Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
“Ah. I see.” If Aetos gets any redder, I’m afraid he might pop. “And with the negotiations wrapping up this afternoon, I expect you and Lieutenant Tavis to be joining the Eastern Wing as ordered, so there won’t be any need to remind you that commissioned officers aren’t readily welcomed within the quadrant, nor encouraged to fraternize with cadets. The leniency you enjoyed this fall will not be extended under my watch.”
No. My heart sinks. Xaden won’t be allowed to come and go as he pleases like he did in Aretia, which means we’ll be separated. And on the border, there’s every chance he’ll have to pass beyond the wards, where his access to magic won’t be limited.
“I doubt Sgaeyl would agree,” Xaden warns in a tone that reminds me just how little guilt he feels when it comes to killing enemies who get in his way.
“Your dragon is always welcome in the Vale. You’re simply not welcome in the quadrant.” Aetos’s focus snaps to Garrick. “You and Lieutenant Riorson will depart by tomorrow afternoon for the Eastern Wing as ordered.”
“As General Melgren ordered,” Garrick responds with a slight nod. “Seeing as we’re under his chain of command. Or at least I am.” He glances back at Xaden. “Not sure about His Grace over here, since it’s been a few centuries since any sitting member of the Senarium has worn black, but I’m pretty sure he commands Tyrrish forces now.”
Xaden doesn’t deign to reply.
“I don’t care who orders whom as long as you get out of my war college.” Aetos straightens his lapel. “For the rest of you, classes resume tomorrow.” His gaze finds mine and lights with nauseating cruelty. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you, seeing as my belongings are currently being delivered to the commanding general’s quarters. Have to say, there’s a lovely view from the personal office.”
The comment hits as intended, and my chest threatens to crumple at the thought of Aetos living in the space Mom and Dad used to share.
Brennan straightens to his full height, and Aetos backs away with a smile, disappearing into commons.
“I fucking hate him,” Ridoc says, rocking forward and putting all four legs of his chair on the floor. “How did Dain turn out halfway normal with that prick as a father?”
“Language,” Maren hisses, though I doubt the boys heard her, considering they’ve both nodded off.
“He had ours, too,” Brennan replies to Ridoc.
“Until he didn’t,” I mutter.
“Is she mended?” Xaden asks without bothering to look at Brennan, his eyes locked on mine.
“She is,” I note with a smirk, then bend my knee damn near painlessly.
“No pain?” Brennan asks, swiping the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead as he looks at me.
“Nothing more than usual.” I flex the joint again. “Thank you.”
“Get out,” Xaden orders without looking away, but I’m more than aware he isn’t talking to me.
Everyone stills.
“Let me rephrase,” Xaden says slowly. “Everyone get out now. And close the door.”
“Good luck, Violet,” Ridoc calls back over his shoulder as Rhi pushes him out the door with the others, Maren and Cat carrying the twins, and in under a minute, I hear the distinct click of the door shutting.
“You can’t seriously be angry with me,” I start as Xaden surges off the wall, coming at me with the force of a hurricane. “You’ve never once begrudged my autonomy”—he reaches over me, takes my hips in his hands, and yanks my ass to the edge of the table, turning me to face him—“and I’m not going to tolerate you starting now. What are you doing?”
He grasps the back of my neck and slams his mouth against mine.
You might be angry when you realize I didn’t wake you to say goodbye. But it’s only because I no longer fully trust my ability to walk away.
—Recovered Correspondence of His Grace, Lieutenant Xaden Riorson, Sixteenth Duke of Tyrrendor, to Cadet Violet Sorrengail
CHAPTER TWELVE
Oh. Oh. I part my lips, and he consumes my world.
He kisses me hard and deep, takes my mouth like this might be the only time he can. It’s that note of desperation, the graze of his teeth along my lower lip that has my hands flying to his hair. I push my fingers through the dark strands and hold on for dear life, pouring everything I feel into the kiss.
Heat and need collide low in my stomach, coiling tighter with every stroke of his skilled tongue. He hasn’t kissed me like this since before the battle at Basgiath—not even in our bed, and gods, I’ve missed it. It’s as carnal as sex and as intimate as waking in his arms.
My heart pounds, and I part my knees. He fills the space and kisses me deeper, bringing our bodies flush but nowhere close enough to satisfy either of us. His fingers tunnel through the lower portion of my braid, and he tilts my head, finding that perfect angle that makes me whimper mindlessly.