Page 41 of ColdIron
I stood alone, bruised and bloodied, my shirt stained red—some mine, some from the men who’d tried to kill me. Slade lay motionless behind me. Somehow, I’d grabbed the army knife he’d dropped. The blade sat in my open palm like an accusation.
I knew how this looked. I’d attacked a senior cadet, rendered him unconscious. I doubted anyone would vouch for me. Probably not even Thane. He’d done enough trying to stop Slade’s goons from murdering me. But this was Drakken’s domain. The attack had happened precisely because everyone here knew his opinion of me.
My heart slammed against my bruised ribs. My vision swam, a low buzz filling my head from the hits I’d taken. I commanded myself to stand firm and wait for the dragon’s verdict.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he used this incident to get rid of me for good.
“What did you do this time, Cadet Private Max?” Drakken barked, cold eyes narrowing.
Just then, another figure swept in like a gust of wind—Caspian’s signature entrance, too much energy, too fast, filling the room before his body caught up.
“What the fuck is going on here?” the shifter prince yelled.
Somehow, he’d gotten wind of the fight too and hurried over, even though the academy fell under Drakken’s jurisdiction.
Our backup is here,the demon whispered gleefully.
Caspian had clearly rolled straight out of bed and hit the ground running. His wine-red hair was disheveled, yet he still looked like he belonged on the cover of one of those pre-Rupture romance novels. A faded black T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, the collar slightly askew, revealing the strong column of his throat. Worn jeans hung low on his hips.
His green eyes were half-lidded with sleep, but beneath the drowsiness, concern sharpened their edges.
Neither of them had time for uniform. They’d been roused from their beds and rushed here.
The image of them in bed hit me without warning. My idiot brain decided to wonder who might have been warming their sheets. The thought soured on my tongue.
What the fuck was wrong with me? I was in deep shit. I should be focused on surviving the next sixty seconds.
Caspian reached the center of the scene and planted himself beside Drakken. Two princes, shoulder to shoulder,their gazes traveling between me and Slade on the floor. Was he dead?
Drakken shot Caspian a warning glance. Caspian shrugged. He wouldn’t openly counter Drakken in front of all the cadets.
Drakken’s hard stare pinned me.
“Why did you cut his throat, Cadet Private Max?” he barked.
He’d addressed me twice now. Both times without “warlock.”
“It was the opposite, sir.” I kept my voice steady. “Cadet Sergeant Slade tried to cut my throat.”
Drakken’s eyes sharpened. Rage flickered in Caspian’s.
“He failed because I discouraged him and his colleagues.” I gestured at the scattered bodies. “His throat isn’t cut. He passed out from his own stupidity.”
“He’ll be punished,” Caspian said, vehement. “I’ll make sure they all regret this.”
Drakken shot him a hard look. Caspian’s jaw tightened, his fist clenching, rage still storming in his green eyes.
The shifter stepped toward me. “Give me the knife, Max.” His voice softened, the tone you’d use to talk someone down from a ledge.
I had no problem letting it go. I opened my palm. He lifted the blade from it, his fingers brushing mine. A shock jolted up my arm, skating along my ribs—the same electric current I’d felt when Aelindor offered me his hand in the interrogation room.
Caspian’s gaze snagged on mine, the raw need flickering in his eyes sending another jolt through my ribs.
Drakken snapped his head toward us, disgust and distrust carving into his features. I’d bet my last meal he’d just witnessed what he’d call another episode of me bewitching his friend.
He didn’t linger on it. The dragon stalked to where Slade lay and squatted beside him, pressing two fingers to the cadet sergeant’s neck. Checking for a pulse.
“Get him to the infirmary.” Drakken rose and barked the order.
