Page 72 of Wings of Destruction

I sag, gripping the edge of the white porcelain bowl. Finally I straighten and cut the water.

The man in the mirror’s reflection is tired and it shows.

My cheekbones have hollowed out and the smudges beneath my eyes will only deepen the more we burrow into this war, this role. Determination forces me to hiss out a breath, my nostrils flaring, and turn away. A change of clothes and a cat nap will work their usual miracles.

Astrid and I have more training tonight and a meeting with several students who show potential empathy to our cause. It’s always stressful to approach others, who may feel inclined to let Tristan know what I’ve said, if they want to get on his good side.

We may look similar enough to be brothers but no one in their right mind would choose to get on his bad side.

Get a grip on yourself, Mozi warns. Our work isn’t done.

And what is the dragon up to today while I paste on a happy face?

More important political maneuvers than you can imagine, young one.

I turn the corner and pull up short at the flash of gold against my pillow. My stomach drops.

Evie smiles, crooking a finger, leaning on her side in a nest of blankets. “Hello, Kieran.”

Oh Ether, not now. Not blasted ever.

You didn’t lock the door behind you?

Mozi chuckles in my mind like this is my fault alone, and he’s right, but his disappearing act leaves me alone in the room with a hungry predator. The glint in Evie’s eyes leaves no room to imagine anything other than her real motives.

I lean against the bathroom door with my arms crossed over my chest. “Yes?”

The hard tone doesn’t put her off. If anything, it incites Evie to more drastic measures, and I’ll have to be careful how I play this.

She bats those long black lashes at me, her lips slightly pursed, and pretty pink. “Come sit with me. I want to talk to you.”

She shifts and the motion sends her dress sliding off her thigh. The expensive material glides like silk in a soft shade of sunrise yellow to complement her skin tone. Her muscles are supple, soft, perfect.

Evie knows it.

She does nothing without understanding how it will work to her advantage, except when she’d slapped Morgan. That felt like an anomaly born of passion rather than logic.

“I’m comfortable where I am. What would you like to talk about?”

Unease flickers over her features before she schools them into a normal smile. “So many things.”

My stomach drops further than physically possible.

“Another time. I think you need to leave.”

Her brows draw together, and she pushes herself up into a half reclined position. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Then I’ll have to have you removed, and I’m sure neither one of us wants the notoriety that will bring,” I say.

There’s steel under my slightly mocking tone. This is the worst time for her to make a move. She sensed my weakness and punched.

Instead of listening, her grin turns indulgent. “You don’t have to play coy with me. We both know exactly where this is going.”

“Yes, with you leaving.”

My chest tightens. This is the last scorched situation I need to deal with.

Evie is gorgeous and competent. She is strong where it matters, intelligent enough to know when to move and when to freeze, and she comes from a noble family with deep ties to the kingdom.