Page 113 of Storm of Shadows
I peer up at the clock and groan. It’s already six o’clock. Three hours that torture session lasted. Three hours! No wonder I feel like I’m dying.
“I have my detention at seven,” I tell her. “By the time I’ve hobbled back to my room and cleaned up, I don’t think I’ll have time for dinner. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
Clare nods and limps away, moaning and groaning as she does.
I lie exactly where I am, staring up at the rapidly darkening sky, trying to find the energy to move.
“You want a hand up?”
I flip my head to one side and find Dray Eros, towering over me and holding out his hand.
He licks his lips, eyes traveling over me. “Or do you want me to join you down there?”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I say. “I stink.”
“I thought we’d already established that you smell really damn good.”
“Not right now I don’t.”
He squats down. “I’d like to lick the sweat off you.” He glances over his shoulder. “I have a feeling it would piss off Beaufort though if I were that fucking public. Maybe later, huh?”
“Later?” I say.
“It’s Wednesday, sweetheart. You know what that means.” He winks again, stands and offers his hand out a second time. “Up we go.”
“Not yet,” I say, “it hurts too much.”
“So you’re just going to stay there?”
“Until I can move again, yes.”
“What’s wrong?” Beaufort says, appearing beside his friend and staring down at me with a frown. My hot skin seems to grow even hotter as he stares down at me – a mix of desire and anger sloshes around my tired body. He hasn’t apologized about that argument. In fact, he hasn’t spoken to me at all and I haven’t spoken to him. I thought we were ignoring each other.
Obviously not, Beaufort Lincoln doesn’t seem to hold a grudge.
“Nothing, I hurt everywhere so I’m just going to lie here until I can move again.”
“You can’t stay out here, it isn’t safe,” Beaufort says.
“She’ll be fine,” Dray says, lifting his chin out towards the field. “Thorne’s here.”
“Is Thorne even watching her?”
“I don’t need babysitting,” I point out. I’m ignored.
“Thorne’s always watching her,” Dray says, which is the most nonsense thing the crazy bastard has ever said. Apart from that weird little warning, the dude has hardly acknowledged my existence.
Beaufort lifts his gaze out to the field and I follow his example. Thorne’s still out there, driving his body backward and forward across the field.
“What the hell is he even doing?” I ask.
“Making himself hurt probably,” Dray says, like that explanation makes any sense. “It’s his favorite pastime.”
“Right,” I mumble.
“You’ll be safe with Thorne out here,” Beaufort says, “but when he leaves, you leave, understood?” I stare at him, refusing to give my consent. “Understood?” he growls.
“Sure,” I say, too tired to argue.
