Page 62 of On Wings of Blood

As he jabbed out and rotated, another flash of ink caught my eye. My breath hitched. A full dragon was etched across his entire back, its wingspan stretching from shoulder to shoulder, its tail coiling down his spine, and its snarling head seeming to rise from the base of his neck.

I forced myself to look away.

I hated him, I reminded myself. He was arrogant and cruel. The embodiment of everything I despised about the world I was trapped in.

And yet... I snuck another glance. I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from him.

His fists flew. Left hook. Right jab. Cracking against the leather bag with brutal force. The muscles in his arms tensed and released, tattoos rippling with every strike. He was favoring his left hand. But he fought well with both. The dragon wings on his back flared as he twisted, pounding with first one hand then the other.

I cursed inwardly as my gaze lingered on the ink sprawled over his skin.

Blake Drakharrow was beautiful in a way I didn't want to admit. In a way that made my blood simmer and my mind spin with confusion.

How could someone so vile be so compelling?

Blake suddenly stopped, his eyes flicking towards me before I could turn away. Our gazes locked and a slow smirk curled over his lips. My heart skipped a beat and for the first time I saw something in those pale, silver eyes. Awareness. Did he know the effect he was having on me?

As he moved to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, I hastily turned away.

He was marked by something ancient and dangerous. Seeing him like that, bare and exposed, stirred something in me that I didn't want to feel. Made him seem more like me.

But he wasn’t.

No matter how beautiful the man or how mesmerizing the dragon, Blake Drakharrow was still a monster.

I could never let myself forget that.

I spent the rest of Advanced Weaponry working with Professor Sankara one on one. At first, I had to list some of the skills I already possessed so he could get a better sense of where to start me.

Odessa had trained me extensively in traditional sword combat. I felt fairly proficient with longswords and short swords. We’d moved onto spears and polearms. My footwork was quick andprecise and I could usually use speed and agility to outmaneuver my slower opponents.

“As you saw yesterday, that won’t be enough here,” Sankara said. “You’re impressive for a mortal.” Every time they called me “mortal” I was tempted to correct them. I was mortal. But only half. Still, what would be the point of explaining about the fae of Aercanum? They’d never believe me. “But here, your opponents won't be mortals. Vampires move faster, hit harder. For the next while, I want you to focus on speed and reflexes.”

I thought of the way my body had seemed to come more alive, to quicken, as I was fighting Visha. But I said nothing, simply nodded. I had no idea if I could will that to happen again.

Sankara gestured towards a set of weighted practice weapons hanging on the wall nearby. “Take those. Practice your forms with double the weight you’re used to. We’ll see how quick you really are.”

By the time Advanced Weaponry finished, I was a sweaty, dripping mess. But there was no time to go back to the First Year dormitory and bathe or even change. With only ten minutes before my next class, I had to hurry to get to Basic Combat for Blightborn. I made a mental note to bring a towel and extra set of clothes next time, so I could at least sneak into a bathroom and change.

Mercifully, Blake had stayed far away from me the entire class. Which was exactly how I wanted it. Our betrothal was meaningless to me–and it was clear it was just as meaningless to him. I also didn’t want other students thinking it set me apart as special. Or worse, marked me as a target.

Being the only rider already did that, anyways.

Regan had yet to show up for a single Advanced Weaponry class. I was starting to wonder if it was on her schedule. Maybe she was exempt. Or maybe there were two time slots for the class being offered this term and she was in the other.

I was starting to think I’d never see her there and that was a relief.

If I could stay away from Blake and his bully friends, maybe I could make it through this term. Maybe Bloodwing could even be bearable. Dare I say it? Even enjoyable. The school itself was growing on me. I liked being tested, challenged. I liked learning new things every day. Oddly enough, I was more interested and invested in my lessons now than I’d ever been with my tutors back in Camelot.

Naveen was waiting in the hall outside the Basic Combat for Blightborns classroom.

Florence was not. She didn’t have to take a combat class. At first I’d been surprised by this as one of her future career options was strategist. You would think a military strategist would have to be pretty familiar with combat.

But apparently a strategist’s position was primarily theoretical. Florence would be valued more for her knowledge of historical battles and her ability to develop campaign plans. If she went with this path, in times of peace, she might be posted as an advisor to a noble highblood house. She’d coach them on security measures, defense tactics, and ways to help keep their forces strengthened in preparation for future conflicts. If it ever came to full-out war, she’d be safely stationed in a command post, issuing orders and adapting strategies in real time, but never actually out on the field.

Strategists could also become diplomats and become valuable go-betweens for the highblood houses or even as representatives of Sangratha to other lands.

“You look more excited for this class than you did for the others,” I observed. Naveen was barely hiding a grin. He kept hopping up and down on both feet as he stood waiting.

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