Page 125 of Fourth Wing

My pulse skitters.

Rhiannon steps back.

“You want to tell me why the fuck you’re not wearing that?” His tone is soft but deadly as he points toward the bench where my armor lies.

“I have to wash it at some point.”

“And you thought that would be a good idea duringsparring?” His chest heaves, like he’s battling to keep control of himself.

I’m just tryingnotto notice his chest or the heat he’s throwing off like a damned furnace. “I washed itbeforesparring, knowing it could dry while your guard dog keeps watch, as opposed to sleeping without it because we both know what happens behind locked doors around here.”

“Not behind yours anymore.” His jaw ticks. “I made sure of it.”

“Because I’m supposed to trustyou?”

“Yes.” A vein in his neck bulges.

“And you make itsoeasy.” Sarcasm drips from my voice.

“You know I can’t kill you. Fuck, Sorrengail, the entirequadrantknows I can’t kill you.” He leans into my space, eclipsing the rest of the room.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t hurt me.”

He blinks and shifts backward, composing himself in less than a heartbeat while mine still races. “Stop training with a bow staff. It’s too easy to knock out of your hands. Stick to the daggers.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t snatch it away just to prove he can.

“I was doing just fine until Tairn barged into my head with all his anger and distracted me,” I argue, my defenses rising like the hackles of a dog.

“Then learn how to block him out.” He says it like it’s just that simple.

“What, with all this power I’m wielding?” My brows rise. “Or were you unaware that I’m still not channeling?” I want to throttle him, to shake some ever-loving sense into that beautiful head of his.

He leans in so we’re almost nose to nose. “I am annoyingly aware ofeverythingyou do.”

Thanks to Liam.

Every inch of my body vibrates with anger, with irritation, with…whatever this electric tension is between us as we stand there, our eyes locked in combat.

“Wingleader Riorson,” Dain starts. “She’s just not used to the bond yet. She’ll learn how to block it out.”

Dain’s words sting like a blow. I inhale sharply and step back from Xaden. Good gods, we’ve been putting on a fuckingshow. What is it about Xaden that makes me tune out the rest of the world?

“You choose the oddest times to defend her, Aetos.” Xaden all but rolls his eyes as he looks at Dain. “And the most convenient timesnotto.”

Dain’s jaw clenches and his hands curl into fists at his sides.

He’s talking about Amber. I know it. Dain knows it. Everyone in this whole, awkward room knows it. Our entire squad was there when Dain demanded I call Xaden a liar.

Xaden turns those unfathomable eyes back on me. “Do us both a favor and put the fucking armor back on,” he finishes.

Before I can counter, he turns and walks off the mat, meeting Garrick at the edge.

His back.

My quiet gasp is uncontrollable, and Xaden tenses for a second before taking his shirt from Garrick’s outstretched hand and tugging it over his head, covering the navy-blue relic of a dragon that sweeps from his waist to over both shoulders—textured intricately with raised silver lines I couldn’t see from across the gym.

Silver lines I instantly recognize as scars.

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