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She was battle-trained through the scale riders, top of her legion, and beneath it all, she was a witch with the ability to travel through time. When she reached the top step, she reminded herself that her confidence in herself was not ill-placed as a solid form stepped out into her path. Darkness had swallowed the mountain revealing stars large enough she might be able to reach out and touch them. Their glittering forms framed the silhouette before her. Bram crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her.
“Reporting for our mission, legion leader,” the sting of sarcasm and anger laced the words she spoke.
“Why are you doing this?” His voice was so low, she wondered if he’d actually spoken or if the wind had somehow howled between the nearness of their bodies. “What do you gain? What do you lose?”
Questions she couldn’t even quite answer herself. Standing still wasn’t an option. Sitting on her ass and twiddling her thumbs wouldn’t solve this curse or provide the answers lost with her memories.
“I’ve been cleared by Arno. There’s no reason I can’t go. Plus,” she raised her voice as she spoke, “everyone knows you need me and Brooks to make it through this trip.”
The rest of their legion was little more than shadows amongst the haze of fog and cloud that was descending upon the mountain. Quiet indistinguishable chatter and echoing chuckles could be heard from their distant conversations. She didn’t hide her smirk as she tried to step around Bram and toward the group. His thick calloused fingers wrapped quickly around her forearm, pulling her to a stop. Her annoyance ticked upward at the contact. Heat burned through her shirt where he touched her, a fire fed by his anger. The same hand that had once brought her to climax was now holding her back.
Bram’s mouth peeled into a sneer; one he’d never pointed so directly at her before. It curdled her arrogance and somehow made him more beautiful as far as scale riders were concerned. He was strong and he was wholly unyielding. “Fine, but don’t think I’ll risk this team or jump to save you should your decision prove to be wrong.”
“I’d never ask that of you.”
Some of the laughter behind them died down. His hand dropped back to his side, though he kept his eyes trained on her. Her arm quickly grew cold where his touch had once been. It felt somehow as if his touch belonged to someone she’d never known before. That spark of anger she held quickly fizzled out.
He’d never been angry at her. Not truly. Not like this. She’d never gotten a glimpse of this side of him directed at her before. She wasn’t sure if she liked it. Then she wasn’t sure if she cared enough to convince herself to like it. Still, a fraction of her recoiled at his acrimony. First, he’d so fiercely tried to keep her here when her place was with her legion out of what…worry?
Meira somewhat regretted egging him on with her sarcasm and pettiness, if only for the sake of respect that his position over her was due. Bram had no right to fret over her as more than another rider in his legion. Even if they were in an actual relationship, she couldn’t convince herself that this sort of behavior wouldn’t bother her. Maybe they were simply outgrowing one another, and these were their growing pains.
Huffing a breath, Bram turned and strode toward Yule who leaned against the mountainside watching in silence. Yule’s attention met Meira’s and the lieutenant pursed her lips. Yule knew, just as the legion knew, about their occasional relations. She’d never once mentioned it, though Meira could read the disappointment in that single look. She forced her shoulders back instead of letting them slump forward like they wanted to.
She’d awoken to such a mess. Everything was off, this entire timeline felt stilted. Meira was fighting an uphill battle against forces she didn’t remember.
“How are you feeling, deadweight?” Isaac, a lesser rider but a typically humorous friend, tilted his chin toward her as she approached the small standing of riders. She forced herself to keep her attention on him and not allow herself the opportunity to look back over her shoulder.
His jab made the strangeness of her feelings worsen. “I’m fine,” she said and hoped that her true emotions weren't playing out on her face. She’d never been good at hiding how she felt. Her expressions were a wide variety of perfect showmanship. Whether she wanted them to be or not.
“I tried to tell him not to call you that,” Quincy said from where she sat on her pack. She thrust her leg out toward Isaac who easily jumped over the low sweeping kick. Her long braids swayed against her tall frame with the motion, several beads clacking together. “It’s rude.”
How fiercely Quincy defended others was one of the many reasons Meira liked her.
Isaac shrugged and pulled a pick from his pocket. He stretched the tight coils of his curls though they were already arranged in a perfect halo around his scalp. “Oh, she can take it, can’t you, deadweight?”
The moon poked out between a break of clouds and light glinted off his pick. Meira snatched it from his hand, fisting it tightly between her fingers as she held his gaze. Never once did his smile falter, if anything it grew wider. “Why don’t you worry about the mission instead of how pretty you look?” she snapped.
“I thought you all only brought me along because of my good looks?” Isaac feigned offense and promptly plucked the pick right out of Meira’s hand again. The reflection of the moon disappeared as he slid it back into the front pocket of his jacket and gave it a pat.
“Actually,” Brighton turned toward the conversation, “Quincy is very clearly the pretty one.”
Brighton, though known for saying things that might be kind but not necessarily true, was right. Isaac, with his shadow-kissed skin, caramel-colored eyes, and perfectly arranged hair didn’t hold a candle to Quincy. She was darkness personified. Skin the darkest shade of midnight, a body worth confessing every secret to, and eyes that held the stars. Quincy was a goddess. Isaac could only look undoubtedly plain next to her.
“Thank you, Brighton.” Quincy tossed a couple of her braids over her shoulder and flashed a bright white smile at him. His cheeks turned a pretty shade of red before he laughed awkwardly under his breath.
There had been a time when Meira had found herself jealous of Quincy. Of the woman with the pretty smile and the curves that caught men’s attention. That jealousy melted away as she’d gotten to know her, and how she was also a fierce protector with a good heart. If ever there was a law that bound women together in unity, Quincy followed it. At one time or another, the woman had looked at Bram with a spark of interest. Those embers of attraction had gone out the moment she’d heard of Bram and Meira’s first kiss. Meira learned that Quincy was quite unattracted to men who were unavailable either emotionally or otherwise. It led her to admire her fellow scale rider. She wondered if this need for an open heart in a partner was what kept Quincy from reciprocating Brighton’s clear feelings.
Brighton was practically a foot shorter than Quincy, not that Meira thought that mattered to her friend, and he was average in regards to his looks. With light brown hair, always shaved close to his scalp, and pale gray eyes, he was unremarkable. The important bit was that Brighton was kind. The bit that likely held Quincy back was that he wasn’t even a year out of a serious relationship that had ended in his fiancée’s abrupt death. Meira still wanted to root for them.
The frigid mountain air collected her breaths in a cloud. She blinked through the haze of it, holding her breath for a moment before letting it out again. When her vision cleared, Bram was marching toward the cliff's edge. She wondered if the other riders secretly rooted for her and him.She cared for him—though right now she didn’t particularly like him—but she couldn’t let herself care too much. If life had taught her much of anything it was that to love was to accept heartbreak and her heart had already been broken too much. As a scale rider, death was always right around the corner.
Whatever conversations still lingered came to an end as they watched Bram turn on his heel and look them over. Meira almost flinched at the glint of anger that still flashed in his eyes.
“Our rendezvous point to pick up Warlord Vigor Brendal’s heir is roughly an hour’s flight. Once we’ve acquired his son, Valen Brendal, we’ll take to the woods alternating flyers overhead and those traveling on the ground. We fly out in Flight Formation One, separating our two dragon whisperers. Brooks will fly Second Cord.” Bram paused and Meira curled her fingers into the straps of her pack. Second Cord was usually her position. She’d earned her right to fly at the back of her legion leader. She could take down nearly all of her team when it came to combat and Mrithun was second in speed only to Bram’s own Bold Wing. Bram scanned the group but his eyes skimmed right over Meira as he finished. “Meira will take Pocket’s Edge.”
The back. Bram had banished her to the back of the group.
Fine. If that’s how he wanted to handle this then Meira could be happy in the back.
