Page 31 of Wings of Destruction

He tracks the movement and then looks away, a mottled flush creeping to the top of his collar.

“You’ll have to forgive my cousin, darling,” the blond man drawls. “It’s been so long since he’s felt a woman, he doesn’t know what to do anymore. If you want someone with true skill, then you’ll have better luck with me.”

“If by luck you mean I’ll have a chance to rip your intestines out through your navel, then yes. Please,” I say sweetly.

One of the children sobs, the sound muffled, no doubt by a well-meaning elder. The last thing we need is another eruption from the soldiers. They’re practically itching for a reason to hurt us.

The blond’s jaw twitches, hiding his sneer.

“I’d give you the opportunity to try.” He flashes me a lecherous smile I feel in my bones.

The invisible noose around my neck tightens.

“It’s a miracle you’ve managed to do so well in your career, with your attention fixed on women.” The dark-haired man’s voice is even.

He vibrates, though, restraining himself, forcing his body into stillness.

“Is there anything better?”

The blond leers at me, and I clamp down on the cold feeling in my chest. I need to hold on a little bit longer.

For another moment, no one speaks. The sunlight casts long shadows across the cave floor and the walls echo with the sounds of crying. Soldiers freeze in their lines, their weapons leveled at my ragtag group of survivors. They wait for the single word to crank their keys and spur them into action.

The dark-haired man hums low in his body, and I turn at the noise. He’s staring at his cousin with an expression cold enough to freeze a bonfire.

He’s a mess of dichotomies, warring emotions and expression. At turns he’s unfeeling and stern. He’s the black cloud of destruction scalding a path across a killing field.

Then there are times where he looks at me and a bit of the mask slips. The glimpse of the man beyond it intrigues me in ways he shouldn’t, because there is tenderness in his attention.

I’m imagining things.

I’m wound tight enough to break like a mandolin string.

“You’re wasting time, Tristan. This one needs to pay for her insolence. Doesn’t she? DragonSpear will be the perfect place for her to meet punishment and free us up to do our duties to General Ryson.”

The name strikes something inside of me and catches.

The one on the dragon… the pale thing, with its glinting golden rider.

That’s the man they speak about, the one they serve, the one who killed my mother and sister.

My lips are chapped and peeled as I run my tongue along them again. Dirt cakes beneath my fingernails. Those things don’t matter if my body doesn’t belong to me. Neither does my future.

It’s being tossed like a ball between these two, one bright, one overcast, and I have no idea which one of them is the lesser of evils.

The dark one is unfeeling, and I absorb his tremble through the fingers wrapped around my upper arms.

His gaze is trapped on his cousin but the warning of danger lodges inside my chest. I cast a glance over his shoulder to the way the blond shifts from foot to foot, his shoulders still tense.

Something quiet and strained passes between them.

“Even you can’t find fault in my reasoning, Tristan.”

I hate the way the man speaks. I hate the way his skin smells up close, like blood and midnight and something spicy. I hate how my mind tries to put a name to the scent like I’m trying to figure him out rather than find a way to flee.

“I’m not sure what you’re exactly suggesting, Kieran, but I admit, I’m eager to hear it.” Blond splinter-wit cocks a hip and crumples one piece of my acceptance letter in his grimy paw. “You know I’m always open to new forms of punishment.”

Yeah, he looks the type.