Page 106 - Fourth Wing

already hunted tonight, and the other items I’ve collected, I should be able

to make it through the next month of challenges.
I’m almost down the tree, only a handful of branches to go, when I spot

movement beneath me and pause. Hopefully it’s just a deer.

But it’s not.
Two figures in black cloaks—apparently tonight’s disguise of choice—

walk under the protection of the tree. The smaller one leans back against the

lowest limb, removing her hood to reveal a half-shaved head of pink hair I
know all too well.

Imogen, the squadmate who nearly ripped off my arm ten days ago.

My stomach tightens, then knots as the second rider slips off his own
hood.

Xaden Riorson.
Oh shit.

There’s maybe fifteen feet between us and nothing—and no one—out

here to stop him from killing me. Fear clenches my throat and holds tight as
I white-knuckle the branches around me, debating the merits of holding my

breath so he can’t hear me versus falling out of the tree if I faint from lack
of oxygen.

They begin speaking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying, not with the

river rushing by. Relief fills my lungs. If I can’t hear them, they can’t hear
me, either, as long as I sit tight. But all it takes is for him to look up, and I’ll

be toast, literally if he decides to feed me to that Blue Daggertail of his. The

moonlight I was thankful for a few minutes ago has now become my
biggest liability.

Slowly, carefully, quietly, I move out of the patchy moonlight to the next

branch over, cloaking myself in shadow. What is he doing out here with
Imogen? Are they lovers? Friends? It’s absolutely none of my business, and

yet I can’t help but wonder if she’s the kind of woman he goes for—one
whose beauty is only outmatched by her brutality. They fucking deserve