“So we fly through that storm blind.” Lykor grunted. “And hope to stumble over her before the lightning kills someone?”
“Well,”the dragon said, the word landing heavier than his usual barbs,“not you. But yes—everyone else.”
Lykor tensed in the saddle. Maroon eyes flicked toward him, unblinking. Too knowing. He ground his fangs, hating that this insufferable little beast knew the truth.
Frills settling along his spine, Cinderax’s tone shifted, uncharacteristically solemn.“If there were a way, I’d see you fly on your own wings.”
Lykor didn’t look at him. Just stared ahead at the rangers soaring, jaw locked until the hinge throbbed. “Keep your pity.”
“You’ve mistaken motion for meaning,”Cinderax said.“You hate the thought of being left behind because you think if you’re flying—if you’re in the sky with them—you’ll keep them from falling.”
Lykor’s fists clenched, the truth driving home like a splinter. Not only the part about being grounded. But the certainty of who’d be flying headfirst into the storm.
Jassyn.
And not being there to watch his back burned most of all.
A surge of Essence flared across the peaks, snapping Lykor’s gaze to the fractured edge of the range. Spans ahead, Zaeryn’s formation clipped the storm’s teeth. Still astride her dracovae, she rode point, the pair of them haloed in a bright shield.
The storm’s edge flickered. Gleaming too fast.
Lightning split the sky.
The blast scythed sideways. A jagged streak of violet fury slammed through Zaeryn’s shield, colliding with the dracovae. No thunder followed. The beast shrieked as its wings convulsed, fire burning feathers as it veered too late to dodge.
Ripped free of the saddle, Zaeryn tumbled through open air. Her wings thrashed, catching nothing as the earth dragged her faster.
For one suspended moment, it seemed the peaks might shred her and the beast both.
But then Vesryn dove, dropping from Naru’s back like an arrow loosed, wings tucked tight.
Knees tightening, Aesar coiled, poised to steer Trella after Vesryn’s dive toward Zaeryn. Lykor wrenched back control before they could.
Zaeryn would survive. Crawl out of the wreckage as if it were a challenge. Fate liked to flirt with her, never fuck her proper.
Like during the king’s raid on the Ranger Station—where Zaeryn had been torn open. And who had crouched beside her in the jungle after that to keep her breathing?
Jassyn.
“You’re remarkably fixated for someone who swears he doesn’t care,”Aesar said coolly.
“DON’T.”
“You haven’t looked him in the eyes all week. And you’re the one who nearly kissed—”
Lykor slammed the door on Aesar’s voice, a vicious snap like jamming a blade into bone. His throat closed as he stared into the storm, willing it to devour the memory whole.
But it didn’t.
Jassyn’s words from before they’d freed Cinderax resurfaced in his mind—unguarded and devastating.I need you.
Lykor didn’t want to remember that voice, soft and sure under Asharyn’s lake in the tunnel’s dark.But it haunted him now, like it always did.
His gaze cut back to the peaks, where the rangers raced through the sky, their dracovae stark against the convulsing clouds. He didn’t need to look closer to know Vesryn had played the hero, swooping in to catch Zaeryn.
Lykor’s eyes dropped lower, drawn to Zaeryn’s mount spiraling in a wounded arc. One wing dragged flame like a comet’s tail, the beast shearing sideways in a frantic struggle. Fire chewed through pinions as it clawed for the sky, the storm writhing above.
Cinderax chuffed. A challenge.“Will you let the beast burn?”
