Page 532 - Fourth Wing

rising tide of need that heats my skin.

Xaden yanks his mouth away with a gasp, breaking the kiss and cocking
his head to the side as if listening for something.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. He’s gone rigid beneath my arms.

“Shit.” His eyes widen as he drags his gaze back to mine. “Violet, I’m so
sorry—”

“Is this seriously how you dragon riders spend your time?” a woman asks

from behind Xaden, her voice like velvet dragged over a gravel road.
He spins around so quickly, he’s a blur. Shadows envelop me, thick as a

thundercloud.

I can’t see shit.
“Xaden!” someone yells and multiple pairs of feet come crashing through

the brush. Bodhi, maybe?
“Silly to hide what’s already been seen,” the woman says, her tone curt.

“And if rumors are true, there’s only one silver-haired rider in your death

factory of a college, which means that’s General Sorrengail’s youngest.”
“Fuck,” Xaden swears. “I need you to stay calm, Violence.”

Calm? Shadows fall away, and I leave my hands loose at my sides in case
I need to grab a dagger or wield, sidestepping Xaden so I can see.

A pair of gryphon riders stands in the meadow about thirty feet away,

their beasts eerily silent behind them. They’re a third of the size of our
dragons, but those beaks and claws look capable of shredding skin and scale

just the same.

“Tairn!”
“Coming.”

“Stay with Sgaeyl,” I order Andarna.

“The gryphons look tasty from here,” she responds.
“They’re the same size you are. No.”

“A fucking Sorrengail.” The woman looks only a few years older than
me, but she has the look of a veteran rider. She arches a dark brow, looking