Page 325 - Fourth Wing

lunge, another clash of our staffs. “No. He’s remarkably good at showing up

when I’m about to die and eliminating threats, but that’s it.” He sure as hell
doesn’t have a problem keeping his eyes off me the way I do him.

“So there’s definitely some anger there,” Rhiannon drawls as she spins

away easily.
“You would be furious if someone took your freedom away. If you had

Liam at your door every morning until every night, even as seemingly great

as he is.” I dodge one of her attacks.
“I appreciate that,” Liam butts in, proving my point.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I would. And I’m pissed on your behalf. Now, let’s

put that anger to use.” Rhiannon rains another series of moves down on me
and I keep up, but only because she’s doing exactly what I accused her of

and taking it easy on me.
Then I make the mistake of glancing over her shoulder, toward the center

of the gym.

Holy. Fucking. Hot.
Xaden and Garrick have stripped off their shirts and are sparring like

their lives depend on it, a blur of kicks, punches, and rippling muscle. I’ve
never seen two people move that fast. It’s a beautiful, hypnotizing dance

with lethal choreography that makes me hold my breath whenever Garrick

goes in for the kill and Xaden deflects.
I’ve seen countless riders spar without their shirts these past months. This

is nothing new. I should be absolutely immune to the male form, but I’ve

never seen him shirtless.
Every edge of Xaden’s body is honed like a weapon, all sharp lines and

barely leashed power. His rebellion relic twists around his upper body and

stands out against the deep bronze of his skin, accentuating every punch he
throws, and his stomach… I mean, how many muscles are there in the

abdominals? His are so rigidly defined that I could probably count every
single one if the rest of him wasn’t so damned distracting. And he has the