Page 4 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
There’s only one type of family I would ever want to build, and that is a strong, influential one. I would never have children who would be indiscriminately marched into a Neutro’s den to becleansed. The elite’s offspring aren’t treated that way.
“Yes, Father. That is what I want,” I replied in a calm tone, telling him none of the rest.
I hide so much from him. Despite everything, he deserves a quiet existence. He has suffered enough.
“Ever been on a dragon?” I ask the man, pushing thoughts of my father away.
He inclines his head and looks at me askance. “I have.” He flashes me a dazzling smile.
Is he flirting? Trying to use the status of a dragon rider to secure company for the night? Not that I wouldn’t appreciate his efforts under other circumstances. The man is a specimen. It’s just that I’m a little preoccupied by other things at the moment.
Still, it’s a bit shameless. In Embernia, dragons are like gold and jewelry and castles, except better. They lend people prestige. Nothing is more appealing than power, and nothing is more powerful than a dragon rider—what with their capacity to blow anyone across Embernia, electrocute them, or incinerate them to cinders. Clearly, this man isn’t beyond using said prestige to get women into bed. Though the question remains… Is he one of those living a lifetime of military servicewithoutthe privilege of being a dragon rider? Has he been on a dragon simply as a passenger? If that’s the case, he’s a cunning bastard.
He turns his shoulders slightly, and I almost get a peek of his insignias but not quite. It’s as if he’s teasing me. On any other night, I might tease back, but I can still see Cindergrasp’s sweaty face reflected in that mirror.
Compartmentalize, Rhea. Compartmentalize.
I can’t go all night like this. I still have the Rite of Flight to get through, and that will carry its own stress. Blinking slowly, I inhale and shove Cindergrasp behind my mind’s closed door, where most of my childhood memories and all other unhappy recollections live.
Do what you do best. You learned it a long time ago. Pretend everything is all right. This night is like any other, and you have the perfect distraction in front of you.
I lick my lips and rake my gaze over the man’s tall frame, pausing at just the right places.
His nostrils flare, and his eyelids lower.
Attraction sizzles between us. He finds me as enticing as I find him, it seems. I like it when a man isn’t shy about what he wants. I, too, prefer that approach, though it often unsettles those of lesser confidence. However, this man isn’t the least bit intimidated by my forwardness. Good.
“I’ve never seen you before,” he says. “You aren’t the kind of woman I would… fail to notice. What is your name?”
“Rhealyn, but you can call me Rhea.”
“Rhea? Is that whateveryonecalls you?”
“It is.”
“Then I will call you Rhealyn.”
I frown. Only my mother ever called me by my full name, so I don’t want him to do that.
“I prefer Rhea,” I insist in a firm tone meant to set a boundary. Is he the kind that respects those? He’d better be, or he won’t get far with me.
“Rhea it is, then,” he says with a dashing smile that coaxes a lovely dimple from its hiding place.
“What is your name?” I ask.
“Everett.” A pause. “Forgive me if this sounds forward,” his voice drops a few octaves, making my skin pebble, “but you are beautiful. Pure obsidian hair is so rare.”
Under this dim light, how can he be so sure of the exact color of my hair? The answer becomes evident as soon as I formulate the question. He must have noticed me inside earlier. The thought accompanied by the sound of his velvet-smooth voice leaves me a little breathless. It’s not every day a man as attractive and self-assured as this one pays me a compliment. Frankly, at the Academy, I’ve been surrounded by oafish men for far too long—creatures who years ago ceased to perceive me as anything but one of their comrades. Their true natures have been laid bare to me for nearly as long. None of them hold any mysteries I would wish to uncover, no hidden traits to explore or secrets to pique my interest.
“Thank you.” I smile with pride.
Dark hair is common in Embernia, yet typically a shade of rich brown, not the raven hue I inherited from my mother. When she was alive, my father would often say it was as abundant and luscious as hers. At the moment, it is unpinned, flowing in long waves to my shoulders.
“I would say more,” Everett adds, “but I fear it would be inappropriate.” That dimple appears again. His blue eyes twinkle.
Oh, he’s good.Inappropriate enough, I would say, leaving me to imagine what other parts of me he finds attractive. I’d like to tell him all the attributes I like about him as well, but a lady must not reveal her hand too early in the game.
“The party not to your liking?” He cocks his head toward the door, beyond which the buzz of conversation continues. His voice is honey-laden, his expression virile and suggestive.
