Page 96 of Wings of Ash & Flame
His brows drew together a fraction, the muscle in his jaw ticking—a rare crack in his composure. Finally, her arrow struck true.
“Careful, Firework,” he said. “That sharp tongue of yours will get you into trouble someday.”
“Promises, promises.” She leaned in, catching the sharp tang of frosted evergreen and salted wind. “What’s wrong? Did I hit a nerve?”
His pupils blew wide. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.”
“Then enlighten me.” She tilted her head, studying the shift of muscle in his forearms as he clenched his fists.
They were inches apart now, her fury igniting. Rage clouded every thought. No one else could provoke her like this, strip herbare with a single look, peel away her defenses to examine the part of her she fought to keep hidden.
Dawson’s nostrils flared. “What is happening outside this campus is far more important than your petty remarks and unchecked rage.”
Alaire jabbed a finger into his chest, her voice breaking under the weight of her anger. “Do not dare lecture me. Have you ever wondered where your next meal was coming from? Slept with one eye open, hoping you’d make it through the night?”
Something flickered across his face—an emotion she couldn’t name—before it vanished behind his mask of indifference.
She curled her hands into fists. Howdarehe preach about suffering? “Do you even know what humans have had to endure at the hands of the fae? What they’ve been forced to sacrifice?”
“Enough,” Dawson snapped.
Her chest heaved. She thought of every conversation he’d dismissed, every truth he’d brushed aside. “You’re just another useless fae who only cares about yourself, your magic, and your power. You’re incapable of real empathy.”
His aquamarine eyes turned to ice, then flared hot.
“If you hate me so much,” Dawson said, hooking his fingers into her leathers, “then do something about it.”
The gauntlet he’d thrown was irresistible. She ripped a dagger from his belt in one fluid motion and pressed the blade to the hollow of his throat.
Dawson didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. He leaned in.
“But make it count, Alaire—because you won’t get another chance.”
His voice dropped, rough with heat.
“Unless it’s with you on your knees… begging so sweetly, like a good girl.”
Fire exploded through her, rage and desire barreling together so fiercely she couldn’t tell them apart. The dagger bit into his skin, just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
For a brief moment, she considered it. Logic drowned beneath the roaring in her ears, swallowed by the primal demand for blood and justice.
Capitalizing on her hesitation, Dawson moved—smooth, effortless. In one motion he disarmed her, slipped the dagger into his belt, and swept her legs out from under her. She hit the ground hard, biting out a curse, her pride taking the brunt of the blow.
Dawson smirked, victorious and maddening. The cocky asshole.
She sprang back up, eager to even the score, but he was always a step ahead. He didn’t just block her moves—he anticipated them, shifting just enough to redirect her force without touching.
Infuriating. And impressive. Not that she’d ever admit it.
“You’re talented and trained,” Dawson said, his smirk dripping with condescension. “But your temper works against you. You’ve got a lot to learn in combat.” He dipped his head, murmuring in her ear, “Amongst other things.”
Her breath hitched, heat blooming in her face as she turned her back, brushing dust from her leathers. When she faced him again, their eyes locked.
The anger roaring in her chest simmered, pushed aside by something she refused to name.
Dawson tilted his head, turquoise eyes glittering. He closed the distance with predatory grace, every step deliberate. “Your heart, Alaire,” he rumbled, “is beating so fast and loud, I can hear it. You should work on controlling that. Unless, of course, it’s beating for me.”
She froze, her pulse a deceitful drum in her ears.
