hand. My gaze zeroes in on the gesture. Is he comforting her?Thorne?My irascible flight instructor actually knows how to comfort people?

I don’t know why I fixate on their touching hands, but I can’t pry my eyes away. Maybe I’m going into shock.

Torno pats Dawson’s shoulder. “We’re lucky you’re an air elemental, or you would be right there with him.”

The instructor’s expression pinches, and she presses her free hand to her stomach. “Please, don’t remind me. Even with air magic, if I’d timed it wrong, I’d be dead.”

Finally, Thorne releases Dawson. “The air harpoon?”

Torno snaps her fingers. “Oh, right. Let me see who can help get that.”

The vice commander glances from face to face as if struggling to decide who to trust with the task, causing Thorne to growl.

“Fuck this.”

Prowling back to the dragon, he strokes the scales between the animal’s eyes, sorrow etched into his features. He leans over to whisper in its ear. When he finishes, he bows his head, his hands curled into fists at his sides. A moment later, the biggest ice spear I’ve ever seen materializes in his right hand. Without hesitation, he shoves the tip through the dragon’s eye and deep into its brain.

Ignoring the startled whispers, Thorne checks to ensure the dragon’s heart stopped. His chest lifts and lowers, and he bows his head once more before turning away. He stalks back toward me. The speculative gleam in his eye when his gaze lands on my face shifts into a glare as he addresses the crowd. “For all students, the show is over. Get the fuck back to your rooms. Now. If I see any of your ugly mugs in twenty seconds, you’ll be facing whatever punishment I dream up for the next three weeks. Go!”

All around me, fledglings spin around and flee. I have the misfortune of overhearing a female student comment that getting punished by Thorne might be fun, though I notice she still takes off with the others. I’m the only one stupid enough to disregard his threat and stay in place.

His gaze returns to me. Strain flattens his lips, and his broad shoulders round a little. His attention shifts to my cheeks, and when I raise my fingers to touch them, they come away wet.

“Thank you.” The hoarse whisper drags past the knot in my throat.

Emotion flares in his eyes, and he bows his head, reminding me of how he offered the same gesture to the dragon. A gesture of respect, maybe?

When he straightens, a mocking smirk tugs at his lips. He makes a shooing motion with his hands. “Five seconds before you’re stuck with me for even longer.”

Not needing a second reminder, I whirl and flee for the dorms.

Chapter Eighteen

The following morning, I wait outside the stable as dawn creeps across the sky, the rising sun banishing the darkness away to herald a new day. Out here, I spot no signs of life. No alicorns are out in the paddock yet, and no gorgeous, moody instructor.

Leaning against the wall, I yawn and rub my eyes. Last night was rough after the dragon died. I slept fitfully, waking from more than one dream with a start, consumed with an inexplicable sense of doom. Morning came far too quickly.

Moments pass, then minutes…still no Instructor Thorne.

Did he forget our lesson? Oversleep?

That bastard better not be sleeping in after I hauled myself out of bed.If he stood me up, I’m marching straight back to my room to nap before breakfast.

My mind conjures an image of his face from last night and how sorrowful he appeared prior to ending the dragon’s suffering with an icy spear, and my ire drains. If anyone deserves to sleep in this morning, it’s him. Well, him and Instructor Dawson. I remember how he squeezed her hand and wonder if they slept in together. My stomach churns, and my irritability rises once more.

An alicorn whinnies, and someone murmurs in response. I take a tentative step inside the stable and halt, my heartbeat accelerating.

Thorne’s already here.

Instead of his standard uniform top, Thorne’s sporting a thin white shirt that fits snug to his body and accentuates the impressive muscles hidden underneath. His back is toward me, so he doesn’t see me as I edge closer and watch him bend over to run a hand down an alicorn’s leg. The dark bay creature Nick rode in class the other day lifts the limb Thorne touches, allowing him to cradle her massive hoof in his palm.

Mouth dry, I get an intimate view of my instructor’s very hard, incredibly fine, ass.

Stop staring. Look at something else. Anything but that.

My attention remains glued to the current view. Yet again, I wonder if all that seclusion during my formative years turned me into a lust-addled fool who fixates on the nearest hot guy. Olive and Leesa would both snicker and tell me there’s nothing wrong with that, but I disagree. Something is very wrong when I can’t stop myself from ogling my flight instructor.

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