Page 25 of The Last Dragon
Rylan snickers. “Then tell me, Leyon,” he says, wrapping his arm around the cadet’s neck and pulling him closer. “What the fuck was that flinch?”
The boy freezes. His body remains still like a tree stump, the complete opposite of Rylan’s relaxed composure.
“I—I just got scared.”
“Scared?” Rylan’s voice pitches upwards, and a chilling laugh bounces from the walls as he steps away. “You hear that, guys, our brave lion here got scared!” His smile snaps shut, hardening like stone, and I know there’s no stopping him now. His nostrils flare, a sudden flicker of anger burning in his eyes, right before his hand shoots out, grabbing Leyon’s neck. Fingers tighten like a vice. A painful grunt escapes Leyon.
“On the mat,” Rylan rumbles, and he leads the cadet up the small stairs. Rylan’s boots scrape against the steps, and he pushes the first-year onto the mat, signaling the other to get off. With a swift motion, Rylan sheds his dark blue coat from his shoulders, revealing scars across his muscles.
“You think a dragon will go easy on you because you got scared? Because you flinched?” he growls, eyes locked on Leyon. The first-year shakes his head.
“Then show me what you’ve got.” Rylan gets into position—feet apart, hands curling into a firm fist, rings on each finger.
“He has to be joking,” Eryca comments, a sneer forming.
“He’s not,” I whisper, watching Rylan’s every move.
The boy doesn’t move, he just shuffles his feet, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.
“Come at me!” Rylan growls, beckoning with two fingers.
The cadet stumbles forward, panic flickering in his eyes, fingers barely curled into a proper fist. Leyon’s too slow, and Rylan manages to duck under, his own fist pummeling into Leyon’s stomach. His arms curl around his stomach, coughing out spit from the sudden impact as he tries to catch his breath. He falls to his knees, and it’s all over.
“You think you can beat a dragon with that?” Rylan yells, his face closer to the now nearly vomiting cadet.
“That’s enough, Rylan,” I bark. His gaze flicks to me.
“Oh, oh-ho-ho! You want to take on the cowards then, Aaran? I doubt you’d do any better. At least not like last time. Dumb luck.” He’s bitter about the Gates.
“I said that’s enough.”
A wicked smile twists on his face. Then he scrunches his nose in thought before shaking his head. “No. I don’t think so.”
The cadet comes up, legs shaking. He brushes a small trail of drool from his mouth. Brown eyes lock on Rylan, and he lifts his arms up. Rylan whistles in surprise.
“You might have a spine yet,” he says. Rylan stands still for a moment, watching Leyon’s movements. He furrows a brow and then feigns a step forward. Leyon flinches again, taking a step back.
Shit.
Rylan launches himself forward and grabs Leyon’s wrist, spinning him and slamming him down with his knee. A muffledscream escapes Leyon as he’s pressed against the mat. And then, a loud crunch followed by a sharp, painful scream.
“Let this be a lesson.” Rylan’s voice booms, overtaking the cadet’s agonizing moans. “Your hesitation will turn you into dragon fodder.” He drops the first-year’s arm and rises from the boy’s back, sneering at him as he rolls over in pain.
I clench my fists at my sides, blood boiling, teeth grinding so hard the tension travels through my jaw.
“If you doubt, you’re dead!” He yells out, scanning the room. His eyes lock with mine. Rylan jumps from the mat, and strolls toward me, reeking of pride.
“Was that really necessary?” I manage, forcing my voice to stay even.
His eyes burn through me. “You’re too soft, Aaran, even for someone who’s in General Grogol’s shadow. Bones will heal and become stronger. But if you can’t break their minds, you’ll never turn them into what they’re meant to be.”
“I think breaking the minds offirst-yearsis more suitable than their bones, Rylan,” I seethe. “With a looming expedition, I don’t think a commander would like cripples on the mission.”
“Oh!” he exclaims with a laugh so wicked it disgusts me, and I only wish I could wipe the smug look from his face with a single punch. “What would you know about what a commander wants?” He looks around, sucking his teeth with his tongue, releasing a sharp noise that hurts my ears.
“Well, one cripple hardens a thousand,” he adds. He leans back, overseeing the crowd, whispers of shocked soldiers crammed in one place. It’s obvious he relishes it. The attention. The fear leaking off the soldiers like water. And he drinks it like he earned it.
“Get back to training!” he yells out before he grabs his coat hanging from the edge of the mat and stalks away.
