Page 149 of Wings of Destruction

Did I make the right choice?

There isn’t enough distance between us for me to breathe easily. I push the nerves aside before they cloud my judgment and I say something terrible. There’s no point in engaging in this back and forth now. It’s one of those ridiculous and nonsensical things that does not get me any closer to a solution.

It doesn’t even make me feel better.

I force my attention into my chest to regulate my heartbeat. “What do you want?”

Once again, the fantasy of DragonSpear fills my head, the way I’d have acted if I’d arrived with my original acceptance letter in hand. Maybe I’d sit quietly across the dining table from Kieran and drink and eat with him, carefree.

I’d certainly try to flirt with him.

I wouldn’t give a single thought to whether he’d slit my throat in my sleep, which would be a mistake. I’d be one of Evie’s simpering friends who oohed and aahed over every tiny move Kieran made.

“Asking is beneath you.”

He glances down at the book but neither one of us moves to grab it.

Was it the right choice?

“Those books,” he adds, “aren’t ones you’d find in any library. I brought them from our estate at home and my personal collection. I’m sure you’ve already figured it out. Like I said. You’re well read. Aren’t you?”

“So?” I lift my chin.

He crosses his arms over his chest, and speaks harshly. “So, by all appearances, the book you were holding is another basic outline of tactics, and written by someone who has probably never been out in the thick of things.”

I’d thought the same on my initial read through but the notes in the margins were enough to keep me engaged.

“The author is more comfortable discussing opinions and speculation rather than anything of merit. Although the last time I cracked open the book, I found something interesting. Something that wasn’t there before.”

His eyes are pools, churning, not empty things but full of invisible dangers.

Dust motes dance in the last rays of sunlight streaming in through the windows. Several golden strands lose themselves in Kieran’s black hair. Night comes quicker these days and soon the dark hours will overtake the light.

Kieran maneuvers both, straddling the line like a traveler.

Alone, tension crackling between us, it’s easy to take him in almost clinically.

He’s taller than almost everyone in the class, and broad across the shoulder. The tight cut of his leather armor shows off his muscles, along with the leather straps that help connect him to his saddle when he’s on his dragon.

His face is sharp, the features too much for a contrast to be anything subtle.

I uncurl slowly, pulling free of my center without taking my eyes off of him. I don’t want to know what he’s found. He’s here for an answer, isn’t he?

“I’ll save you the trouble of having to convince me. No. I don’t want your deal with Harbi. It will always be no, no matter how many times you try to convince me.”

“What if I change the question?” he asks, cocking his head.

I can’t call his expression a smile. But there is something gleeful about his face.

“The answer stays the same,” I insist.

“Then you are a better liar than I thought because you have yourself convinced you’ve got the moral high ground. Really, you have nothing to stand on. You’re mired in quicksand and sinking fast.”

I clench my jaw when it threatens to wobble.

“Morgan.”

My name on his tongue snaps me back to attention and his intensity, his curiosity, skewers me.