Page 95 of On Wings of Blood

“I could come with you in an hour, but I have to turn in a paper first,” Naveen said. “The class is on the other side of campus.”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. I can go and look now. This was my last class of the day. If he’s not there, I’ll check the library.”

This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my afternoon, hunting down Blake Drakharrow. I couldn’t even ask any of his friends for help. I knew exactly what they’d do–laugh in my face. Well, maybe not Coregon or Theo.

I was supposed to be working on my paper on dragons and searching more of the books Florence’s mother had found for me on blood magic and souls.

I hadn’t really read much more about dragons–and fortunately, Professor Rodriguez hadn’t asked. We’d been too focused on my thrallguard training. I knew the history was fascinating, but it also seemed like a far less pressing topic than getting Orcades out of my head. Now both things would have to wait yet again.

I moved through the hallways, passing groups of chattering, laughing students. It was almost the end of the day and a steady crowd of people were making their way to the refectory. The vast stone hall was a favorite place for students to hang out at the end of each day as they waited for dinner. Snacks and refreshments were always left out on a large buffet table on one side of the room.

When I reached the refectory, I stood in the hallway near one of the open stone arches, scanning the room. I spotted Quinn and Coregon at the House Drakharrow table with some other Drakharrow students, but I didn’t see Blake or Theo anywhere.

I’d decided I’d ask Theo if I saw him first. He was more approachable than Blake. If I had to owe a favor to someone, I’d much rather it be him.

With a sigh, I decided to check the library next. I took my favorite route through the massive castle. The one that led through the Dragon Court. It was the end of autumn and theleaves had mostly fallen now, but there was still something refreshing about passing through the open air and through the grove of trees that encircled the stone dragon statues.

Some afternoons, I’d taken to sitting under one of the trees with Naveen and Florence and studying. Even though it was a beautiful space, it was usually deserted. As winter approached, it would soon be too cold for us to go there.

As I neared the courtyard, a figure entered the passage ahead of me.

My heart sped up.

Blake.

I hadn’t seen his face, but I didn’t need to. I recognized his walk. That ridiculously arrogant swagger.

I didn’t say anything, just started to follow him down the hall. Where was he heading?

As it turned out, he was heading to the same place I was–the Dragon Court.

I’d let us converge there. Then I’d approach him.

But when we reached the courtyard, I hung back, waiting in the shadows of the cloisters while he strode into the court and stood in the middle between the four stone dragons.

He stood there for a moment, with his head down. For a second, I wondered if he might be praying. But to what? Highbloods all worshiped something called the Bloodmaiden. I still wasn’t entirely sure what she was. Some sort of a goddess, I’d assumed.

Blake glanced up and looked around the courtyard. I was supposed to be approaching him, but instead, I found myself ducking. As I crouched down, my foot hit a pebble and there was a small clatter.

I held my breath.

“Come out, Pendragon,” Blake called. “I know you’re there.”

I sighed and stood up slowly, brushing the dust off the black fitted trousers I wore and pulling down my gray sweater emblazoned with the school crest.

I walked over to where he stood waiting in the middle of the court.

There was a tightness in my throat as I approached him. He wasn’t even looking at me, but rather, at one of the dragons.

Blake was all hard angles. Sharp and tense. Even now, the muscles in his jaw were clenched, as if he were on the verge of an attack. A predator about to spring.

Then he turned his head and looked down his hawkish nose at me, tilting his head upwards in the haughty way I’d grown accustomed to and the tightness in my throat became a lump.

He wasn’t perfect. But there was something about him that had become unbearable for me to look upon–and yet just as unable to look away.

A shocking urge seized me to touch that jaw, to trace the angles of those aristocratic cheekbones, and to stop, right there, in the center, with a finger pressed to those beautiful lips. The only soft thing about him.

I wondered what his mouth would feel like. Rough or tender, soft or firm?

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