Page 8 of Dance of the Phoenix
He glanced at me briefly before returning his midnight blue gaze to the show. “It’s not that I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I get weekly reports from Magnus, who’s in charge of the Troop.”
Magnus was one of Ragnor’s two Lieutenants. “Not to sound judgmental,” I said carefully, “but why aren’tyouin charge of such an important division of your League?”
Without looking at me, his lips twitched. “That sounds awfully judgmental of you, Aileen.”
I rolled my eyes at his teasing tone. “You know what I mean.”
He let out a breath. “The Troop requires constant surveillance,” he said, face and voice both turning grave. “I have many enemies, and since I’m the face of the Rayne League, those threats are also true of the League by proxy. The Rayne League is one of the very few Leagues in the world that cultivates a military force, and there is a reason most Leagues would rather not have such a force in their midst.”
Ragnor’s hand suddenly crawled under my shirt, caressing the skin of my waist almost absentmindedly. “Historically speaking, many Leagues that had some sort of militia went through a coup d’état.”
That, I didn’t expect. “Why?”
Just then, Kaylon’s voice suddenly came through the speakers. “We’ll take a fifteen-minute break before the final rounds! Complimentary drinks and snacks are awaiting you outside!”
Isora and Zoey rose to their feet and turned to me. “Are you coming?” Isora asked, her eyes staying on me. Zoey didn’t seem to notice Ragnor was right there next to me either. His hood might’ve hidden his face, but how could they notseehim? Especially when his hand was fondling my waist?
“No, I’ll stay,” I said, confused. “Get me something to drink on your way back, though.”
Isora gave me a mock salute, and the two left the hall along with most of the audience.
“You could go with them,” Ragnor murmured in my ear, causing me to shiver.
Ignoring the sudden heat crawling over my skin, I said, “I’d rather you tell me why they can’t see you.”
His hand grabbed my chin and turned my head toward him. “Is that really what we should talk about?” he asked, eyes dropping to my mouth.
I licked my suddenly dry lips, and his eyes flashed neon. Feeling my nipples pebbling against my bra, I looked around me, saw we were relatively alone in our section of the gallery, and leaned closer to him. Heartbeat quickening in excitement, I sank my teeth softly into his lower lip, flicking my tongue against it.
A rumble vibrated through his chest, and he pulled me over so I was straddling him with my back to the stage. His heated, neon-blue eyes looked at me as if he could see me naked. His hands roamed over my waist and up my ribs, until they reached the sides of my breasts. My breath stopped as anticipation left me highly strung.
He cupped my mounds and squeezed them so hard, a loud moan escaped my mouth. Biting my lip hard, I watched as he kneaded my chest and grinned in savage satisfaction.
My eyes lowered to his crotch, where his cock tented his pants, hard and ready. Shuddering in sudden need, I freed his cock and grabbed it with both my hands. He bucked against my hold, and his hands left my breasts and lowered to my buttocks, squeezing them tight through my jeans.
I really wanted to have sex right there and then, but when I heard the murmurs of people returning to the hall, I paused, zipped him closed, and went back to my seat.
He gave me a disappointed look. “You know I made it so nobody notices us.”
“Don’t waste your magic on silly things like this,” I chastised him.
He chuckled, squeezed my thigh, and leaned back. “Sex with you is never silly, Aileen.”
Before I could respond—with what, I didn’t know, considering he completely caught me off guard—Isora and Zoey returned, cutting off whatever it was I was going to say.
The next part of the show was the Gifted Troop members’ time to shine. And shine they did.
Unlike the first part, this was more of a spectacle than anything else. Here, battle experience wasn’t as important as it was with the Commons. Here, what mattered was pure, undilutedpower.
One Gifted created a mini hurricane with the strings of his classical guitar to blow his opponent away, only the opponent held a flowerpot and used it to create vines that wrapped around her legs and the entirety of the stage, rendering her completely immobile—which worked against the storm. Another Gifted wore some sort of knitted hoodie the same color of his Brigade, and he was so fast, he was literally invisible to the naked eye, while his opponent was utterly still, closing her eyes as if in some meditative state, while his attacks skipped over her, as though she were wrapped in transparent titanium.
During the fights, the crowd was deathly silent, and only once the fights were over did they cheer, deafeningly loudly.
Then, it was time for the last mock battle. And this one featured another familiar figure—Cassidy Jones, my ex–best friend.
With her silky ebony hair in a ponytail and slim body in a battle suit colored turquoise—Logan’s Brigade—she looked like someone else entirely. Her eyes, the color of emerald, were set somberly, her jaw locked tight in evident tension. She seemed angry, almost. Desperate, perhaps?
The last time I’d seen her, she was wounded from the battle with the Jinn. She looked no worse for wear, on the outside at least. Inside, I had a feeling it was a different story.
