Page 72 of Feathers of Ash and Hope

Another group of people enters the room, riders of the eastern division, this time. I tense.

“She humiliates me after everything she did,” Vaccari whines, instantly addressing Vega.

“Centurion, get your runner under control,” Vega hisses, and I turn to him to give him a piece of my mind, but Ara is faster.

My eyes widen when I see her stepping up to Vega, somehow managing to look down at a man who is not only taller but also outranks her.

“How about you get your runner under control?” she asks. “She comes waltzing in here throwing around accusations aimed at me and my centurion, while I simply stated facts. So if she feels addressed by ‘someone without manners and common sense,’ the boot seems to fit, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not sure if I should congratulate him on the size of his balls or tell him to grow some sense,” Jared whispers next to me, clearly awed. I agree, but my gaze is glued to Summer. I’m sure the situation will escalate in a second, so I throw up a shield between her and the eastern division, molding it to her to keep it from view. We are not allowed to use our gifts on other runners or riders unless it’s an officially declared training bout with gifts or in case of an attack. I count this loosely to the second group.

Summer’s eyes wander to me. Did she somehow see my shield?

The whole flight steps closer. Ara is one of us, even if it’s temporary.

“What did you say?” Vega demands to know from Vaccari, and she hems and haws, clearly not willing to repeat herself.

“It was: I’m not in the mood to rub elbows with scum and murderers and what do you expect when they let someone like him lead a division?” Ara replies helpfully. Vaccari stares daggers at her, then crosses her arms in defiance.

“I’m not wrong, though. He’s a murderer,” Vaccari points at Summer and then turns to me. “And he wears his disgrace stamped on his skin.”

Jared tenses next to me, his normally pleasant face murderous. But before either of us has the chance to react, Summer does.

She laughs.

Vaccari whips around, her glare once again on Summer.

“What are you laughing at?” she barks.

“You.” Ara chuckles.

“You think I’m funny?” Vaccari seethes.

“Either that or delusional.” Summer shrugs.

“It says dishonored right there,” Vaccari snaps and dares to point at the mark on my chest.

“You know that’s where you are wrong.” Summer strolls over to me, and lays her fingers right over the two parallel lines that make all the difference, her fingers now resting right above my heart.

My pulse jumps, and her gaze comes up to meet mine. Her eyes widen, and her lips part slightly. The awareness on her face burns through my veins. I've touched her body a few times by now, but this is the first time her fingers rest on mine, and we both know it.

She snatches her hand back like she got burned.

“He gave up a position out of his own choice,” she says, her eyes still fixed on me. Gods, a man could drown in those eyes.

She turns to Vaccari and walks back, stopping right in front of her.

“Get your markings right before you throw around accusations.”

I don’t like the look on Vaccari’s face, so I once more throw up a shield between them.

Vega shakes his head at Vaccari.

“Your father’s position doesn’t do shit for you here,” he warns her. “You better work on your attitude. You’ll help out with breakfast for the whole week. I’m sure the kitchen staff will be grateful, and I hope you learn something from it.”

Vega and his riders wander over to the free mats at the end of the hall, and the rest of our flight goes back to their training as well, leaving only Vaccari and her friends, Summer, Jared, and me.

I step closer. I don’t trust Vaccari. She leans in and only my gift lets me listen in.

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