Chapter 11
Eleven
L avender and rosemary lingered faintly in the air. Alaire blinked away the fog in her mind as it finally cleared.
Relief flooded her when she noticed her airways had stopped spasming; her breathing was even. Gradually, the clinical whitewashed environment of the infirmary came into focus.
Across the room, her leathers hung on a hook, stiff with dried blood and grime. Her flimsy medical gown did nothing to ward off the chill, so she tugged the thin blanket up to her chest.
Tilting her head down and gritting her teeth, she tried to look at her chest. Her ribs protested sharply, and she bit back a curse.
A soulwarden, dressed in earth tones, walked into her cubicle. “How are you feeling?”
Alaire lightly ran her fingers over the dips in her ribs. “Terrible.” Her voice sounded raw to her own ears. She screwed her eyes shut as her bruised body screamed in protest.
“We relieved the pressure on your lungs while you were unconscious, but still need to attend to some of your other injuries.” He held his palms open. “If I may.”
She dug her hands into the sheets. The thought of a male’s hands on her unconscious body—even a soulwarden’s—made her skin crawl.
Alaire nodded brusquely. What other choice did she have?
The soulwarden stepped closer, murmuring incantations she couldn’t decipher while tracing intricate circles over her injuries. Her muscles instantly sagged in relief.
“Prince Knox insisted on staying.”
She jerked her head back. Dawson had stayed?
The soulwarden’s hands were cold as they briefly touched her throat.
“You’ll be sore for a few days, but everything will heal perfectly.” He pulled out a chamber from the small cabinet behind him. Attached to it was a mask with thin tubing. “Please breathe in when I push this button.”
“What is it?” She eyed it skeptically.
“It’s called epine. A gas will be released into the chamber that you’ll inhale through the mask. It will help relieve the remaining tension in your lungs.”
She nodded. At the push of the button, she inhaled deeply, breathing in from her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Tiny particles tickled her nostrils.
Instantly, her body felt lighter.
“Thank you,” she said when he removed the chamber.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, clucking his tongue. “You’ll be discharged shortly. In the meantime, rest.”
Finally alone, she rested her head back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. It still confounded her that elemental fae were valued enough to warrant an entire wing of soulwardens stationed full-time at Aeris Academy, while not even one could be spared for the human districts.
So many lives could be saved if they’d only share their resources.
Alaire wrinkled her nose; her leathers needed a good washing. She’d have no choice but to put them back on to make it to her next class on time.
She wrung her hands. Her classmates had seen her succumb to weakness. With the breathbind reliquary, she’d managed to keep attacks private in her dorm, and even then, they’d started to subside in frequency.
She couldn’t afford to show weakness. Couldn’t afford to be weak. Alaire covered her face with her hands.
Breathlock was a chronic condition—one she couldn’t control and that, more than anything, angered her most: its unpredictability and the paralyzing fear that struck at the onset of an attack.
Alaire swallowed down the rising emotions, smothering them back. Losing herself to them now would only further prove what she knew they all believed—that she didn’t belong here.
She needed to get back to class to show her peers that what happened at the Crux wasn’t enough to take her out.
Hopefully, this wouldn’t take longer than necessary.
Her arms erupted in goosebumps as she heard a familiar voice booming down the hall. “Which room?”
“Second on the left, sweetie.”
Sweetie? Her face scrunched. Who in all of Elithian would ever call Dawson sweetie? He was about as sweet as a hornet’s nest after you poked it with a stick.
She was biting her lip when the curtain was yanked open. Dawson stalked inside, his presence filling the small space. He stood at the foot of her bed, arms crossed, perpetual scowl firmly in place.
Gods help me. I must have imagined he could be anything other than infuriating.
“Why do you look like you just swallowed something sour?” Dawson asked, one brow arched.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she shot back, sitting up straighter despite the discomfort in her ribs. “What are you doing here, Knox?”
“Checking on you,” he replied, as if it were obvious. His dark hair was tied back from his face, exposing the regrettably sharp lines of his jaw.
“Oh, how kind. You’ve done your good deed for the day. You can go now.”
“Not before you realize you can’t go around being this reckless.”
“Reckless?” Her eyes narrowed. The sheer audacity of this male. “I didn’t call the match—Professor Hawthorne did. If you have any problems, take them up with him.”
He snorted, a humorless sound that set her teeth on edge. “I think we have different versions of what the term reckless means. I’ll admit your right hook isn’t completely hopeless.”
She opened her mouth to tell him where he could shove his compliments when he stepped closer, cutting her off.
“I spoke with Professor Leslie,” he said in a low voice.
Her stomach dropped. “And?”
“Seems we’re stuck together.” His forehead creased. “As partners.”
Alaire scooted back on the bed, feeling trapped.
“Professor Leslie made?—”
“No,” she interrupted. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t,” Dawson said flatly. “She seems to think this partnership will ‘challenge me to learn patience.’ And apparently, you’ll benefit from my ‘leadership experience.’” He said the phrase like it physically hurt him before adding, “Believe me, I tried to get out of it.”
“Seems like your negotiating skills need work. Some prince you are,” she snapped, arms crossed over her chest, hating how exposed she felt in her thin gown.
Dawson sighed. “After we didn’t return to class, we missed the rest of the assessment model.
Not only do we have to work together, but our fates are tied for the academic year.
If you screw up, it’s on me. If you get hurt, it reflects on me.
If you fail, I fail.” The muscles in his neck flexed.
“And I’m not about to let that happen. Not when I have one year left. ”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m responsible for preparing you for the upcoming trials.”
Her stomach twisted. So that was it. He stepped in not because he cared, but to save his own ass. Good . It was just the reminder she needed.
She straightened, lifting her chin, relying on her veneer of snark. “Is this your grand plan to stay close to me, Knox? Bold move. Too bad I’m not interested.”
“Doubtful,” he said. “You collapsed out there. I saw it.” His figure loomed further over her bed. “And you don’t have a choice—not if you want to pass Professor Leslie’s class.”
Partner with the prince or fail and be sent to the front lines? Right now, the vampires were sounding more appealing than this arrogant ass.
“I was fine,” she retorted. “The blow cut off my windpipe for a moment, that’s all.”
The corner of his lips pulled up slightly. “A blow? That’s your story?”
Was that a smile? But like a shooting star, it vanished before she could be sure.
“Believe what you want.”
“Fine.” He shook his head. “But things will only get harder from here on out.”
“I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”
Dawson looked at her—really looked at her—his gaze filled with something akin to pity. “You’re only human, Alaire. Flesh and blood.”
Only human .
The words struck like a physical blow. Her fists clenched as a flash of heat crept up her spine. Yes, only human: a body that bruised, lungs that gasped for air, muscles that burned and ached when pushed too far. She hated that her body had betrayed her, made her feel vulnerable even for a moment.
She swallowed thickly and rolled her shoulders back. “Scared I’ll drag down your reputation, Knox?” she teased, leaning closer.
He shook his head. “You’re obviously fine. I have things that require my attention.”
Alaire’s eyes glinted with challenge. “Oh? What’s so important?”
His gaze hardened. “That’s none of your business. Just keep your shit together, Aerendyl. Unfortunately for both of us, you’re my responsibility now.”
There it was—satisfaction at his frustration, a tiny victory in their constant push and pull.
“Fine,” she shot back, voice low and dangerous, “but if you want me to stay out of trouble, maybe you should tell your subjects to back off with the stares and taunts.”
Dawson lingered at the end of the bed, considering her for a moment. “I’ll see what I can do. Can’t make any promises.”
“How generous of you.”
“It is.” He stepped toward the threshold of the cubicle, then stopped, looking back at her. “You’re not what I expected, Alaire Aerendyl.”
Alaire went very still. “Meaning?”
He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then: “I thought you’d be…” Dawson gestured to her entire self.
“Grateful? Meek?” Her tone was ripe with sarcasm. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“No.” The word hung between them, thick with unspoken meaning. “Just surprised.”
Alaire’s eyes widened, caught completely off guard. The admission unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
“You didn’t.” The words came out rough. “Disappoint me.”
She studied his face, searching for the lie, the trick, and found none.
Alaire tipped her head to the side, curiosity edging her voice. “You’re not what I expected either, Dawson Knox.”
“Surprised isn’t the same as impressed,” Dawson pointed out, though his scowl softened.
“It’ll take a lot more to impress me, Knox,” she replied, her words lacking their typical bite.
Dawson turned away first, snapping the tension between them. “Stay out of trouble, Firework.”
“Only if trouble stays out of my way,” she called after him.