The Last Dragon Shifter

Chapter Twenty-Eight

She reluctantly followed as Malcolm strode through the library and took up residence at a distant table. She watched as he began pulling out a disturbing number of textbooks. He meant business about this first trial.

The Summit Trials consisted of three challenges. The teams had been notified the first one would be based on their lessons in Magical Ethics and World History. With Malcolm's overbearing study outline, he'd already mapped out what the two would cover to prepare. Naomi wasn't sure how much preparing they could do. The actual state of the trial would only be revealed on the day of the event.

Malcolm was so serious about their study schedule, he banished Sam and Figgis, forcing them to sit several tables away. Over Malcolm's shoulder, Naomi could see them: Sam trying to hustle Figgis into playing some card game. She also spotted Lark heading out of the library as she gave Naomi one last wave. She returned it—only to get a scathing look from Malcolm.

Ignoring it, she pulled out her books and homework assignments. Despite his harsh demeanor, Naomi attempted to reassure her stern-faced partner.

"I'm feeling pretty good about this one. Ms. Grant's been tutoring me, and I'm getting the hang of it."

"You're practically failing the class." Malcolm eyed her wildly.

"Not anymore."

"Let's go over the core concepts. I'll cover the ethical angles while you do the history."

At first, Naomi didn't want to fight him on his derision, so she worked quietly, but inside—inside, she steamed like a kettle on high boil. He was treating her like some inept dunce he'd been stuck with when this whole thing was his idea. In a blaze of irritation, she shut the book and faced Malcolm head-on.

"Why did you choose me if you think I'm some idiot who's going to bring you down?"

"Who doesn't want a dragon shifter on their side?" Malcolm replied, calmly examining his textbook.

Naomi tapped the page with her pencil. "You're trying to keep me away from Quinn, aren't you?"

Malcolm put down the book and steepled his fingers diabolically, mocking her.

"And if I am?"

"Then I'd say you're unnecessarily being a giant ass."

"And I'd say I'm very necessarily trying to save your soul."

"I don't understand the history between you two."

"Because it's none of your business. The only history you need to be concerned about"—Malcolm imitated her previous, impatient pencil tapping on her book—"Is this right here."

For the next hour, they tested each other, back and forth, on dates and events, philosophies, and moral concepts. On and on, it went. And the more it did, Naomi's surprise—and annoyance—grew.

She was discovering that Malcolm was startlingly brilliant.

"I didn't know you were this smart," Naomi admitted begrudgingly.

"That's because you don't know anything about me."

"Likewise."

"What I mean is...my father has bred me to be of the highest intellectual and courtly excellence. I have no choice but to be smart."

"If he wants you to be perfect, why does he have me, Sam, and Figgis trailing you? Doesn't he want you to be able to defend yourself too?"

"I can defend myself." Malcolm's grip on the book strained tight.

"I'm not trying to offend you, but I think it's weird. He wants you perfect in every single way, but no one can touch a hair on your head. You have to admit, that's a bit strange."