I pull my glove off with my teeth, lick the pad of my thumb, and draw it over the wound. It’s something Alpha dragons do for their hatchlings and their mates, and Maledinni Alphas do the same for their young and their mates. I have seen it a hundredtimes among the flare, but I have never had the chance to try it myself.
Instantly, her wound becomes less red and swollen, and a moment later, the bleeding ceases. Satisfaction and pleasure bursts through me as I realize it worked.
I lick her blood off my thumb so that it doesn’t stain my riding clothes. Gods, that’ssweet. How is it that her blood tastes so sweet? For a moment I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I’ve only ever tasted my own blood when someone has split my lip in a fight, and it was salty and metallic. Nothing like Zenevieve’s heady sweetness.
My dragines throb in my mouth.
I breathe hard, gripping Zenevieve’s hand tightly. The urge to pull her into my arms and fly away with her on Nilak is almost overwhelming.
Alarm bells are ringing in the back of my mind. There’s something strange here. Something I’m missing. It’s hovering at the edges of my awareness, fluttering just out of my reach.
“Stesha?” my ward asks hesitantly, and I realize I’m gripping her hand too tightly.
The strange feeling ebbs away, leaving me hollow with confusion and a painful sense of loss. I blink and look around. The mountainside. The destroyed phylactery. All the trainees who I must protect. We have to get out of here before the lich returns. I wonder if I have a rut coming on and that’s why I feel so odd.
“Are you all right to fly home on Minta?”
“I’ll be fine. Look, I’m all better already.” She smiles up at me. After a moment, she adds, “You look so handsome up here in the snow. All this white makes your eyes look so blue.”
I’m still holding her hand, and my thumb is drawing circles on her palm by the healing cut. All this white makes her black hair look as dark as night, and her green eyes sparkle.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Emmeric watching us with a nasty expression, and I’m filled with an ominous feeling. Turning my head, I stare at him until he looks away.
The second prince is biding his time. Waiting for a sign of weakness. To do what?
I squeeze Zenevieve’s hand. “Fly safe. Don’t get left behind.”
7
Zenevieve
Emmeric is in a strange mood when we return to the dragongrounds. He lingers by Shar, and for once, he’s not doing or saying anything nasty.
As I pass him, he says, “Did you see the magic that sorcerer could cast? What incredible power.”
Emmeric almost sounds envious. Respecting our enemies is one thing, but it sounds like Emmeric admires the sorcerer that nearly killed us and our dragons. “I saw enough to know that I’m glad he’s dead.”
“I wonder…” the prince says dreamily.
“What do you wonder?”
Emmeric turns to look at me, and his expression sharpens with dislike. “I wonder if it makes the dragonmaster sick, the way you’re always fawning over him.” He mocks me in a high-pitched voice. “Ooh, you’resohandsome in the snow, dragonmaster.”
I feel myself turn bright red. “I do not fawn. We’re friends. It’s normal to say nice things to your friends.”
I should have been more careful not to talk fondly to Stesha where Emmeric could overhear, but he looked so good against the white snow with his hair teased by the wind and his white cloak billowing around him. I don’t really think of Stesha as a friend. First, he was Grandfather’s apprentice, then Father’s friend, and more recently, my guardian. But that’s what he is, not how I feel about him. What I feel is that I’m never close enough to Stesha. I want more, and that wanting is getting sharper every day.
Emmeric steps closer, looming over me with an evil smile on his face. “Do you wish all your friends would knock you on your back and split you in two? Are we friends, Zenevieve?”
I stumble backward, but just before his body slams into mine, he veers away from me, laughing as he walks off. My face burns even harder, and there’s a strange churning in my belly. Split me in two? What does he mean, split me in two? That sounds painful, but I have the idea that he’s not talking about his sword. Not a literal one, anyway. I’ve heard Alphas talk about their “weapons,” followed by laughter from their friends, and I think they’re referring to their mating organs.
Before we moved to Lenhale, Mother told me that she hoped I would marry an Alpha because Alphas father the strongest children, but she warned me that Alphas have particular needs and can be demanding mates. I wasn’t listening very closely because I was probably thinking about dragons. I watch Stesha dry melting snow from Nilak’s scales while thinking about him being a demanding mate. Demanding how? With his voice? With his kisses? With his body? My face burns as I imagine the possibilities.
I have to endure fresh taunts ofdragonmaster’s petfor weeks after the other trainees witnessed Stesha running to myaid over a small cut, right after the crown prince’s hand was engulfed in dragonfire. I don’t care. It’s not as though being reminded that I’m Stesha’s favorite hurts my feelings.
When I turn seventeen, the attention I’ve been receiving from men seems to double overnight. The only time I can find peace is when I’m with Stesha, because no one but friends approach me when I’m with him.
I do try to take an interest in the dragonriders and members of the City Guards who bring me gifts of toffee or ask me to go on walks. All the Beta girls around me are happily kissing, touching, and practicing mating with just about anyone who catches their attention. I envy them sometimes. They seem happy. But within moments of a young man approaching me, I’m silently cataloging all the ways he doesn’t measure up to the man I most admire. They fall drastically short of the dragonmaster. I search myself for that warm, fuzzy feeling that Stesha gives me when he presses a kiss to my brow, calls me Zen, tucks my hair behind my ear, or any of the dozens of things he does that are just for me. But no one makes me feel like Stesha does.
