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By the time we land in Samara, I’m a jittery, frantic mess. The panic and fear have only heightened as we approach the outpost. If Xaden was okay, Sgaeyl would have tempered Tairn’s nerves or met him mid-flight as soon as we were in range.
A surge of anxiety thrums through my body, but I can’t tell if it is coming from Tairn’s fears or my own. The deep-seated dread set in early this morning when I overheard Devera discussing the attack with Panchek as I left for my morning run. Tairn’s alarm was palpable immediately. He met me in the courtyard in minutes. I spent the eight hour flight flooded with Tairn’s emotions, unable to find my own amidst his rolling waves of worry for Sgaeyl. He is as eager to set eyes on his mate as I am to see Xaden, but I don’t know where my dragon’s feelings end and my own begin. I can’t even think straight. My mind is spinning with anxiety. I need to get to Xaden.
Tairn descends rapidly and lands without his usual fluidity outside the outpost. The physical panic constricts my ribs and shortens each breath as I slide down his leg and sprint toward the portcullis, toward Xaden. The wrought iron gate inches open and for once I’m thankful for my size as I duck under. I need to find Xaden. Adrenaline courses through my veins, urging me to continue my sprint, but I stop short as I take in the sight before me.
Organized chaos reigns within. At the other end of the courtyard, a medical station hosts healers in light blue fielding a hoard of infantry in navy. No rider black within sight. Chunks of gray stone from the walls are scattered on the ground. The walls that remain standing are seared with scorch marks. The gryphon fliers must have breached the perimeter. But where is Xaden?
“Violet!” Mira calls out, emerging from the northwestern staircase. No limp, no slings, no blood that I can see. She’s alright, but her face is etched with worry. “What are you doing here? Do you have leave?”
I’m relieved to see that Mira is fine, but it barely reduces the anxiety swimming inside me. “You’re okay,” I breathe shakily. “You’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” she replies as she reaches for my shoulders. She’s giving me her customary onceover for injuries and ailments. Typically I’d humor her, but I don’t have time for anything but Xaden right now.
“Xaden—is he okay? Where is he?” I ask. Mira’s eyes widen at the panic in my voice, but I don’t have it in me to be embarrassed at my desperation.
“The sparring gym. But he–” I don’t bother to listen to hear what else Mira has to say. I’m off, as fast as I can manage. Mira calls out behind me, but I don’t stop. I weave through the crowded hallways, barreling through the door to the gym. I can feel him grow closer through our bond, but just barely. His shields must be firmly up.
The sparring gym has been transformed to a secondary infirmary. Healers weave through dozens of cots. I can feel him toward the back of the room and dash down one of the aisles, narrowly dodging a supply cart. Mira isn’t far behind me.
Garrick stands next to the hospital bed, blocking Xaden’s face from view. He turns at the approaching footsteps, a look of shock crossing his face when he sees me. He bites his lip, but moves aside to create space for me next to the bed.
A choked sob escapes me as I finally lay eyes on Xaden.
He is asleep, but he looks anything but peaceful. His face is gray and his breaths are shallow. A large tourniquet is wrapped around his right shoulder and his entire bicep is encased in a bloody bandage. Smaller cuts and lacerations are scattered across his forearm.
It’s not enough to lay eyes on him. My hand reaches out to smooth back his hair. His forehead is hot and clammy from what must be a low fever. Keeping one hand in his hair, I lace the other through the fingers of his uninjured arm. My stomach roils at what must have happened.
An arm–Mira’s—wraps around my shoulders. I can’t tear my gaze away from Xaden.
“What can they do for him?” I hear myself ask. “How do we help?”
“He’s been like this since they began fastening the tourniquet,” Garrick says solemnly. “A mender is coming from the Eastern wing. For now, the healers want to keep his fever low and make sure he’s comfortable.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, hesitant to be any closer to him, and yet it is still not close enough. From the look of the bandages on his arm, Xaden was inches from Malek’s doorstep. He honestly might still be there. I run my fingers down his cheek, brushing his hair out of his face, trace the start of his relic along his jaw, all while keeping my other hand woven with his. I’d never imagined Xaden Riorson could look so defenseless, so vulnerable, so fragile.
Violence, remember it’s only the body that’s fragile. You are unbreakable. He’d told me that only last weekend at Basgiath when Varrish arrived to collect me for RSC. I can only hope those words hold true for him.
Being back at Samara brings forth a whole host of memories. Two weeks ago when I fell into utter oblivion, with a kiss that overpowered gravity. My first visit here, when he literally went to the mat to earn time with me and swept me off my feet after. My breath hitches as I remember the moment at Basgiath during our argument about my research and he declared he needed space. Oh gods, that stupid, petty argument. Does withholding information matter when a gryphon came within an inch of his life last night? Despite our fights, the seemingly endless deception, he would do almost anything for me. He is everything to me. I brush my knuckles across his cheek.
Ten, thirty minutes, or maybe an hour passes by. I mark the seconds by watching the slight rise and fall of Xaden’s chest. Another drift of gryphons could attack Samara and I wouldn’t move from his side. Garrick brings me a glass of water, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. Mira remains a few steps behind me, keeping watch.
I can feel Tairn’s presence in my mental archives. “He will heal, Silver One.” But Tairn couldn’t know that. Even his rare sympathetic tone can’t stop what feels like a downward spiral into madness. I grip Xaden’s hand a little harder, willing strength toward him.
His breath shifts and I lean forward, ready to call for a healer. Xaden’s eyelids flutter open and I’m met with his drowsy onyx gaze.
“Violence?” It’s soft and unsteady and a million miles away from his usual confident tone.
“I’m here,” I whisper, running my thumb down his cheek. He’s awake. I take my first full breath since Tairn and I left Basgiath. He might not be fully healed, but he’s awake.
“Did you get leave?” Although tired, his eyes flash with worry.
“Not quite. But that’s not important right now,” I admit.
A shaky exhale slips from Xaden’s lips. “It’s foolish to put your life on the line for me.” His hand is still entwined in mine and his thumb rubs small circles on my palm. “It’s not worth it.”
I press my lips together and shake my head. “I needed to know you were okay. Tairn needed to see Sgaeyl.”
"Reckless as always." He chuckles, shifting to sit upright, only to hiss in pain and fall back down to the pillows. I rush to support him, repositioning his healthy shoulder. “I’m fine,” he breathes, closing his eyes.
A few minutes pass and a heavy silence hangs between us. A strange look crosses Xaden’s face and he glances up at me. “What are you thinking, Violence?”
"It's not easy to be as calm and collected as you are, you know." I sigh, swallowing the lump in my throat. I don't know where this feeling is coming from. "If...if the roles were reversed, I know you'd never rush out of your post like a maniac. I know you'd wait for the full story before moving. But I just—I can't do that, okay?" I feel my eyes beginning to burn and it feels as though all of the day’s emotions will erupt. I exhale shakily and will myself to look at the ceiling, unable to meet Xaden’s gaze.
Xaden opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I've never known Xaden to hesitate or doubt himself, but maybe he's finding a way to let me down easy. It hurts to realize that this recklessness is only one-sided.
"Violence," Xaden whispers, holding my hand tight once again. “Look at me. That’s where you’re wrong.” He meets my gaze. “I would do the same thing you did because I’m just as reckless for you as you are for me.” He pulls my hand, bringing my wrist to his lips.
I lean down toward him, but approaching footsteps draw me back.
“Ah, good, you’re awake.” A healer in light blue approaches with a rider close behind. “This is Lieutenant Cardea, Lieutenant Riorson. She’ll be healing you today.”
The mender gives us a slight grin before examining the wound on Xaden’s arm. “Quite a hit you took here. You almost lost it entirely.” My heart tightens thinking of what could have been. Xaden, ever the model of control, shows no hint of emotion.
“This will be painful, but you should be able to regain use of it once I’ve finished,” the mender continues. She turns toward me. “I recommend you stand back.” Mira is by my side, curling an arm around me and I reluctantly let her guide me to the foot of the bed with Garrick. He gives my shoulder another squeeze.
A healer hands Xaden a strip of leather to position between his teeth and stands to brace his torso. The mender looks to Xaden for permission to begin and he nods. He locks eyes with me and my heart hurts for him.
Xaden holds my gaze the entire time, crying out as the mender connects tissue, heals veins and arteries, and closes the skin. I send as much comfort and love as I can muster down the bond. “You can do this. I’m here. It’s going to be okay.” I can feel his anguish, but I can also feel the resolve in response to my words.
The mender finishes, pursing her lips. “It’s going to scar for now, but another mender may be able to fix that later on. You’ll have full use of it after a proper rest. Right now, you need to sleep,” she orders.
Xaden is already shaking his head and pushing himself up. “I’ll be going back to the barracks. I won’t sleep here.”
The mender shakes her head. “If you don’t rest now, the magic will drain and you’ll be worse off than you were before. You need to sleep.”
Xaden levels her with a stare that any Basgiath cadet would shrivel under as his feet hit the floor. “I’ll be sleeping in the barracks.”
The mender hesitates, but sees this is a fight she won’t win. She turns toward Garrick. “See to it that he makes it back okay.” As she passes me, she rubs my arm sympathetically. “It was close, but he’ll be okay.”
Garrick chuckles as he helps Xaden stand. “Stubborn ass. Let’s get you to bed.” Careful of the newly healed right arm, he supports Xaden’s weight as they walk down the aisle of beds.
“I have patrol, but find me before you leave,” Mira says, embracing me tightly. “I love you. Stay safe.”
“You too,” I whisper. “Thank you. For everything.” She gives a small smile before heading off and I fall into place next to Xaden and Garrick. We’re dead silent as we wearily make our way through the stairwell and down the hall toward the barracks. It’s not like Garrick to be so quiet, but I realize his greasy face and wrinkled leathers mean that he hasn’t rested since last night either.
Garrick nods as we reach Xaden’s door. “Make sure he gets some rest, Sorrengail.” More softly, I hear him say, “Glad you’re okay, brother.” I smile as I lead Xaden through the door.
He has a funny look on his face once inside.
“What?” I ask, guiding him toward the bed. Xaden groans quietly as he sits, but then his expression shifts as he focuses on my shoulder.
“Who the fuck’s flight jacket are you wearing?” There’s a slight clench in his jaw, a show of strength I’m surprised he is capable of right now.
“Mending really must have taken a toll on you. You know whose this is,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“No, I don’t. All I know is that it’s not yours. Or mine.” His tone is low and pissed off. The man was just on Malek’s doorstep and we’re talking about a jacket ?
I huff, shirking the jacket off. “It’s Bodhi’s, you territorial asshole! Are you serious right now? I overheard Devara mention that one rider at Samara had been seriously wounded, after Tairn felt a serious feeling of panic from Sgaeyl last night. I sprinted to the flight field without even stopping to grab my pack. Thank Zihnal Bodhi was coming from a meeting and passed off his jacket. I spent eight hours flying here in an absolute panic and you’re going to put me through this possessive, jealous bullshit? You can fuck right off.” I fling the jacket toward his desk where it lands in a careless heap.
“You were worried for me.” His mouth tugs upward in the first semblance of a smile I’ve seen since arriving. I can’t deny him.
“Of course I was worried for you.”
“And you flew here without even stopping to get your leathers,” he murmurs, eyeing Bodhi’s flight jacket. His left hand finds the small of my back, guiding me down toward his horizontal frame. I nod and his hand caresses my shoulders, drawing me closer to his face.
“Because you still love me,” he whispers against my lips before pulling me into a kiss.