xaden riorson had not left the medical ward in three days.

his hands were still besmirched with vermillion fluid—your blood, jack’s, his own from throwing punches until his knuckles split. the latter was trivial.

in truth, it did not even register, not when he’d been preoccupied mind-numbingly pacing the perimeter of the medical ward, like a ghost with unfinished business. he’d been in this maddened state from the moment they’d hauled you off the sparring mats, limp and not quite breathing.

by malek, the fight hadn’t even been sanctioned. jack—fucking jack barlowe—had antagonised you in a way only someone suicidal could accomplish. you should have turned away, withdrawn from the altercation before it escalated into violence.

but you hadn’t, and jack’s luck must’ve surged by the moment—for he’d caught your jaw just right, just wrong, until you crumpled to the ground with the most repugnant sound xaden had ever heard elicited from the human body.

so xaden did what nobody reasonable would’ve resolved to do. he left jack unconscious, after boastfully shattering his cheekbone, crushing two ribs like the wings of a moth, and cracking his wrist obscenely.

but that hadn’t caused you to stir, even when he’d recounted it to your slumbering self. you remained motionless that night. your unresponsive state carried to the next.

xaden hadn’t allowed himself the respite of sleep. hell, he hadn’t even dared to close his eyes, lest he miss the barest shift. when he’d been forcibly escorted out, he’d not known what to do with himself, and couldn’t comprehend why they’d removed him from the premises to begin with. perhaps he had screamed at the medics. and he may have threatened to turn one of them inside out if they didn’t find a way to awaken you.

but all of this was insignificant, because now—

now—

you were ambling across the landing fields as though nothing had transpired a mere handful of days ago. as though you hadn’t been moments away from being disembowelled before half of the quadrant.

sgaeyl alerted him immediately, obviously—having gathered intelligence from tairn, who refused to withhold anything from his bonded mate. xaden made good use of this information by pursuing you—he sliced through the clouds on sgaeyl’s back, just as you landed. and immediately got tairn to the face.

and his interpretation of “to the face,” meant tairneanach unfurled his gargantuan wings in a way that successfully conveyed do not fucking try me. smoke poured from his parted maw as he positioned himself between you and riorson, as though your partner was the threat.

xaden slowed to a stop, incredulity rolling off of him in waves.

you were idle behind tairn’s thick foreleg, appearing both exhausted and perplexed, patting at your bonded dragon’s scaled ankle like it would mellow his hostility. it did, in fact, not. the big bastard was crowding you back like he was trying to tuck you inside his own body for the sole purpose of preserving you.

and so the three of you stood there, sgaeyl uninterested in doing anything other than frightening first years.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” riorson uttered at last, his low baritone proving to still be somewhat hoarse, courtesy of the hours he’d spent barking at people to do their jobs more adequately. his brows furrowed, and he took a step forward.

tairn’s tail swung in a discouraging arc that would’ve sent a lesser man into cardiac arrest.

unremitting, xaden took another step, only for tairn’s nostrils to flare.

xaden’s mouth was beginning to tighten at the edges. “it’s not like i’m trying to fuck them right here, you oversized lizard.”

tairn’s throat began to glow as he built up flames, apparently preparing to torch the offending human on the spot.

this would be an excellent moment for you to intervene.