Page 167 of Wings of Ash & Flame
Dawson strode in with effortless confidence, turquoise gaze locking instantly onto hers. Locks of hair fell over his eyes, brushing the top of his shoulder. She itched to reach forward and push them back.
The corner of her mouth tipped up at the sight of him, desire burning in her chest.
He lifted a sardonic brow, as if reading her thoughts—dark and heated.
Dawson walked until the toes of his boots touched hers.
She exhaled, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. Lately, she wished he’d stop being so damn honorable. Both of them were dancing on a murky, undefined line.
His fingers threaded through the long waves she’d left unbound.
A moan slipped from her lips at how easily his hands set fire to her skin. A slow smile curved his mouth.
Cocky asshole.
Never one to be outdone, she pressed flush against him, tracing the dips of his chest, the hollow of his ribcage. Victory flared when a low growl rattled his throat as she scraped her finger from collarbone to the nape of his neck.
“Alaire…”
She kept her tone teasing. “Yes?”
His arm curled around her waist, tugging her closer until their chests brushed with every breath.
“I’m sorry to have to do this, but I have no other choice.”
It was then she felt the prick of a needle at the sliver of bare skin between her leathers.
Alaire’s senses swam in a hazy fog. A dull ache pulsed at her temples, her mouth thick and dry. Memories of being at the Crux with Dawson rushed back—the sharp bite of the needle. With a concerted effort, she forced herself upright.
Indignation washed through her. How dare he?
The air was thick and damp. Opening her eyes, she realized she was in a subterranean room. The buzz of voices stung her overly sensitive ears. Along the wall sat other novices, all dressed in their leathers.
Kaia slumped against the stone, a little drool clinging to the corner of her mouth.
Alaire leaned over and wiped it away with her sleeve. Gross. The touch roused Kaia, who blinked groggily.
“Alaire? What’re you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Kaia’s almond eyes widened as she took in the cluster of novices. She rubbed the spot where her neck met her shoulder. “Last thing I remember was arguing with Caius during training instead of going to Professor Leslie’s lecture.”
Alaire sucked in a sharp breath. “I was with Dawson. He used the same excuse. I guess that’s how they got us all here.” Her memory was fuzzy, but she could’ve sworn he’d saidsorry…
The synchronizedthudof boots echoed against the walls. Heads snapped toward the sound. Clad in a powder-blue tweed ensemble, Professor Ross strode in, veterans trailing in a single-file line. His mustache twitched as he took in the sight of novices still slumped along the wall.
“The enemy won’t wait for you to be ready,” his booming voice carried. “They’ll strike when you’re vulnerable, compromised, or caught off guard. Your final trial happens now, like this, because this is what real life as a flier looks like. Line up, novices. Across from your partner.”
Alaire fought the urge to cover her ears. Whatever they’d used to knock her out left her with a splitting migraine. Pressure burned at her temples.
Kaia helped her up, and they moved to the end of the line, where apologetic turquoise eyes immediately found hers. She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.
Dawson rounded out the vets’ line. And—no surprise—standing next to him was Caius. Arms rigid at his sides, condescension and superiority rolled off him just like his father.
Alaire had no idea how Dawson or Kaia could stand him—especially Kaia.
Kaia leaned closer. “Trouble between the prince and queen?”
