Page 103 of Veiled

Ana elbows him hard, before turning to Sasha, “I…uhm…didn’t mean to. We’re so sorry!” Then she covers her face with both hands as her own cheeks turn pink. It’s fucking adorable.

“We aren’t,” I mutter, only loud enough for Ana to hear as I open her door and wait for her to climb in.

Matt excitedly claps his hands in the backseat. “This is fucking gold! I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall!”

“No,” Ana and I say at the same time, hers horrified, mine flat.

“Not with you guys! Ewww, sister, remember?” He rushes out in disgust. “I meant Sasha’s wall as she tried to sandwich her head between pillows or whatever she did to muffle the sounds.”

Sasha’s face drops. “Oh my gosh, why didn’t I think of that?”

Matt looks at her in shock, “Wait, are you telling us you didn’t try to drown it out? At all? Not even headphones?”

If possible, her face falls even more.

And Matt loses his mind. Full-bodied laughter. Bent over. Wheezing.

The ridiculousness of it hits, and within seconds, we’re all laughing, even crimson-faced Sasha while she’s shaking her head.

When I eventually catch my breath, I find Ana looking at me, eyes shining with mischief, embarrassment, and the afterglow I can still see on her skin. I pray to the gods right here and now that she’ll look at me like this forever.

As I pull off campus, I spot Matt in the rearview mirror, wiping tears from his eyes.

“I swear, there is something fundamentally wrong with all of us,” he says.

Chapter thirty-nine

Annalise

I’m beyond tired as I step into the infirmary for my first Combat Med rotation.

Since turning in our track selections a few weeks ago, our classes have only gotten more intense. Weapon drills, field exercises, dragon mounting and take-off training, and survival illusions. And whenever I’m not in class, I’m usually studying.

“You’re late, Recruit Corvin,” the stern woman with deep frown lines says as she shoves a clipboard into my hands.

“My shift doesn’t start for five more minutes?”

“But I’ve needed an extra set of hands for fifteen, so you’re late.”

This is off to a fantastic start.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” I say with a fake smile. How can I be failing before my shift has even begun?

“Healer Sara. Now, stay close. Don’t talk. And do not touch anything unless I tell you to,” she says, walking toward the treatment bays.

The first patient is half-sitting, half-slumped in bed, his chest wrapped in spelled bandages. His chart says he was accidentally shot in the chest by another Bravo recruit during a Vanguard exercise. Luckily, nothing vital was hit, but still, his chest is rattling with every breath.

Across from him, someone’s entire left side is bruised in a spectacular blend of plum and green. Leg elevated, ribs bound. His flight apparently ended with unexpected turbulence when the dragon he was riding chose not to catch him. They were already descending, so the fall didn’t kill him, but I would say it’s fair to assume they won’t be bonding.

“Don’t hover,” my instructor warns without looking back as we leave his room.

“I’m not hovering,” I mutter.

I’m absolutely hovering.

Walking into the next room, I can’t help but smile as I see Ian lying in the bed looking much cozier than any of our other patients so far.

He’s shirtless with fleece pajama pants sitting low on his hips. His left hand is wrapped, the layers of bandages much thicker than I’ve seen on any other patient.