Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 206625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 827(@250wpm)___ 689(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 827(@250wpm)___ 689(@300wpm)
I grin as the breeze rustles through the brown-to-silver strands.
Wait. There shouldn’t be a breeze.
My stomach drops as I push myself up on an elbow to look over Xaden’s shoulder. “Oh no, no, no.” My hand covers my mouth as I glimpse the destruction. “I’m pretty sure I blew your window out.”
“Unless there’s someone else throwing lightning around, then yeah, that was you. See what I mean? Explosive.” He laughs.
I gasp. That’s why he threw himself sideways, to shield me from my own wreckage. “I’m so sorry.” I scan over the damage, but there’s only sand on the bed. “I’m going to have to get that under control.”
“I threw up a shield. Don’t worry about it.” He pulls me back in for a kiss.
“What are we going to do?” Repairing a window is on a whole different level from replacing an armoire.
“Right now?” He strokes my hair back from my face again. “That was two, if we’re still counting, and I say we clean up, get the sand out of the bed, and get you to three, maybe four if you’re still awake.”
My jaw drops. “After I just shattered your window?”
He smiles and shrugs. “I’ve got us covered just in case you decide to take out the dresser next.”
I gaze down at his body, and the craving for him ignites again. How could it not when he looks like the gods blessed him and feels like the gods blessed me? “Yeah, let’s go for three.”
We’re going for five, my hips in Xaden’s hands while I slowly ride him, when I trail my fingers down the black swirls of the relic on his neck. I’m not sure how either of us is still moving, and yet we can’t seem to stop tonight, can’t get enough. “It really is beautiful,” I tell him, rising up only to sink back down again, taking him deep within me.
His dark eyes flare as his hands flex. “I used to think of it as a curse, but now I realize it’s a gift.” He arches his hips, hitting me at a sublime angle.
“A gift?” Gods, he’s robbing me of every thought.
Someone pounds on the door.
“Go the fuck away!” Xaden snarls, reaching up my back and hooking onto my shoulder to pull me down into his next thrust.
I fall forward, muffling my moan in his neck.
“I really wish I could.” There’s enough regret in the voice that I believe it.
“Someone better be dead if I get out of this bed, Garrick,” Xaden retorts.
“I think there’re a lot of people dead, which is why they’re calling the full quadrant to formation, jackass!” Garrick growls.
Both Xaden and I startle, our gazes colliding in shock. I slide off him, and Xaden covers me with his blanket before shoving his legs into his leathers and striding for the door.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks through a tiny opening in the door.
“Grab your flight leathers, and you’d better bring Sorrengail with you, too,” Garrick says. “We’re under attack.”
The inability to control a powerful signet is just as dangerous to a rider—and everyone in their vicinity—as never manifesting one.
—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant
(Unauthorized Edition)
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
I’ve never gotten dressed so fast in my entire life, and I’m not even bothering with the thigh sheaths. “What time is it?” I ask Xaden, pulling on my formal dress and slippers and blowing my hair out of my face.
Mandatory, urgent formation for the entire quadrant means now.
The wards are falling. How many Navarrians are we going to lose?
“Four fifteen.” He finishes lacing his boots, already armed to the teeth as I’m picking up my sheaths, pretty sure I’m missing one of them. “You’re going to freeze out there.”
“I’ll be fine.” I drop to my knees and locate the missing dagger, hauling it out by the strap of the sheath before standing again.
“Here.” Xaden throws one of his flight jackets over me, trapping my hair. “If Garrick’s right and we’re under attack, then my guess is they’ll order the older years to staff the mid-guard posts, so you shouldn’t be out in formation too long. I can’t stand the thought of you being cold.”
Which means he’ll be leaving.
My heart somersaults as I clumsily shove my arms through the sleeves of his jacket. He’ll be safe, right? It will just be a midland assignment, and he’s the most powerful rider in the quadrant.
With my hands full of weapons, I don’t argue about him buttoning the flight jacket over my chest.
“We have to get to formation.” His hands cradle my face. “And if I have to go, then don’t worry. I’m sure Sgaeyl will drag me back in a few days.” He leans in and kisses me hard and quick. “Wanting you will be the death of me. Let’s go.”
The best thing about a war college in complete and utter chaos? No one notices when I slip out of my wingleader’s room and into the sea of riders, all tugging on their own clothes to get to formation. Everyone is running on adrenaline, too busy getting their shit together to notice what I’m doing or the brief touch of Xaden’s hand against mine before he heads toward leadership gathered near the dais in the courtyard.