Page 30 of Tempest Blazing
The familiar banter helped center me, and I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. Flight Synchronization wasn't just about staying on the dragon's back—it was about moving as one entity, matching every shift of muscle and wing beat with perfect physical harmony. It required feeling Thalon's body beneath me, anticipating his movements before he made them, and adjusting my balance and position to complement his flight rather than hinder it.
"Begin the sequence," Theron's voice echoed across the training ground through a magical amplification spell.
Thalon and I moved as one, my body instinctively shifting with his as we dove toward the ground before pulling up at the last second in a spiraling climb. I pressed myself lower against his neck during the dive, then adjusted my weight distribution as his powerful muscles bunched beneath me for the climb.
The world blurred past us as we executed a series of complex turns and rolls, each movement requiring me to shift my balance in perfect time with his motions, my legs gripping his sides as we rolled, my hands steady on the saddle horn as we banked sharp left then right.
But even as my body moved in sync with Thalon's, my concentration splintered. The weight of everything that had happened overwhelmed my mind.
"Tess!" Thalon's mental shout slammed into my consciousness just as my body went rigid with distraction. We were in the middle of a complex barrel roll, and my sudden tension had thrown off our physical rhythm. Instead of flowing with his movement, I'd locked up, creating drag and resistance that sent us into an uncontrolled spin.
My scream died in my throat as the world spun, the ground a dizzying blur below. For a heartbeat, I was certain we were going down. The world tilted sickeningly as Thalon fought to compensate, his wings beating frantically to regain control.
My heart hammered against my ribs as we stabilized, the ground rushing past dangerously close. If Thalon hadn't caught my mistake...
"That could have killed us both," he said, his mental voice tight with concern and barely controlled fear. "Whatever is troubling you, little one, you must set it aside. Now."
I gritted my teeth and pushed everything else away—the stress, Kane's rejection, all of it. We completed the sequence flawlessly, landing with barely a bump on the designated platform.
"Better," Thalon said with approval. "Though your heart is still heavy."
"Everything feels heavy right now," I admitted, my hands shaking as I slid down from his back. The near-fall had left me rattled, the taste of terror still sharp on my tongue.
"Excellent work, Whittaker," Theron called out, but his voice seemed to come from very far away.
I stood there for a moment, Thalon's warm presence at my back, trying to process what had just happened. We'd almost died. Because I couldn't keep my focus where it belonged. Because I'd let Kane's words, that strange wrongness in the air, all of it fracture my concentration at the worst possible moment.
The fear was still there, cold and sharp in my chest. If Thalon hadn't compensated for my mistake...
I pressed my forehead against his neck, breathing in his familiar scent of smoke and starlight."Thank you,"I whispered."For saving us both."
The weight of what could have happened settled heavily on my shoulders. I had to do better—had to find a way to keep my focus locked where it belonged, no matter what chaos swirled around us. I couldn't bear the thought of my mistakes putting anyone else at risk.
Chapter 13
Tess
The door to Books 'n' Brews swung shut behind us, cutting off the street noise. Garanth would be here any minute. My pulse hammered against my throat, but having Draven beside me dulled the sharp edge of panic. His security background meant he'd spot trouble before I even knew it was coming.
"Upstairs?" Draven's voice was low, professional.
I nodded, already moving toward the narrow staircase. "Less crowded."
He peeled off toward a table near the stairs—perfect sightlines, I noticed. Of course he'd picked that spot. The deliberate way he positioned himself, scanning exits and blind spots, reminded me why I felt so much safer with him here. The upper level was nearly empty, just two other patrons absorbed in quiet conversation.
I chose a table by the window overlooking the square and spread out my materials. Notebook, pens, the little recording device Pippa had charmed for me. The crystal hummed faintly under my fingertips. Professional. Prepared. Like I had a clue what I was walking into.
Years of reading had taught me one thing—history was always written by the winners. Sanitized accounts from those in power,all the messy truths scrubbed clean. But the real stories? Those lived in the margins, in the voices no one thought to preserve.
That's why this mattered. Every voice had value, especially the forgotten ones.
Seven o'clock arrived, marked by measured footsteps on the stairs. A man appeared—average height, well-dressed in a charcoal suit, the kind of pleasant features that slid right off your memory five minutes later.
"Ms. Whittaker?"
I stood, extending my hand. "Mr. Kreel? Thank you for coming."
His grip was firm, completely forgettable. Like everything else about him.
