Page 452 - Fourth Wing

“You’re not going to step in and say you can train me? You can save

me?” I click my tongue and have the absolutely ridiculous urge to run it up
the lines of the relic on his neck, tracing the intricate pattern. “How very

un-Xaden of you.”

“I have no clue how to train a lightning wielder, and from what I
witnessed today, you don’t need saving.” There’s pure longing in his eyes as

he scans the length of my body from my bare toes to the hemline that skirts

my thighs, over my breasts to my neck, finally reaching my eyes.
“Only from myself,” I mutter. The things I think about doing to him when

he looks at me like that would surely ruin me, and tonight I’m not sure I

care. That’s a dangerous combination. “So then why are you here, Xaden?”
“Because I can’t seem to stay away.” He sounds anything but pleased by

the admission, but my breath catches anyway.
“Shouldn’t you be out there celebrating?” Everyone else is.

“We won a battle, not a war.” He pushes off the door and takes a single

step, closing the distance between us, and lifts my braid from over my
shoulder, slowly rubbing his thumb along the strands. “And I figured you

might still be upset.”
“You told me to get over myself, remember? So why the fuck would you

care if I’m upset?” I fold my arms across my chest, choosing anger over

lust.
“I told you that you’d have to develop a stomach for killing. I never said

you’d get over it.” He drops my braid.

“I should, though, right?” I shake my head and retreat into the center of
the room. “We spend three years here learning how to become killers,

promoting and praising those who do it best.”

He doesn’t even flinch, just watches me in that observant, infuriatingly
calm way of his.

“I’m not mad that Jack is dead. We both know he’s wanted to kill me
since Parapet, and eventually he would have. I’m mad that him dying