Page 222 of Wings of Ash & Flame
“And reckless.”
“Only when it’s necessary.”
“When is it not?” His voice edged toward a growl, anguish written across his face.
The tension between them coiled tighter. He stepped closer, torment flickering in his eyes.
“I’ve been thinking it’s best to stay at Aeris Academy. It keeps my cover intact, and I need to learn to control my magic. If I don’t, everything we’re planning will fall apart.”
Dawson exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re right.”
“And you’ll be busy with princely things. Kissing babies, council meetings, leading units.”
He barked a laugh.
“We have to play the long game, Dawson.”
The battle ahead—for survival, for freedom—was larger than any of them. It would demand everything they were, and everything they dared to become.
Alaire’s voice was steady as she laid out the beginnings of an intricate web of plans: contact the resistance, seek out the soulwarden who had helped her, forge ties with House Aqualis and House Arculum, release the prisoners of Grimstone, and finally, deal with the Consortium.
When she finished, she stepped back, watching as Dawson considered her words. Then he gently brushed his knuckles across her cheek.
Alaire saw it plainly now—his need, raw and unguarded, simmering in his gaze. It mirrored the longing she’d spent months denying. The attraction battered against her heart like a hurricane. She bit her bottom lip, trying to collect herself even as her defenses crumbled.
Dawson’s expression was tormented, as though memorizing her face, her presence, this fragile moment—because neither of them knew how many more they would have.
“I thought—” His voice cracked, throat working as he forced the words out. Alaire’s heart stumbled in her chest. “The night of the bloodravager’s attack, I thought I hadn’t gotten all the poison out. And then, when we were separated in Nebula’s Veil… I thought I’d lost you.” He swallowed hard, brows furrowed.
“I couldn’t do anything but replay that last conversation over and over. I’m sorry I forced you to leave Kaia, knowing how you felt about leaving anyone behind. But I don’t give a fucking shit about anyone else. Maybe that makes me a selfish bastard, but I refuse to lose you.” The last words came out broken, as if torn from the pit of his soul.
“Dawson.” Her voice was soft, but carried a steadfast determination. “You can’t protect me from everything. We’re at war. There will be danger everywhere. You have to trust that I’llprotect myself. I understand how you feel—I feel it too. But you don’t get to make that choice for me.”
She placed her hand over his heart. “I’m not going anywhere. But I won’t be kept in the dark because you fear losing me. I’ve survived and lost too much to be sheltered like a child. I’ve learned to carry my burdens, keep secrets, and face what comes. But you have to trust I can handle this. You’re not the only one with something to lose, and I won’t be held back by fear—yours or mine.”
Dawson’s hand trembled as he threaded his fingers through hers. “Alright,” he whispered. “You have my word.” His eyes closed briefly.
He drew her closer until the tips of their noses touched. She could see the war being waged behind his eyes—want against duty, desire against restraint.
All her doubts, all the walls she’d carefully constructed, crumbled as she realized the undeniable truth: Alaire trusted Dawson with her mind, body, and soul—more than she’d trusted anyone in a long, long time.
His hands moved with agonizing slowness, fingertips trailing fire along her bare arms, tracing the delicate bones of her wrists before sliding up to map the curve of her shoulders. Dawson’s touch was deliberate, as if memorizing the feel of her skin beneath his.
His hands trembled as he buried them in her hair, cradling her face with a tenderness that made her heart ache. His expression was torn between longing and grief, breath uneven as his gaze dropped to her lips. She could practically see the moment his resolve cracked, the instant he stopped fighting what he wanted.
“Fuck it,” he breathed, and then his mouth crashed against hers.
It was like a spark igniting a blaze that had smoldered far too long. His rough, calloused hands pushed her hair back from her neck, fingers trailing over the hollow of her collarbone, sliding down her ribs to the curve of her waist.
Alaire felt herself shatter and come together all at once. A low, hungry groan rumbled from his chest, sparking heat that thrummed through her veins.
His kiss was fierce possession—slow, studied, as if he’d practiced a hundred times in his head. His mouth moved against hers with an intensity that left her trembling, tongue sweeping across her lip before delving deeper.
He smelled of frosted evergreen and salted wind. The rough scrape of stubble grazed her skin as he angled his head to take the kiss deeper. Her hands fisted his shirt, pulling him closer until no space remained. The silk of her dress whispered against his legs as he backed her into a wall of dahlias.
A guttural sound escaped him when she nipped his lip, soothing it with her tongue. His hands tangled in her hair, his touch equal parts desperate and reverent. Fireworks detonated inside her chest, each spark demanding more.
His mouth left hers, tracing fire down the column of her throat, finding the fluttering pulse that betrayed her. She gasped, back arching as sensation consumed her.
