Wild and Out of Control

|chapter forty-two|

|danica|

"I am proud of you, my daughter. You have proven your strength on the battlefield and in the skies. You will make a mighty general one day."

     The past few days have been...busy, to say the least. After Xaden brought me to the infirmary to check me for injuries, I learned that it was Violet who caused the lightning strike. Even though I was buried under snow from the ensuing avalanche, I was proud of my friend for developing her signet. She was one of the last to do so, and everyone was getting worried, especially the professors. The longer she went without a signet, the bigger the chance of her combusting on herself.

     Xaden led me to the infirmary himself, despite my protests. He was the Wingleader. He had other things he needed to do, such as speaking with his section and squad leaders or discussing the events of the Games with the professors, but no, he dropped me off at the infirmary. Bodhi offered to take me, which only got him knocked back with shadows. I'm assuming there's still some grudge Xaden's holding against him, even if I told him time and time again that what happened between us meant nothing and we didn't even know each other then.

     When I entered the infirmary, I was first met with bustling nurses and menders who were all rushing to help the injured riders. The nearest nurse—the one who saw my father the last time I was here—brought me to the closest open bed, which happened to be next to Liam's. I was none too pleased to learn that he had been stabbed clean through with a sword and fell off his dragon at the hands of Jack fucking Barlowe. Violet was the one who saved him and even killed Barlowe when he fell onto the mountain. He was the one at the bottom of the mountain.

     Many things happened after that, like nurses tending to my wounds, professors coming in to relay that the riders had been found alive, but severely injured. It was a relief, because I didn't want the weight of knowing that I killed a whole squad. Riders of my Wing came in to pat me on the back for winning us the Games. Xaden has been an overbearing shadow ever since he got me back on Azare, which is both endearing and annoying. Professor Carr even came by to congratulate me on my big achievement in my signet.

     But after all of that, my father's words still ring in my head, even hours later when I'm lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling of the infirmary while moonlight shines through the windows and soft snores fill the room. I always craved validation from my father when I was younger, and now that I've got it, I feel sick to my stomach. After everything he's done, having his approval isn't something I crave anymore. I'm not talking about what he's done as a general—though I do question the decisions he's made. I'm talking about what he's done as a father and husband. There are things he's done or not done that are unforgivable. So why was I freaking out that I almost killed him that time I developed my signet?

      Outside, rain and lightning belt down in a small disturbance. I turn my head to see Liam sleeping on his back, which he must have had a hard time doing since he prefers to sleep on his side, but is unable to do so because of his injury. Violet was here with him until he fell asleep and would've stayed if Rhi didn't drag her out of here. I didn't have that much luck. Garrick tried, but Xaden threatened a demotion if he even dared.

     I turn my head to the other side to see Xaden sitting in a chair by my bed, his head lulled to the side as he sleeps. I chuckle at how silly he looks, a giant tattooed shadow wielder sleeping awkwardly in a small chair. His legs are spread wide, his arms crossed over his chest, and his head hanging to the side as his eyes are closed. His hair is untamed and still damp from his shower he took hours before, a few strands falling over his forehead.

     He looks so delectable that I could fuck him right here and right now.

     But I shake my head, forcing myself to rid myself of those thoughts. It wasn't the right time nor place, despite the tingles his mere presence gives me. I sit up, slightly groaning at the stinging ache radiating through my body, especially around my arms. Fractures on every bone in my hands and arms that spread up to my shoulders, which is why my collarbones hurt so badly. The pain that came from using my signet had never been this bad, but it's nothing I can't handle. I use box breathing to regulate the pain because I was taught that pain is psychological: if I don't focus on it, it's not there. One of the many things my father taught me, among other techniques to make me the best I could be.