Page 36 of Wings of Ash & Flame
“Good thing I never play to lose,” she said, leaning into his body heat, her heart pounding too fast for her liking.
“When you fail, it’ll be because you tripped over your own ego.”
Her pulse stuttered as he splayed a hand against her back, pulling her closer, their eyes locked, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
“You’re obviously speaking from experience.” Her head felt light.
The tension between them was suffocating now. He didn’t move, his breath mingling with hers. His eyes raked down the curve of her face, then the slope of her neck.
“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, stepping back just enough to reclaim some space.
She hated how her body registered the loss, the sudden chill where his heat had been. It was ridiculous. Infuriating.
“Professor Leslie made a mistake pairing us together,” he said, running a hand through his hair. Alaire caught a glimpse of the abstract lines of his tattoos.
Before she could respond, he turned sharply, heading toward the garden’s edge. She should’ve let him go—should’ve been glad to be rid of him.
“Finally, something we can agree on!” she yelled at his retreating figure.
Her gaze followed him, drawn unwillingly to the way the muscles in his back moved as he walked away, tension hinting at the barely restrained energy. She hated that she noticed—hated that she wondered what it would take to break that icy composure.
Dawson stopped suddenly and turned, catching her watching. His eyes darkened, a spark of something treacherous flickering there, and he tilted his head slightly as he prowled back toward her.
For the life of her, she couldn’t make herself move.
“Something you want to say, Aerendyl?”
He was so close now that the toes of his boots brushed hers.
Alaire swallowed, her mouth dry. The question hung between them; a challenge laid bare. She looked away first, her gaze landing on the array of dark and twisted plants around them. “I wish one of those would sprout legs and bite you. Might do us both a favor.”
His smile widened, making her blood simmer. “Careful, Firework. Keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you’re the one who wants to do the biting.”
Her jaw dropped. “You?—”
“Relax, Aerendyl. I’m only pointing out that your eyes have been glued to me for the past thirty seconds.” Dawson let out a low chuckle.
“You’re one to talk. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how yours are always on me, Knox,” Alaire shot back. “If I was looking, it was only while thinking how euphoric it would feel to punch that grin off your face.”
“So youwerestaring,” he drawled, eyes lighting with mirth.
Alaire opened her mouth to fire back, but something in his expression stopped her. The grin was still there, but it had lost its spark, like a mask slipping back into place. She didn’t know him well enough to understand what had changed—only that it had.
“You’re not the first to wish harm on me, Aerendyl. Nor will you be the last.” His voice was calm and detached, but there was weight behind it, something deeper he hid well.
The confession caught her off guard.
“What happened?” The words slipped out before she could stop them; her curiosity always got the better of her.
“None of your business,” he said, clipped.
Alaire rolled her eyes. “Right. Of course. How stupid of me to expect you to be remotely amicable for two seconds.”
His gaze snapped back to hers.
She scoffed. That’s what she got for trying to be empathetic toward a fae, of all things. “Keep your secrets, Knox. I couldn’t care less. But don’t expect me to play the obedient partner. I don’t take orders. Not from you. Not from anyone.” Her frustration became a living entity within her.
“Is that so?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “Because from where I’m standing, you seem desperate to prove yourself.”
