Page 36 of Storm of Shadows
“Just a friendly nickname,” Fly mumbles, “we’re not … I’m not … she’s not my type … and even if she were …” He trails off as it becomes clear Beaufort isn’t listening, he’s too busy glaring at me.
“Assholes and dicks are we?” he snarls right at me.
“Pretty ones,” Fly points out.
“Is that why you didn’t come to our rooms as you were asked?”
I go to open my mouth and tell him, yes, that’s exactly why, but in that moment, he glances over my shoulder, probably spies everyone in the canteen now looking our way, grabs my wrist and, before I can protest, hauls me out of the building.
Outside, the weather has turned stormy, the wind whipping around the buildings, driving dead leaves along the pathway and stinging against my face.
I attempt to yank my arm from his grip. I try to dig my good heel into the ground. But he’s twice my size and about ten times stronger and in the end I admit defeat and let him take me, complaining instead.
“Hey, my leg. You’re hurting me.” He pauses, gazing down at my ankle.
“You hurt your ankle? How? It wasn’t–” His expression darkens.
“No, I sprained it during the assault course.”
“Why hasn’t it been healed?”
“It’s been bandaged. A sprain takes time to heal.”
“Not if magic is used. Why didn’t you go to the clinic?” I look at him blankly and he scoffs in annoyance. Then motions with his fingers. “Give it here.”
“Give what–”
“Your leg.” He crouches down and before I know what he’s doing he has my ankle lifted into the air, his hands wrapped around my leg.
I peer down at him – his blazer stretched across his broad back, his hair thick and dark.
A warmth radiates from his palms, a warmth that spreads from the injured part of my ankle, right along my leg, up my thigh and towards my …
“What the hell are you doing?” I cry, trying to yank my leg away.
“Healing your leg,” he says, not letting go. Instead, he closes his eyes, his mouth moving silently and I notice how full his lips are.
More heat, a tingling sensation. I bite my lip because … because it feels good. Really very very good. The kind of sensation you could close your eyes and sink right into. I peer down at him some more, his large body crouched before me, his strong hands wrapped around my ankle, his handsome face taut with concentration. Something flutters low in my belly. It’s … really damn pleasant.
He releases my leg. “There, try it.”
Swallowing down whatever the hell I was just feeling, I rest my weight on the leg. No shooting pain. No cramping. Not even a slight ache. I have to admit, it’s as good as new.
“Thank you,” I mumble reluctantly, unable to meet his eyes.
“You’re welcome,” he says, standing to his feet.
He hesitates, then takes me by surprise a second time. Cupping my face in his hand. For the briefest of startling moments, I think he’s going to lean down and kiss me, press that full mouth of his against mine. My belly flutters all over the place.
But then he brushes his thumb under my eye.
“I should have done that before,” he murmurs, before marching us around a corner and off the path.
“Where are we go–”
“Somewhere we won’t have the entire academy listening in to our conversation,” he snaps.
He backs me right up against a wall, planting his hands either side of my head and leaning in towards me.
