Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The following morning, I wait outside the stable as dawn creeps across the sky, the rising sun banishing the darkness away to herald a new day. Out here, I spot no signs of life. No alicorns are out in the paddock yet, and no gorgeous, moody instructor.
Leaning against the wall, I yawn and rub my eyes. Last night was rough after the dragon died. I slept fitfully, waking from more than one dream with a start, consumed with an inexplicable sense of doom. Morning came far too quickly.
Moments pass, then minutes…still no Instructor Thorne.
Did he forget our lesson? Oversleep?
That bastard better not be sleeping in after I hauled myself out of bed . If he stood me up, I’m marching straight back to my room to nap before breakfast.
My mind conjures an image of his face from last night and how sorrowful he appeared prior to ending the dragon’s suffering with an icy spear, and my ire drains. If anyone deserves to sleep in this morning, it’s him. Well, him and Instructor Dawson. I remember how he squeezed her hand and wonder if they slept in together. My stomach churns, and my irritability rises once more.
An alicorn whinnies, and someone murmurs in response. I take a tentative step inside the stable and halt, my heartbeat accelerating.
Thorne’s already here.
Instead of his standard uniform top, Thorne’s sporting a thin white shirt that fits snug to his body and accentuates the impressive muscles hidden underneath. His back is toward me, so he doesn’t see me as I edge closer and watch him bend over to run a hand down an alicorn’s leg. The dark bay creature Nick rode in class the other day lifts the limb Thorne touches, allowing him to cradle her massive hoof in his palm.
Mouth dry, I get an intimate view of my instructor’s very hard, incredibly fine, ass.
Stop staring. Look at something else. Anything but that.
My attention remains glued to the current view. Yet again, I wonder if all that seclusion during my formative years turned me into a lust-addled fool who fixates on the nearest hot guy. Olive and Leesa would both snicker and tell me there’s nothing wrong with that, but I disagree. Something is very wrong when I can’t stop myself from ogling my flight instructor.
Keep it up, and I’ll need to classify ogling as my new hobby.
With more effort than I’d care to admit, I wrestle my attention off my instructor’s backside and focus on the metal tool in his hand. It has a dull hook on one side and small brush on the other, and Thorne uses the hooked end to pick at a foreign object lodged in the hoof.
The alicorn jerks her head, tensing as the metal hits a sensitive spot.
“Easy, Solara. You’ll feel better once the rock is out.”
As if soothed by his throaty rumble, Solara stills, allowing Thorne to gently pry out the stone. He frees the offending rock and tucks it into his pocket before easing the alicorn’s hoof to the ground and straightening to rub her neck.
The alicorn nickers, nudging his shoulder with her muzzle.
I’m rooted to the spot, transfixed by this peek at my crabby instructor’s tender side. A side that, until this moment, I didn’t realize existed. My heart softens, and I chastise it for acting like such a wimp. So what if Thorne treats animals with kindness and care? One admirable trait doesn’t excuse all those times he behaved like an utter jackhole.
I swallow, struck by the odd sense that I’m intruding on something personal. “Good morning.”
Thorne takes his sweet time turning around. When he does, my breath catches. The back view in the white shirt was nice, but the front view steals the show. The garment hugs his chest like it was specially tailored for him, highlighting every dip and ridge.
My gaze slides to the upper part of his stomach. Coasts a little lower. Just as it reaches the waistband of his trousers, Thorne clears his throat. My head snaps up, and warmth blooms in my cheeks.
Kill me now. Flighthaven’s grumpiest instructor caught me checking out his package.
A hint of amusement crooks up his lips, but that hint of mirth vanishes in the blink of an eye. Wearing an unreadable expression, he watches me without speaking. His intense eyes never leave my face. The scrutiny makes me squirm, and my blush grows, traveling to my neck.
As the moments stretch on without him uttering a word, my embarrassment morphs into irritation.
“What, are you giving me the silent treatment now? Very mature. Use your words, please.”
“I’ll give you three.” He raises his right fist and extends a single finger. “Pitchfork.” Another finger joins the first. “Stalls.” A third finger goes up. “Now.”
He growls the last word, and I wonder what in the hells I’ve done to piss him off this time.
Honestly, I should find this return to his usual asshole self a relief. Witnessing his softer side is too confusing by far…and tempting enough to be dangerous. Especially after last night.
The reminder of the dying dragon kills the snarky reply on the tip of my tongue. I’m too tired and sad to argue, and I bet he is too. No sense in aggravating him further. Instead, I answer with a nod.
I set to work, starting with Solara’s empty stall. The pitchfork rubs against my skin, irritating the blisters that already dot my fingers and palms. I do my best to ignore the pain that grows with each stall. I’m on the fourth stall when a splinter in the wooden handle snags and tears a blister. The burst of red-hot pain makes me suck in a sharp breath and drop the offending tool.
“Let me see it.”
I flinch, glancing up to find myself face-to-face with my instructor. “See what?”
“Your hand.” He grasps my right wrist and inspects my palm with the same gentleness he used on Solara. “Why didn’t you tell me your hands look like they got in a fight with a meat grinder?”
I shrug, my temper flaring. “I don’t know what a fight with a meat grinder looks like. Besides, isn’t this part of why you have me working here? To teach me a lesson? To make a high-and-mighty noble suffer through hard labor? I figured any wounds I incurred would make you happy.”
His breath hisses between his teeth. “No, Duchess. The sight of your bleeding hands doesn’t make me happy at all. And I already told you that mucking out the stable isn’t a punishment.”
“Why have me do it then?”
“Because I’m hoping that repeated exposure to alicorns in a safe setting will help you get over your fear faster!” He pinches the bridge of his nose and tips his head back as if struggling to regain control. “I know someone who used to be terrified of horses. One reared up and kicked him in the chest as a child, and after that, he refused to go near them. When he decided he needed to get over his fear, we started him out by watching horses from a distance. Once he was comfortable with that, we shrank the distance until he was able to touch them without panicking. Eventually, he was able to ride.”
Chagrined, I rub the back of my neck. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh .”
My conscience stings. “Now I feel like an ass.” He lifts his eyebrows as if in agreement but says nothing. “Do you really think it will work?”
He shrugs. “Won’t know until we try.”
“Wait…you said your friend started from a distance. Why do I have to touch and mount the alicorns already if slower is better?”
“Because, Duchess, we don’t have the luxury of time. You can only skip class so often before your classmates start to suspect, and if you think the hazing is bad now, imagine how much worse it would get if someone like Durand found out. More importantly, I’m trying to get you ready to fly for the upcoming trial, which can be dangerous for even the most skilled flyers. So the quicker you get over your fear, the less likely we’ll be scraping you off the ground.”
My eyes widen. During our meeting, Bigley mentioned an upcoming trial. I can’t believe I forgot. “When is it again?”
“A little less than five weeks.”
Why his answer disappoints me is anyone’s guess. I already knew. Bigley told me. Only, five weeks will be cutting things close. What happens if I haven’t found Leesa by then? Will I leave anyway to avoid the trial? Or will I stay and pray that no one has to scrape my broken body off the ground, as Thorne so delightfully detailed.
“Let me get a look at your hands.”
“They’re fine.”
He peels back my fingers to inspect the raw flesh. “They’re not fine.”
“I’ll find some gloves for tomorrow.” I tug my hand free from his grip. “I’d better finish.”
“You’re the most stubborn…”
He stalks out of the stall. I can’t make out the rest of his tirade, but I’m pretty certain he swears a few times.
Shaking my head, I pick up the pitchfork, wincing as I resume cleaning. Moments later, footsteps thud in the aisle, and Thorne reappears beside me. “Put that down.”
His barked command has me bristling. Ignoring him, I continue to scoop the soiled straw.
“I see that listening isn’t one of your strong points.”
Narrowing my eyes, I spin to face him. “I see that using manners isn’t one of yours.”
His jaw flexes. “Put that down… please .”
The please sounds strangled, like someone wrenched it out of him against his will. I wonder when he last used the word. Taking my time, I make a show of propping the pitchfork against the wall. “Did that hurt?”
Nostrils flaring, Thorne closes the distance between us. My nerves shriek a warning, and I back away until I bump into the wall.
“Five minutes.” His low voice is menacing as he cages me by planting his forearms on either side of my head. He leans close to my ear and whispers. “I just need you to shut that annoying mouth of yours for five minutes. Think you can handle that?”
He’s standing so close that his minty breath grazes my skin. The heady scent of leather and soap assaults my senses, and I can feel his body heat. This little display of dominance should frighten me or piss me off. What it shouldn’t do is tempt me to push off the wall until our bodies press together and drag his head down until our lips touch. It shouldn’t generate an explosion of tingles all over my skin or ignite a fire deep in my belly.
My body needs to quit rebelling against my brain.
Tension crackles between us. I start to reply, think the better of it, and nod instead. He steps back, and an initial flare of disappointment gives way to relief. Better that he moves now. Before he realizes the effect he has on me, and I’m forced to spend the rest of my days hiding in a deep hole.
“Good.” He reaches into his pocket, produces a small tin, and pops off the lid. “Hold out your hand.”
I hesitate. After my attitude, I’m half afraid he’ll rub salt in my wounds. “Why?”
Heaving a sigh, he scoops out a dollop of some kind of clear ointment, crooking his finger. “It hasn’t even been a minute.”
“Sorry.” The word is a whisper. Deciding I’d better obey, lest he lose his patience, I hold out my palm.
He rubs the salve on a blister, and I jerk. Hells. It’s like someone seared my palm with a hot poker. “Keep still. It’ll feel better in a second.”
While he tends to my hands, I study his face. His brow furrows in concentration as he works. This close, the scar on his jawline is clearly visible, the white streak spanning about two inches. I wonder what caused the injury. A dagger? A claw?
A lock of loose hair falls in his face, and my greasy palms are the only thing stopping me from tucking the wayward strand behind his ear.
He reaches into his pocket again, pulling out gauze and bandages. “It’s rude to stare.”
My jaw drops. How can he tell? He’s not even looking at me. My gaze dips to watch him bandage me with efficient yet surprisingly gentle hands. “Have you dressed a lot of wounds? You seem to know what you’re doing.”
He hesitates for so long, I’m surprised when he responds. “I spent a lot of time traveling with soldiers, sometimes in remote areas. There wasn’t always a medic nearby, so I learned how to treat an assortment of wounds.”
“Do you ever miss your home?”
His throat bobs with the force of his swallow. “I do. I’ve been away a long time, and I can’t help but wonder how much I’ve missed over the years or how things have changed.”
My heart aches over the yearning in his voice. “Do you think you’ll get a chance to go back again soon?”
He hesitates. His gaze darts to my face before returning to the task. “I hope so.”
I place a bandaged palm on his arm and squeeze. “I hope so too.”
His eyes linger on my hand. His harsh features soften for an instant before a shadow crosses his expression. Straightening, he steps away again. “Finished.”
The extra distance between us loosens the tightness in my lungs a little more. I examine his handiwork and realize my hands no longer throb. “Thank you for the ointment. I’ll bring gloves tomorrow.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. I should have remembered to provide gloves to begin with. That’s enough cleaning for today. Your hands need a break.”
For once, his scowl doesn’t bother me. I don’t think it’s directed at me.
We reach the end of the aisle, where a saddled Zephyr waits.
“Ready?” Thorne asks.
I regard the alicorn like he might explode at any moment. “No, but let’s do it anyway.”
My flight instructor gives his approval. “Good answer.”
His big hands circle my waist and hoist me into the saddle with the same kind of effortlessness I’d expend to lift a cat. I tense and grab for the reins. Reaching for the lead, he unties Zephyr. As the alicorn takes slow, steady steps to match Thorne’s pace, I concentrate on breathing.
Stay calm. Nothing bad will happen. You can do this.
Thorne leads Zephyr through the stable, toward one of the paddocks. “So far, so good?”
“Sure. If your definition of good is me only considering flinging myself from the saddle every few seconds rather than every single one.”
“That’s still progress.”
“Right.” I search for a distraction. Anything to keep my mind off the giant winged beast prancing beneath me. “That dragon last night. What do you think happened? Was he old? I thought dragons usually lived hundreds of years.”
I regret broaching the topic when his expression darkens. “They do, and he wasn’t old. He wasn’t a juvenile, but I bet he wasn’t fifty years yet.”
“Was he sick? Are dragons susceptible to diseases?”
Thorne shakes his head. “Not usually, no. Something about their high body temperature seems to prevent most illnesses from taking hold.”
That eases the tension in my shoulders a little. At least I don’t need to worry that sickness might spread to the other dragons in the aerie. “What, then? What could cause a dragon to drop out of the sky?” Which, by the way, has done no wonders for my fear of flying.
Staring straight ahead, he rubs his chest. “That’s a very good question. I only wish I had an answer.”
Me too. The memory of that huge body, unmoving in the crater formed by the crash, cleaves my heart into pieces. Seeing any animal die like that would be upsetting, but somehow the fact that it was a dragon makes the pain so much worse. My extreme reaction seems odd, until I contemplate how the majestic dragons soar through the sky, and how their intelligence supposedly rivals a human’s. They mate for life, too, and take great care in raising their young.
I’m starting to understand Leesa’s obsession with them better. Maybe dragon lovers run in the Axton family.
“How did you know?”
The question pulls me from my reverie. “How did I know what?”
“That the dragon was still alive and suffering?”
“I mean, wasn’t it obvious?”
He pats Zephyr’s muzzle. “Clearly not to everyone, or else they wouldn’t have stood around with their thumbs up their asses.”
I frown, mentally reviewing the events. I ran up. Laid eyes on the dragon. Knew he was still hanging on. “I’m not sure. There was a lot going on, and with all the pounding in my head and the mass confusion, I can’t remember exactly what happened. I probably saw his chest rise or his eyelid twitch or something.”
He considers that for a moment, then nods. “Probably.”
His tone strikes me as a little off, but whatever. I’m too busy congratulating myself over the discovery that the distraction worked. We walked this entire time without me freaking out. Hope rises that I’ll get the hang of this soon.
Powerful wings start to unfurl beneath me, and my newfound confidence dissolves. I freeze and squeeze my thighs around the alicorn’s sides. “Holy hells. What’s he doing?”
“Take it easy. He’s just stretching his wings. I’ve got the lead.”
“Are you sure?” My voice rises by several octaves. “That felt a lot like flapping. Not just stretching.”
Zephyr’s silvery wings unfurl the rest of the way, the gleaming feathers catching the breeze and fluttering.
Panic claws through me.
He’s going to take off.
Without thinking, I fling my right leg over the saddle and jump.
Thorne catches me, grunting as our bodies make contact. Terror transforms into prickly awareness when I register the sensation of my breasts mashed against his firm chest. As his warmth surrounds me, my stomach clenches. Lust coils in my belly and steals my breath. Time stands still as his pupils dilate, the silence between us seething with unnamed desires. The tension binds us until Thorne snaps free with a jerk of his head.
He drops me like a flaming stick and puts space between us. Angling his face toward the ground, he walks Zephyr in a circle. “So are you ever planning on telling me why you’re so petrified of alicorns?”
Huh. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my flight instructor’s the one desperate for a distraction now. I nibble my lower lip, debating. I could tell him to mind his own business but that seems a little ungrateful. Annoying or not, he is helping me, and despite Mother’s paranoia, there’s no real reason to keep the event that triggered my fear a secret.
“When I was four, I was riding an alicorn with my father when we were attacked. My father was wounded, and I fell off the alicorn and almost died. My father saved me but succumbed to his wounds later.”
He stops abruptly, causing Zephyr to toss his head. “I’d be careful about who you share that story with. Who told you that? Your mother?”
“Partly, but I also remember bits and pieces. My father’s laugh….then screams. Fire. Falling.”
I shiver, goose bumps erupting over my skin like clouds blotting out the sun.
“Do you know what prompted the attack?”
My upper lip curls. “Nothing except for the brutality of the Tirenese. We were only one of several attacks that day, half of them on children. I try to keep an open mind toward Kamor and other kingdoms that come into conflict with Aclaris, but Tirene could go up in flames and I wouldn’t shed a single tear.”
I can tell my answer displeases him by how his jaw tics, but I don’t care. If he wants to judge me for loathing the kingdom responsible for my father’s death, he can be my guest. I don’t owe him or the Tirenese a damn thing.
He clicks his tongue and walks Zephyr toward the stable. “That’s enough for today.” When I try to trail his moody ass, he waves me off. “You’re free to go. I’ll return Zephyr to his stall.”
I watch him retreat for a few moments before walking away, cursing flight instructors with moods that change faster than a threatened chameleon changes colors. Whenever we’re forced to spend time in each other’s company, the highs and lows I experience in rapid succession give me whiplash.
Despite his infuriating personality, something draws me too him.
It’s the expression in his eyes when he gazes off into the distance. And how he seems closer to the animals in his care than any of the other staff.
Beneath that arrogant exterior, Sterling Thorne is lonely. I’d stake a year’s allowance on it.
Because if there’s one thing I’m an expert on, it’s loneliness.