She grimaced.Okay, okay, I won’t think about anything, just you.
A soft chuff rumbled through him, quiet, rough, full of something she couldn’t name.
Ash shut her eyes, praying she wouldn’t blow this.
Chapter
Thirty-Two
D-Day minus one,Ash thought wryly, her fingers tingling as Race studied the trunk she’d just scorched.
Yesterday had been storm-summoning. Today, working her lightning.
The cozy night with her dragon felt like a distant memory. Race drove her harder in training, his jaw tight, movements precise. When her lightning struck true for the third time, splitting a massive trunk, he barely nodded before calling for another round.
“Again,” he called, his voice gravelly as he stepped back.
The space between them felt wrong, like an itch she couldn’t scratch. But before she could ask him, Skaldr arrived, wearing only trousers and carrying two massive sacks.
Attor joined them, clad like Skaldr. “Now to cart these off to Talonhold.”
Race nodded, his attention shifting to the mission.
“Attor, help Ash with her training,” he said and followed Skaldr into the cave.
Ash frowned, staring at the entrance. She mind-linked with him.What’s wrong?
Nothing’s wrong.A flood of warmth flowed through their bond, soothing and tender.There is a lot to prepare. Can’t leave anything to chance.
Yeah, she knew that. But her gut continued knotting with unease.
“Ready, lass?” Attor asked.
“In a minute.” Ash hurried into the cave as Skaldr walked out. She stalked straight to where Race was examining the crate of explosives.
“What’s going on, Race?” she demanded, and he straightened from the containers. “You are here, and yet I feel the distance. What’s wrong?”
“Ash…” He cupped her face, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. “You worry too much. We’re going into war.”
“I know that.” She grasped his wrists, searching his face, wishing she could pinpoint what it was. “And I understand, honestly, I do, but?—”
He caught her mouth in a kiss that was pure hunger, desperate and wild, but then he broke away, all too fast, leaving her breathless and reeling. “Practice with your weapons. When I return, we’ll work on your storm powers.”
Inhaling a shaky breath, trying to calm down, Ash watched as Race picked up one of the crates and dematerialized to Talonhold House, since he was the only one who could move them unseen.
And he’d avoided answering her question.
An hour later, after choking down another serving of gamey roasted hare—courtesy of Attor—Ash continued her weapons training.
The older shifter leaned against the cave’s outer wall, arms folded, his encouraging grunt punctuated by the whistle of her flying dagger. More than anything, she needed to hear a voice, to talk to someone, and not let the silence overwhelm her.
“So, you’ve been with the Resistance since the beginning?” she asked Attor, squinting and aiming for the trunk again.
“Aye, lass. It’s been too long.”
She could understand that. “And your mate?”
At the flare of pain in his face, remorse twisted her gut.“I’m so sorry.”
