Every year, hundreds die within the walls of Basgiath War College. It's no surprise that many are those who choose the Riders Quadrant. Dragons do not tolerate much, but neither do the ruthless gryphons on the outside of the wards.
At least...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
・・・ ・・・ ・・・
THIS CHAPTER USES AMAB BODY PARTS. THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER USES AFAB BODY PARTS. THERE ARE NO PRONOUNS MENTIONED IN EITHER.
・・・ ・・・ ・・・
My heart pounds. I want to believe it. As immature as it is, I hope he really is reckless for me. But reckless isn't what I'm asking for. I draw my lip between my teeth, and his eyes flare as they watch it. "You were worried about me," he murmurs. His tone has shifted—the first time sounding almost amused, and the second happy, but this time, he sounds like it's a revelation. "Of course I was worried about you."
His hand swivels underneath my palm until he can thread his fingers between mine. He pulls me ever so slightly closer with his arm still around my waist, giving me every chance to deny his touch, but the words don't form. "And you flew here without even stopping to get your leathers," he whispers, lowering his head inch by torturous inch. I nod, and I think I squeeze his hand a bit tighter. "Because you—" Finally, his lips touch mine, "—still love me."
He pulls our bodies the little distance it takes to bring them flush. The warmth of his skin soaks into every frozen corner of my soul, and heat pours down my spine when he toys with my bottom lip. His teeth nip at it, gently teasing, before he strokes his tongue over the curve as he leans me further back. It may not be the love I want, but—fuck it—it's the desire I need, and I'll take reckless right now.
My lips part and he wastes no time turning the kiss into exactly that. Xaden murmurs, deep in his throat, and his hand pulls mine until it rests on his shoulder. He slides back down my arm, then surrounds me in his grip, pulling me tighter against him just as his tongue flicks against mine. He kisses like a prince: consuming, claiming, igniting. I spark, then catch fire.
My free hand snakes up his torso, following the ridges of his muscles where his shirt sticks to his skin. Before I even realize it, I'm tugging at the fabric, silently begging him to take it off. He grips the hemline around his back and the kiss parts for only a moment as he wrests it off his body. I throw my arms around his neck and pull us ever closer, nearly slamming his mouth back onto me and rising to my toes, but it's still not enough. My right arm drops so I can drag it down his now exposed skin and passes over a raised line on his chest that makes me pull away.
A thin, silver scar sits right over his heart, precisely vertical. It mirrors the ones on his back, but almost... gentler, in some odd way. I lean forward and kiss it, sweeping my hands down his sides to feel every twist in them. "(N/N)." He slips his hand under my chin and tilts it up so he can take my mouth again. This time, it's soft, slow, keeping me wanting more and my heart straining with confusion. Is it love? Is it lust? Do I care?
