She continued to handle herself with an utter absence of grace and tact, but the question was sincere. She’d again put aside whatever grudge fueled her. Cvareh closed his eyes with a sigh.
He could have answered with a hundred things. He could’ve made up a lie, told a half truth, concocted almost any reason and—from what he knew of her—Arianna would’ve accepted it at face value just for the sake of ending the conversation. But Cvareh did none of those things. He told the truth.
“Because I want to help overthrow him.”
“What?” The entire spectrum of color exploded across her magic.
“The Riders want me because I am working to overthrow the Dragon King.”
“You lie,” she whispered.
“Why else would the Riders be after me?” He sighed again, growing even more tired of the woman. He avoided her questions, and she throttled him. He was smart with her, and she drew her blades. He told her the truth, and she acted like he’d told the most boldfaced lie she’d ever heard. There was literally nothing he could say or do around her that didn’t end with her maiming or insulting him.
“I could think of a number of reasons.”
“And none are better than the explanation I just gave you,” he insisted.
“Why would a Dragon want to overthrow his King?”
His cheek tensed as he struggled to keep his mouth from curving into a condescending smile. A Fenthri could never understand the plight of the Dragon houses. They saw all Dragons as one—one enemy, one overseer, one force to overtake. Even the most enlightened Fenthri would grapple with understanding nearly two thousand years of infighting and power struggles.
“Why are you the White Wraith?” Answering her question with a question annoyed her all the more.
Ari opened her mouth, rising to his challenge as he knew she would. And then her lips clamped shut, smothering the words she’d been about to say. She chewed them over and swallowed them along with every expectation he had for her reaction. Her face was as stony as her skin when she spoke, “Fine, we’ll go with your earlier assessment, Dragon. We don’t need to know anything real about each other.”
Arianna stalked over to him. The woman was almost tall enough to look him in the eyes. She’d be average height for a Dragon, making her unnaturally tall among Fenthri. “But if you have some knowledge that will interfere with my ability to fulfill this boon…”
Cvareh took a sharp inhale, overwhelmed by her scent as she took one step closer and crossed the threshold into his personal space. Her magic assaulted his. It made him hungry for her. He’d had a taste of this woman and now all he could think of when she was so close was the feeling of her, the rush of power as her magic encapsulated his. Yes, there were so many reasons why imbibing from the living was an awful idea.
“If it’s something that’s going to put Flor in harm’s way again…” She was talking. Cvareh struggled to focus on her words, to focus on anything other than the urge to grab her and sink his teeth into her flesh again. “I expect to know.”
Every muscle in his body held him frozen with tension. Arianna was challenging his dominance, trying to overwhelm him, to stay in control of the unorthodox relationship they were forming. She was under his skin. In her he suddenly saw Petra in the most wonderful and heartbreaking way. He loathed it. He loved it.
“Well, now that that’s settled…” Florence summoned both of their attentions once more, snapping them back to reality. She had an amused little glint to her eyes, as though they were more delightful than frightening to watch.
The woman eased away from him, and her magic with her. The powder kegs around them stacked taller, but for now remained dry and cool. Eventually, the only way out would be to forfeit everything they were and strike flint.
“Obviously I didn’t have a chance to go shopping, but I still have the dunca.”
“We have enough supplies here to get to Ter.5.2.,” Arianna muttered. She seemed to look anywhere but him for the first few seconds following their confrontation.
“We’re not going home, are we?” The girl seemed more intrigued than disappointed by the idea.
“Not until we’ve unsaddled ourselves from this one.” Arianna’s particular breed of tact had returned as she motioned rudely to him. “Speaking of…” She resumed rummaging through things, tossing rags in the shape of clothing his way. “You should change.”
“You don’t honestly expect me to wear this, do you?” He poked at the fabric with his toe as though the offending plain trousers were likely to attack him.
“We can’t have you strolling around like a giant blueberry,” Arianna drawled.
“My clothes are quite fashionable,” he defended before he could stop himself. No doubt he’d just given her extra ammunition to attack him with later.
“I fail to see how that—” Ari stole his inflection on the word as she raked him up and down with her eyes, “could be construed as fashionable by anyone in their right mind.”
The desire to rip out her throat was certainly more natural than whatever had been happening earlier.