He pulled her into him, wanting to explore her so fucking badly he could barely think straight. He wanted to run his tongue and teeth along every inch of her golden skin. Wanted to bury his hands in her hair, between her legs. Wanted to hear those soul-shattering noises she made when she came, the soundtrack to his very best dreams.
But she’d had a terrifying encounter tonight. He wouldneveruse her the way his brother had. A different kind of comfort was in order.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his breath stirring her curls against his neck.
“For what?”
“For seeing me for the fool that I was.” He kissed the top of her head. “For getting off that boat.”
She nestled in closer. “We escape together or not at all, remember?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Plant your Creator-damned feet!” Mireille shouted.
“I’m…fucking…trying!” Cassandra snarled back, swiping her feathers off her shoulder. High Gods, it was nearly impossible to spar with these wings.
Was nearly impossible to doanythingwith them.
They’d resumed training three days ago and this morning’s session had started with Cassandra teaching Mireille and Ronin a few poses from the Flow—those slow stretches accompanied by deep breathing that she’d loved performing as a Sister. A way to still her thoughts and awaken her muscles.
But when she’d tried today, she couldn’t keep her balance and had toppled into the dirt, dislodging a memory of Tristan doing the same in the Temple training yard.
She’d shoved down the vision—had been trying not to think about Tristan at all. She was on the edge of a precipice. If she pictured Tristan and Ione together, she’d plunge back into bone-deep despair and lose all the motivation she’d gained during her Kennel visit.
Mireille stabbed her practice sword in the dirt and swiped her wrist across her sweaty forehead. She grabbed Cassandra’s hips and angled her sideways.
Ronin called out from his position against the wall. “Your stance is still all wrong. Angle your body, left foot in front. When you thrust, put your entire torso into the movement, not just your arms.”
Mireille nodded, then stepped back as Cassandra planted her feet and tried again. “Better.”
“Now do the arc I showed you,” Ronin added, picking at his fangs with the point of a practice dagger.
“Must be fucking nice,” Cassandra grumbled, “standing against the wall and barking orders while the females do all the work.”
Ronin blew her a kiss.
Cassandra lifted the sword over her shoulder and sliced down across her body. It felt good—powerful—right up until her momentum slammed her wings against her back and she stumbled forward. A frustrated roar tore through her clenched teeth and she threw her sword to the ground. “This isuseless! I’m never going to be able to?—”
Mireille cut her off. “I know you’re frustrated and feeling like this is impossible. But if you give into those destructive thoughts, you’re never going to make any progress.” She slapped her hand onto Cassandra’s chest, right between her breasts, pressing wet, sweaty fabric against her skin. “Useit, Cass. Hone your anger into the sharpest weapon.”
Cassandra tore away, then stalked to the side table where Ronin handed her water bottle. “No offense to you both, but I need to be trained by someone withwings. It’s impossible for you to understand. I need to know which muscles to hold, which to relax, and when to do it. How to use the power and momentum of the wings themselves.” She shook her head, knocking back another sip. “I’veseenWindriders fight with them before. Especially—” She swallowed.
Stop being a baby, she scolded herself. What, now she couldn’t even say his name? If she ever got out of here, she might even have toseehim again, Amatu save her.
Her gaze bobbed between the two wolf bi-forms, wondering how in Ethyrios they were dealing with that agony. Forced into proximity despite the cleft between them.
If they could handle it, she could handle it. She tucked damp tendrils of hair behind her ears, put on her big girl mask, and said, “Especially Tristan.”
Mireille assessed Cassandra with a curious stare as Ronin twirled his dagger.
“I imagine it’s quite a sight to see an Imperial Prince turned Vestian Guard fight,” Mireille said.
“It’s incredible,” Cassandra answered, and Ronin grunted his agreement. “His wings act like a third set of limbs. Rooting him to the ground, knocking his enemies off-balance, swatting away weapons.”
Mireille bowed her head, dejected. “I wish I could teach you to fight like that.” She perked up. “What about Silas?”
“The half-human Windrider?” Ronin asked at the same time as Cassandra said, “I was thinking the same thing.”
