Page 39 of Forged Flight

“Good girl.”

While Maple settles beside us, Micah pulls two oranges from the satchel.

“Here.”

He hands one to me.

I dig my thumb into the peel, tearing away the thick rind before separating the fruit into segments. The sweet citrus scent fills the crisp mountain air.

When Micah pops a piece into his mouth, a bead of juice slips from the corner of his lips and trails down his chin. It glistens against his skin in the sunlight. He runs his tongue along his chin to catch it, his lips reddened and shining with juice.

My traitorous brain can’t help but imagine that tongue against mine, tangled in a heated kiss. How his soft lips would press to mine, his cheek warm beneath my fingertips.

I look away quickly and clear my throat.

“Good orange?” I ask.

“Mm-hmm.”

I glance at him again.

He’s completely oblivious.

I take another bite of my own orange and stare pointedly at the mountain.

Maybe this journey is going to be more difficult than I thought.

As we ascend the mountain, the air grows colder. Dark clouds gather overhead as fierce winds whip down from the peak. Near the summit, snow begins to dust the ground, coating the path in a thin, slippery layer.

True to her dragon nature, Maple seems delighted by the snow.

She bounds through the white powder, prancing and pouncing playfully. She stomps her little feet and tilts her head back to catch falling snowflakes on her tongue.

I chuckle quietly to myself.

Meanwhile, Micah is having considerably less fun.

He tugs his wool cloak tighter around his face, his teeth chattering softly. His hands disappear beneath his sleeves, balled into fists in an attempt to keep them warm.

“Cold, Doc?”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

I roll my eyes and reach for the knitted scarf wrapped around my neck. “Here.”

I pull it free and hold it out to him.

Micah blinks at the scarf, then back at me. “No, Lucan. You’ll be cold.”

“I’m a giant. We run hot.”

It’s not exactly true, but I know he’s too prideful to accept it otherwise.

He hesitates, his fingers hovering just above the wool. “But—”

A gust of wind cuts between us, and Micah shivers violently.

I sigh. “Honestly, Doc. You’re more stubborn than a mule.”