Page 88 of Wings of Destruction

This is nothing I ever thought for myself, that’s for sure. If I dream hard enough, then I catch a whiff of clover warmed by the sun, mixed with the scent of warm horse flesh. And in the back of my mind there’s the thunder of hooves punctuated by a happy neigh.

In my dreams, I’m a rider, chosen by one of the most powerful unicorns the herd has ever seen, even more powerful than Himself.

I never wanted to lead but now the desire is there, like a crystal suddenly seeing the light of day for the first time after an eruption in the earth. Maybe it’s been there the entire time and I buried it too deep to notice.

If I led, if I actually did something to deserve this pendant around my neck as the firstborn instead of Elspeth, then I’d launch an attack on General Ryson. I’d launch a systematic takedown until he fell in front of me and died at the point of my unicorn’s horn.

What would the owner of the notebook have to say about that? If the author had more than the smallest inkling of what I am and what I want to be? Would he or she be so easy with their answers if they knew?

I sniff and adjust, stealing a semblance of comfort on the floor.

The author might be a woman for all I know. Either way, I can’t get the messages out of my head. The responses came quickly, within a day of my last round of questioning.

I appreciate those thoughtful notes.

Fantasies fill my head in the cozy softness of half sleep until the pounding rush of a shower pushes me violently out of sleep.

Where am I?

I shift and wince when my muscles protest, frozen too long in an uncomfortable position. The cold floor leaches into me and I slowly stretch out my legs with a swallowed curse. Then the full impact of the situation strikes me like a blow to the head.

I fell asleep. And now someone’s here. Showering.

Someone is naked a few feet away from me. I’d stashed the cleaning supplies, and they hadn’t seen anything, thinking they were alone and letting down their guard in one of the most vulnerable ways.

Adrenaline pushes a flood of panic into my head and whips things around.

I roll to my hands and knees with a grunt, keeping low. I’ve got to get out of here and make some kind of excuse to Mrs. Milkin about why I didn’t finish the job. Or start. She’ll never listen to me but it’s better to try than to let it get ahead of me and have someone else tattle.

There’s only one way out.

I can’t think, can’t focus.

The curl of my braid drags along the floor as I crawl and a moment later, a deep voice echoes, muttering words I can’t distinguish over the pulsing water.

Ether curse it all.

I stop where I am, the curse a hiss on my tongue. A bitter tang fills my mouth. One way out and it’s past the shower and the person on the other side of the gauzy partition.

Creeping past the shower is the task of my life. I latch my attention on the floor as the rushing pulse of water grows steadily louder. My heart thunders in my chest.

No, no, this is bad.

This is what happens when you let your guard down and fall asleep in places where you definitely don’t need to be sleeping. Chastisements grow increasingly severe in my head, and I glance up to see if I’m anywhere close to the arch to the locker room yet.

Nope, not by a mile. But I am several feet away from the curtain drawn across the first shower.

A three-inch gap between tile and curtain shows a glimpse of tan feet standing in a puddle near the drain.

And if I arch my neck a little to the right⁠—

Legs. And…Void.

A line of male strength and curved flesh, water sluicing down through dark leg hair. I can’t look away. My gaze travels higher to the strong, muscled planes of his shoulders.

The voice shifts into a hum and a song I can’t place even if I thought about it. The individual pieces of my brain drift apart.

The man drops his head back, scrubbing long fingers through strands of nearly black hair.