Sometimes when we find out a secret that has been kept from us for so long, it's not the secrecy that kills us, but what is actually unveiled.
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Xaden Riorson x Oc, Liam Mairi x Oc, Oc x Oc, Ridoc Gamlyn x Oc,
Sawyer Henr...
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In response to the Great War, dragons claimed the western lands and gryphons the central ones, abandoning the Barrens and the memory of General Daramor, who nearly destroyed the Continent with his army. Our allies sailed home and we began a period of peace and prosperity as the provinces of Navarre united for the first time behind the safety of our wards, under the protection of the first bonded riders.
—Navarre, an Unedited History by Colonel Lewis Markham
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Chapter Twenty-One
| Wrenley's POV |
What. The. Fuck?
It's like everyone in my room has turned to stone, but I know that can't be true. I'm not Medusa. Oren's body is warm behind me, his skin malleable under my fingers as I shift my grip and shove his bloody forearm, forcing the blade away from my neck. Gods. I don't think I've ever been so disorientated.
A single drop of blood drips from the sharp tip, splattering on the hardwood, and there's a trickle of wetness down my throat. Gross.
Quick! I can't hold it! Andarna urges, her voice thready.
Again, what the fuck?
She's doing this? I take deep breaths through my battered windpipe and duck under Oren's forearm, freeing myself, then sidestep quickly in the silence.
So eerily quiet.
The clock on my desk isn't ticking as I squeeze between Oren's elbow and a giant guy who used to be from Second Wing. No one breathes. I'm not even sure I am at this point. Their gazes are frozen. To the left, the woman I sliced open is hunched over, clutching her forearm, and the man I stabbed is leaned against the wall on the right, staring in horror at his thigh. Fuck. Now I'm going to have a mess to clean up.
I mark time in thunderous heartbeats as I stumble into the only open space in my room, but my path to the now-open door isn't clear.
I look up to see Xaden filling the doorway like some kind of dark, avenging angel, the messenger of the queen of the gods. He's fully dressed, his face a mask of absolute rage as shadows curl from the walls on either side of him, hanging in midair. Cool. And so very fucking hot.
