FORTY-SEVEN #2
Beside me, Thane dismounts and runs a hand through his damp hair. His gaze finds mine, evaluating and measuring.
“Better,” he says, his voice edged with approval.
I arch a brow. “Just better?”
He flashes that crooked smile of his I adore. “Would you prefer ‘not bad’ again?”
I make a face, but before I can fire back, Calryx interrupts with an unimpressed huff.
“If we’re finished, I require food. Unless I am permitted to eat the cows grazing in the fields we passed while practicing formations.”
“No. You know you can’t eat those cows.”
“It is a ridiculous rule. ‘No hunting within the boundaries of the capital or on farms.’ As though we are expected to care. We are dragons, for Guardians’ sake.”
I pat Calryx’s side, grinning. “Let’s get you fed before you start whining like a hatchling.”
Across the field, other dragons grunt and stretch, wings flicking and tails sweeping, restless and hungry. My stomach grumbles its wholehearted agreement.
She scoffs immediately. A burst of hot air blasts from her nostrils, whipping my braid loose.
“How dare you?” Her outrage rolls through the bond. “A hatchling?”
I laugh, reaching up to smooth my hair as she arches her neck, wings rustling in protest. Thane, still adjusting his gloves, glances between us.
“You keep pushing her like that, and one of these days . . . ” He lets the warning hang.
I arch a brow. “One of these days what?”
The corner of his mouth lifts as he fastens the final strap. “You’ll be walking back without your dragon.”
Calryx rumbles in clear agreement, her tail flicking a little too close to my legs.
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. She’d never.”
I turn to Calryx. She simply lowers her head until one brilliant emerald eye locks onto mine. Her pupil narrows, sharp and unblinking.
I hold her stare. The wind shifts, stirring the loose strands around my face.
I swallow. “ . . . Calryx?”
A single blink, slow and calculating. Another huff blasts me full in the face.
“You doubt me?” she says dryly, equal parts insulted and amused.
Thane chuckles under his breath. “You walked right into that one.”
He loops an arm around my shoulders, guiding me away. We walk together toward the dining hall, my arm slipping around his waist, fingers grazing the edge of his belt. Heat radiates through the layers of leather, familiar and reassuring.
“Those leathers look good on you.” His voice carries an undercurrent that sends warmth skimming beneath my skin.
Before my eyes, the warlord recedes, leaving only the man. The one who knows me better than anyone else. The one who shares my burdens, my secrets, and my bed.
His thumb brushes my shoulder once. Then his grip tightens ever so slightly, enough for me to feel the meaning behind it.
I offer him a demure smile. Without breaking stride, I let my voice slip through the bond, a whisper threading into his mind.
“Calm down, fire boy.”
His step falters for a fraction of a second, his gaze cutting to mine, sharper now. His reply is immediate, all velvet and flame.
“Hard to stay calm around you, Amara love. Not when you’re walking around in those leathers, showing every damn curve.”
His attention drifts down my body before returning to my face.
“And those daggers strapped to your thighs? Gods. You have no idea what that does to me.”
The heat in his voice slides through me, winding low in my belly. I feel it in the flush rising up my neck.
“This is your fault,” he continues, in a tone both smoldering and sinful. “Looking like that. Being this damn gorgeous.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to rein in the blush I know he can already feel through the bond.
Thane smirks. “Oh, now you’re quiet?”
I shove back at his presence with a mental nudge, feigned indignation masking the heat that’s still spreading through me.
“Behave, Warlord.”
“You first.”
A gust of wind kicks up dust as boots crunch over the field behind us as more dragons and riders land. When I glance back, I see Garrick, Jarek, and Rian running to catch up, the energy from training still evident in their strides.
Rian claps a hand against Jarek’s back, flashing a grin. “The squad’s tightening up. That was some of the cleanest formation work we’ve done.”
Garrick nods in agreement, his gaze flicking to me.
“And you.” He tilts his head, considering. “Impressive, considering you haven’t had as much practice time as the rest of us.”
I smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “Is that your way of saying you didn’t expect me to keep up?”
Jarek chuckles. “He means you’re holding your own, Amara.”
Thane’s arm remains draped around my shoulders, solid and warm. His fingers trace the reinforced stitching at my sleeve in an absent gesture that somehow feels anything but absent.
“She’s doing more than that.” His voice is quieter now, but the respect in it catches me off guard.
Garrick grins. “What can I say? I like being proven wrong.”
I feel Calryx shift behind me, her presence brushing against mine, smug. “Of course, she’s keeping up. She has me.”
I bite back a laugh. “Modest, as always.”
Her response is instant, smooth as silk. “Modesty has nothing to do with it. It is simply truth.”
“Calryx, I absolutely adore you,” I say, grinning.
A deep, satisfied hum rumbles through her chest, her approval settling over me like warmth from the sun.
Thane notices my wide smile, and he looks over his shoulder at where Calryx is still standing, stretching her wings. “Calryx?”
I’m still grinning when I respond. “Of course.”
His lips twitch, as though he already knows there’s no point in asking for details. “Figures.”
As we cross the field with Garrick, Rian, and Jarek, their voices weave around us. Conversations overlap as they replay maneuvers, debate who executed them better, and argue over which dragon showed more skill.
I study Thane. His expression gives nothing away, his attention fixed ahead. After a moment, curiosity gets the better of me.
“Do you and Xaroth not talk like this?”
His gaze shifts to me briefly. The answer comes first as a feeling through the bond, measured and deliberate, as though he’s weighing the words before speaking them aloud.
“Xaroth isn’t like Calryx.”
He glances back towards his dragon, his massive obsidian form cutting through the morning light like a moving shadow.
“He was built for war. His last rider was a warrior too.” His mouth quirks at one side. “Xaroth is basically the epitome of what you call a broody moody Warlord.”
I laugh softly, immediately seeing the comparison between Xaroth and Thane.
“Not so moody anymore,” I counter.
“Because of you,” he says into my mind, his eyes softening.
Then he looks back at Xaroth. I follow Thane’s gaze. Xaroth moves like a weapon drawn, every motion controlled and economical. A creature that wastes nothing. Not breath. Not energy. Not thought.
It explains a lot.
Thane exhales, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Dragons have their own minds, their own preferences, their own perspectives. They aren’t just reflections of their riders. Calryx is playful. Headstrong. Xaroth is . . . precise. Purposeful.” He shrugs. “He doesn’t talk unless it matters.”
“And what matters?” I ask, curious.
Thane glances up for a moment, considering before he answers. “Battle. Orders. Decisions worth making. He doesn’t waste words.”
I glance back at Xaroth. No, he definitely doesn’t seem like the type.
Calryx snorts in my mind, thoroughly unimpressed. “Xaroth can be dreadfully dull.”
I smother a smile.