Page 90 of Wings of Ash & Flame
A familiar tingling crawled along her scalp. She felt him before she even saw him.
Her gaze snapped to the wide arch that connected the Aeriel Coliseum to the training grounds.
There.
Dressed in impeccably fitting leathers that showcased every sharp definition of muscle, Dawson leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets—the epitome of indifference. And yet she drank him in like someone parched after weeks in the desert.
Her body responded to him of its own accord, every nerve ending suddenly alive, as though she existed solely in his presence. She hated it.
His turquoise eyes were hard, swirling tattoos stark against olive skin.
Beautiful. Cold. Lethal. Dickhead.
He wasn’t worth it. She didn’t even like him—she reminded herself.
He tilted his head, as if hearing her denial.
Fuck this. Fuck him. Why did he have to be so gods-damned attractive?
“Please do not engage in any form of coitus in front of me,” Solflara drawled.
Alaire’s gaze whipped to the phoenix. “Ew,Solf,that is never happening between us.”
“Then why are you still here?You shouldn’t have trouble talking to him if he means nothing to you.” Solflara nodded toward Dawson.
Lifting her chin, Alaire turned back—only to find the spot empty. Gone. Disappeared into thin air. Again.
Twice now, he’d appeared from the shadows, pinning her with those damn eyes, only to vanish. Coward.
Her hands curled into fists. What was his game? Dawson Knox was playing with her, and her treacherous body was practically purring for more. She hated him for it.
But the heat pooling low in her belly called her a liar. She wanted to track him down and demand answers, to grab him by those dark locks and?—
She wasn’t ready to finish that thought. Not yet.
Twenty-Two
As the days bled into weeks, now a flier, Alaire settled into a pattern of training, studying, reading, eating, and evenings spent with Kaia and Archer. Up before sunrise with Solflara to train until her hands cramped from gripping the phoenix’s braid, catching up on the fliers’ curriculum, and the rest of her classes with eyes burning from lack of sleep. All designed to prepare them for the academy’s looming trial next month.
The only silver lining was that Kaia and Archer were right there with her—even if Kaia couldn’t stop blabbering about the upcoming Celestial Cascade Ball, an extravagant night where students and fae nobility honored Umbra, god of darkness and night, at the height of winter.
Yet an underlying tension blanketed the academy. There was an urgency to everything, as if everyone were moving toward an intangible tipping point that would consume the entire continent.
All partner work in her Tactical Leadership class had been halted. There were whispers about increased vampire activity along the borders. Even the gargoyles seemed more vigilant,gossip replaced by an unblinking watch on the academy’s perimeters.
Dawson’s absence gnawed at her more than she’d ever admit. Each time she returned to practice, her gaze automatically scanned the arena. And each time, her chest tightened when he wasn’t there. She told herself it didn’t matter, that his presence was nothing more than an unnecessary distraction. But no matter how hard she tried to push the thought away, her mind lingered on the way his closeness had ignited something in her. Without him, the world felt a little colder, the silence a little louder.
She shook her head as she stretched her arms overhead. Her body was perpetually sore. The combat training arena was empty except for her and Solflara. She’d just finished working through flight maneuvers on the ground, practicing the weight shifts and balance adjustments Solflara drilled into her, when Professor Ross stepped through the archway.
Instinctively, she moved closer to her celestial.
“Trouble sleeping?” he asked, noting the early hour.
Solflara’s eyes tracked his path, her flames flaring briefly.
Alaire straightened, wiping sweat from her brow. “Solflara’s a demanding instructor. She says if I’m going to be her flier, I need to stop ‘flailing around like a fish on her back.’”
“Accurate.Though you flail more like a whimpering goat,” Solflara corrected.
