Page 66 of Ember Rising

I nod, knowing he’s right. That’s all we can do.

21

“I wanted to be an astronaut when I was at my old school. But now I know the greatest role a woman can fulfill is to become a wife, so that’s my new dream.” – excerpt from a speech from the student of the month at the Academy of Eve

Amira

Evander lurches to the side, groaning. I get up from my place a few feet away, where I’m reading a book on a beanbag chair in a former elementary school classroom.

“No!” he yells, raising his arm in a punching motion.

“Hey.” I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze gently. “Wake up. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up.”

His eyes fly open and he jolts, inhaling sharply. I keep my eyes locked on his.

“You’re safe. It was just a nightmare.”

Or a daymare, I guess. He’s been exhausted for days, his eyelids drooping when he’s riding Thunder. I got so worried he might fall asleep, slide out of the saddle and hurt himself that I demanded a stop.

I told him my feet hurt, but he knew it was a lie. His male pride just won’t let him be outworked by me, even if my aromium makes me superhuman in some ways.

The classroom we’re in still has posters on the wall. There’s one about kindergartners being kind, and another with pictures showing how to wash your hands. A behavior chart has students’ names written on little paper apples, each one with a clothespin on a color. It looks like Aydan did not have a great final day of kindergarten—that clothespin is on red.

“Fuck.” Evander scrubs a hand down his face and slides from his slouch against the wall into a sitting position. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You can’t help it.”

He pushes his brows together in a look of disagreement. “You’re going to have to start gagging me when I sleep.”

I laugh lightly. “I don’t think you can afford it. Besides, I didn’t pack my six-inch heels.”

He’s trying to look stern, but his lips are quirking. “I’m not joking. It’s dangerous for me to be drawing attention to us like that.”

“I think it’s dangerous for my partner to be unable to warn me about something because he has a gag in his mouth.”

He stands up, wincing and rubbing the back of his neck. “Why would I need to warn you about something when I’m sleeping?”

“Speaking of sleep, how are you feeling? You were out for a while.”

“I’m good.” He takes a sip from his canteen and packs it into his bag. “Ready to get the horses and go?”

I put my bookmark in my book and get out of the beanbag chair. “My book is excellent, thanks for asking. It’s a reread of an old favorite.”

He ignores me. Things between us have been tense since our argument a few days ago. I stayed mad for a solid twenty-four hours, only speaking to him when I had to, but the silence became too much for me.

I know he was just being defensive. I was, too. His jab about deflecting vulnerability with humor landed because he’s right. When someone’s getting under my skin in any way, I push back the only way I know how.

It hurt my feelings when he shut down and looked away the other night. I thought nothing could feel lonelier than the months and months I spent entirely alone, hardly ever having contact with other people.

This is worse, though. All day, every day, I’m feet away from a man who I just want to hold me. Offer me an unguarded smile. Laugh with me. Kiss me.

“Let’s go,” he says gruffly, not even acknowledging my comment about the book.

The ILF safe house we were expecting to stop at was just an abandoned warehouse. He showed me the map to see if I agreed that we were in the right place, and from what I could see, we were.

It’s bothering him that none of the safe houses marked on the map are there anymore. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay for him to be a dick to me.

We tied our horses up in a barn less than a mile from the school, with hay and fresh water. After walking there in silence, we find them standing where we left them, swishing their tails like they’re bored.