Page 335 - Fourth Wing

citadel. Snow fills the sky, and I tip my head back, savoring the brief kiss of

snowflakes on skin that’s heated for all the wrong reasons.
The air is crisp and chilled, and—

My eyes pop open at the scent in the air and I whirl, my cloak whipping

out behind me as I find the source of the sweet, easily identifiable smoke.
Xaden is leaning back against the wall, one foot braced on the stone,

smoking and watching me like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Is that…churam?”
He blows out a puff of smoke. “Want some? Unless you’re here to

continue our earlier argument, in which case, none for you.”

My jaw practically unhinges. “No! We’re not allowed to smoke that!”
“Yeah, well, the people who made that rule obviously weren’t bonded to

Sgaeyl and Tairn, now were they?” A smirk lifts a corner of his mouth.
Gods, I could stare at his lips forever. They are perfectly shaped and yet

entirely too decadent for the slashing line of his jaw.

“It helps with…distancing yourself.” He offers me the rolled churam and
cocks an eyebrow at me—the one with the scar. “Beyond what shielding

does, of course.”
I shake my head and cross through the newly fallen snow to brace my

weight on the wall beside him, letting my head fall back against the stone.

“Suit yourself.” He inhales deeply on the churam and then puts it out
against the wall.

“I feel like I’m on fucking fire.” That’s putting it mildly.

“Yeah. That happens.” His laugh holds a wicked edge, and I make the
utterly unforgivable mistake of turning to see his smile.

Xaden, while brooding and bossy, dangerous and lethal, is a toe-curling

sight that makes my pulse quicken. But Xaden laughing, his head thrown
back with a smile curving his mouth, is drop-dead beautiful. My stupid,

foolish heart feels like there’s a fist around it, squeezing tight.
There is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice, nothing I wouldn’t give to have one