Chapter 32 I'VE GOT YOU
KAI
We walked back toward the main grounds together, shoulders brushing. The Academy was waking up, riders heading to breakfast, dragons calling from the roosts, the distant clang of the armory.
Yvaine found us near the cafeteria entrance, eyes bright with curiosity. “How was it? Did Ser Thorian make you summon an actual hurricane, or just a polite rain shower?”
“Somewhere in between,” Lyra laughed weakly, still catching her breath. “I almost set the field on fire instead of calling a clean bolt. Tempest kept me from embarrassing myself completely.”
Yvaine linked her arm through Lyra’s, steering her toward the food line. “Come on. You look like you need three helpings of everything. And then you can tell me how it really went.”
Cassius was already at a table when we entered. He waved us over, lemon-green eyes lighting up when they landed on Lyra. He had deliberately left the seat beside him empty, clearly expecting her to take it.
That sharp twist came again in my chest, hot, possessive, unwelcome. Before I could think, I stepped forward and took the space beside Cassius, forcing Lyra to sit on my other side.
I smiled up at her, patting the bench. “Sit here. Lyra was amazing,” I started, voice carrying just enough for the table to hear. “She called a full localized storm on her first real attempt.
Controlled every drop, every spark. The way she turned a near-miss into a clean strike… most new riders would’ve panicked. She didn’t. She rode it.”
Lyra’s cheeks flushed pink, the color spreading down her neck in that way I’d always found unfairly endearing. She ducked her head, violet curls falling forward to hide part of her face. “It wasn’t that impressive. I almost lost control twice.”
“You didn’t lose it,” I said firmly, refusing to let her diminish it. “You fought through and still finished the drill. That takes real strength.”
Cassius’s gaze burned into the side of my head. I could feel it. He leaned back slightly, lips pressed into a thin line, but said nothing. Good, let him watch.
Yvaine grinned, clearly enjoying the undercurrents. “She’s going to be summoning hurricanes by next week at this rate. Just don’t do it during breakfast, Lyra. I like my porridge dry.”
Lyra laughed, the sound light and tired, and launched into an animated retelling for Yvaine, hands gesturing as she described the lightning dancing along Tempest’s spines. I watched her, that excited smile on her lips, the way exhaustion made her eyes brighter rather than dimmer.
She looked beautiful even when soaked and drained.
But she also looked tired. Too tired.
I made a silent promise to myself: I’d go easy on her during tonight’s sparring. I’d spend more time with her, training, studying, whatever it took to keep her focused. Of course it was only to protect her from breaking the rules. Nothing else.
Nothing at all.
~
That night, the private arena was lit by floating lanterns, their soft golden glow mixing with moonlight and the faint crackle of residual magic in the air.
The rune-carved pillars stood like silent guardians around the circular field, their surfaces still damp from earlier rain. The grass smelled of wet earth and ozone, a scent that now felt as familiar to me as Lyra’s laugh.
Ser Thorian had ordered light aerial drills. I was to “strike” and try to maneuver her toward the ground without hurting her or Tempest.
My father watched from the edge, arms crossed, his presence a heavy weight even from a distance.
Tempest and Lyra rose first. I followed on Zephyr, heart beating harder than it should have for a simple training exercise. The wind rushed past my face as we climbed, cool and sharp, carrying the faint metallic tang that seemed clung to storm riders.
“Begin,” Ser Thorian called, voice cutting through the night.
I moved in gently at first, Zephyr creating a swirling vortex to test her balance. Lyra countered with a focused gust, her violet curls whipping wildly around her face like living lightning. She was grinning, fierce, alive, breathtaking even as rain from the earlier session still clung to her skin.
I closed the distance. Our dragons circled each other in a tense, graceful dance. When I got close enough, I reached out, not to grab, but to steady if needed. My arm brushed hers.
In that instant, Lyra’s focus slipped for half a heartbeat. Tempest banked too sharply. Lyra’s grip faltered. She slid sideways, a startled gasp escaping her lips as gravity claimed her.
I didn’t think. I urged Zephyr forward and leaned out, arms extended. Lyra fell straight into them.
The impact was softer than I expected, her body colliding with mine, warm and rain-damp, the scent of ozone and lavender and her filling my senses.
I caught her fully against my chest, one arm locked around her waist, the other supporting her back. For a suspended moment, the world narrowed to just us.
Sparks.
Not the visible kind Tempest threw, but something deeper, electric tingles racing across my skin where we touched, a jolt that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with her. Her heart hammered against mine.
Her violet curls, still damp and wild, brushed my jaw. She was breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, her soaked uniform clinging to her frame. I could feel every tremor in her muscles, every shaky inhale.
“Kai—” she whispered, voice breathless and surprised.
I held her tighter than I should have, unwilling to let go just yet. The warmth of her body seeped through the leather, chasing away the night chill. My pulse thundered in my ears.
Every inch of me was hyper-aware of her, the curve of her waist under my palm, the way her head tucked perfectly beneath my chin, the faint tremble in her fingers as they gripped my arm for balance.
“You’re okay,” I murmured against her hair, voice rougher than intended. “I’ve got you.”
She didn’t pull away immediately. For a few precious seconds she stayed there, melting into the hold, her arms sliding around my torso in return.
The contact sent another wave of sparks through me, warm, dangerous, impossible to ignore. My neck grew hot beneath the collar of my uniform. Thank the skies for the cover of night.
Ser Thorian’s voice cut through the moment like a blade. “Enough. Regain formation.”