Page 87 of Ashborne: Defiance

He gave a shaky little chuckle. “I am the first to be surprised, Grace, that I have to say, yes. I really do.”

Then he met my eyes once more and suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

29. The Scent of You

~ VOSKI ~

From the moment we’d landed, my body grew tense and shaky. I thought I was nervous about reaching home. But the more I explained to her, the more we discussed her Acknowledgement, the harder it became to breathe. And when she gave that impassioned little speech, her naïve insistence that she would do anything necessary, my heart swelled because she sounded exactly like me when I’d first been Chosen.

Except, she was beautiful and soft and naïve. And about to walk into a Keep that, on its best day, was inhabited by hundreds of strong, competitive men. And even though I ranked with honor among them, I was still young. Still early in my career. I held some sway among the Furyknights. But most of my influence was in the shadows. Most Furyknights anticipated that I would grow into power, but didn’t know my greatest skills.

Assuming that somehow Donavyn had ended up back home, that he and Bren had somehow raised the banner and Vosgaarde wasn’t buried in a coup, Grace was about to enter the most harrowing, rewarding, and masculine environment she’d ever seen. Without exception.

The thought made me frown. I’d just watched Bren walk through this process, and while she met definite challenges, she’d come through shining. If anything, to my surprise, Grace seemed even more equipped for this work. She was beautiful and fearless and Chosen. So, why did I feel such caution for her?

Then it hit me that, when I walked her into the Keep, she wouldn’t initially be identified as a Flameborne, but as a woman.

When Bren arrived, it had been at the introduction of the dragons. And though she’d faced a great deal of resistance among the men, their first glimpse of her had been as someone Chosen, and under the protection of our general and battle commander. Whether they agreed or not, they’d had every reason to listen. And now, Bren had proved the skeptics wrong. She’d paved the way for the next woman.

I was so glad for my squad-sister, and especially proud of being part of helping her succeed. But she was my sister. She’d been broken and afraid from the moment she arrived—to the point of timidity. A trait that had never appealed to me in a woman. I’d never once looked at Bren and wanted her.

But Grace was an entirely different—very confusing—beast. All the refinement and softness of a noblewoman, yet possessing the adventurous nature and fearlessness of a soldier.

Hell yes, she’d be Acknowledged. I had no doubt.

Until this moment, I had been so focused on whether she could be trusted, and what we might walk into in Vosgaarde, I hadn’t considered what her Choosing meant, how her presence as a Flameborne would play out in our daily lives.

She would be surrounded by men. Very quickly, they’d see her courage. Her squad would sing her praises when she took her first flight, of that, I also had no doubt. And as her skill grew, so would her allure.

Femininity and strength in a woman among men was intoxicating.

In my mind’s eye, I could see her, striding across the courtyard in that cloak, chin high, and brow arched, daring any man to swear in front of her and…

No.

Leathers.

She’d be wearing leathers. Figure hugging, form-fitting dragonhide leather to protect her from flame and cold and…

I was frozen by the image in my mind’s eye—every curve revealed in gleaming leather, her golden hair set ablaze by sunlight and dark clothing. That flashing smile. Those sparkling eyes. Her laughter and—dear God, the clapping and bouncing when she was excited.

My throat went dry.

I blinked and tried to reframe.

She was brave, certainly. But also, innocent. Spoiled, and at times unaware of her impact on others, even if it was through ignorance rather than malice.

I made myself focus. Look at her. Remember why she was here.

Grace was curled, back rounded, wrapped in her cloak, half-sitting, half-reclining in the crook of her dragon’s foreleg. She stared at me, wide-eyed. Waiting for my approval. Waiting for my affirmation.

Waiting for me.

Our eyes locked and she stopped moving, mouth slightly open. Her tongue darted out nervously, but that only sent a pang of need jangling through me.

Suddenly, my mind’s eye wasn’t just full of her in leathers, but of her arched backward over my arm, the buttons on her leather jacket popped and my hand grasping the pliable leather and peeling it away to bare her—breasts full and round because she was goosebumped with arousal, her nipples hard, stimulated from rubbing on the leather—but then I replaced the unforgiving fiber with my hand, groaning when those little rivets played against my palm.

My breath roared as she pressed into the touch and breathed my name—