“THOUGHT HE’D APPRECIATE THE FLAIR,”Lykor muttered.
Above them, Trella circled and shrieked again, wings slicing the air with clear impatience.
“You should fasten them,” Fenn said, tugging his hair back from the points of his ears. “I don’t know where they belong. Not for a title that hasn’t been worn before.”
Lykor flicked his wrist. Two threads of rending punched clean through the cartilage above Fenn’s highest piercings.
Fenn didn’t blink. He slid the earrings in, blood welling around the obsidian scales that swung against his skin.
Aesar murmured something in approval as Lykor sealed the wounds with a braid of mending.
From the canyon floor below, a horn blared—another drill. The wraith on the plateau surged to the rim as one, bursts of flame igniting around their talons.
Jaw tight, Lykor waved them off. One by one they hurled themselves from the ledge, wings trailing fire as they dove.
Pride sparked, then irritation smothered it. Apparently these half-feral soldiers could snap into formation when duty demanded it. Fall into rhythm. Into trust. Into flight.
He never would.
“That doesn’t mean you have to stay isolated,”Aesar said.“Not unless you keep choosing to.”
Lykor ignored him, eyes narrowing on Trella as she banked against the sun.
“ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?”he growled, scowling up at the dracovae wheeling above him.“I CAN’T EVEN COMMUNICATE WITH YOUR BEAST.”
“I had her trained before I manifested telepathy. You’ll survive.”
“SHE’S TEMPERAMENTAL.”
Aesar rolled his eyes.“Then you already have something in common.”
Lykor’s teeth clicked shut as he swallowed the curses crawling up his throat. He didn’t want to ride. Didn’t want to be carried. But worse than shame was being left behind while the others soared—unable to guard the one he couldn’t lose. So he’d borrow Trella’s wings and rise another way.
Even if it flayed his pride.
Lykor yanked at the flame in his chest, dragging the shift into his limbs as dragonsight sharpened his eyes. Scales shimmered down his arms, locking into place.Drawing one final breath, he fixed on the pale speck of Trella in the sky, and warped.
CHAPTER 3
LYKOR
The landing should have been cleaner.
Lykor reappeared from the warp too high, overshooting Trella in the sky by twenty spans. A rogue wind shear hurled him sideways into a spiral, the earth yanking him down.
But Trella caught him.
He slammed into the saddle flat on his back, pain detonating in a jolt that ripped the breath from his lungs.
Tucked back into their mind, Aesar snorted. Then—uninvited—he slipped through their limbs, hauling them upright on the leather ridge with a precision Lykor didn’t possess. Fastening straps. Tucking heels. Rebalancing weight.
“I WAS GETTING TO IT,”Lykor muttered, wincing.
“Obviously.”
Aesar chuckled, patting Trella’s feathered neck as he crooned something nonsensical to her. Trella trilled in response, wings sweeping wide.
Aesar had been restless all week, starved for wind, for open sky. Flying the dracovae ranked among the few indulgences Lykor let pass unchallenged. Letting him lead here cost nothing—except the illusion of control.
