But then he did kiss her. A brush of lips so fast that by the time she’d woken up her mouth, he was pulling away. She grabbed the front of his flight suit and hauled him closer.
He was more than ready. One hand took the back of her neck and the other braced his body over hers. His face tilted in, and she felt fire and wind and so much speed in every brush and push of his skin.
A minute passed. Maybe an hour. Someone cleared his or her throat, and Tristan pulled away sharply. A twentysomething medic stood at the edge of the room, her eyebrows raised.
Tristan turned to leave so fast that he headed straight into the curtain. He swung his arms to get free of the draped cloth, swearing in the strongest Canadian accent she’d yet heard from him. When he finally emerged, his sweat-battered hair was a complete mess, and he spun in a circle before heading for the door.
“Feeling better?” the medic asked sarcastically as she watched Tristan’s hasty exit. She began to take Chase’s blood pressure. “I miss being a cadet,” the woman grumbled. “Haven’t gotten any in ages.”
Chase ignored the medic and held a hand over the radiating blush on her face.
So. Tristan kissed like he flew. Christ, the boy was amazing.
? ? ?
Chase snuck out of the infirmary at what Kale would call an ungodly hour, sick of being treated like she had been hurt. Her loss of consciousness had been more significant than Pippin’s because her mask had unsnapped during her mad dash to engage autopilot.
Thank God her RIO had managed it. If he hadn’t…
She couldn’t even think about it.
Chase’s body had been starved of oxygen for several minutes—or so her sex-deprived medic had informed her. No permanent damage, just a crushing headache. The throbbing pain couldn’t hold Chase down, though. She needed to find Sylph.
They had unfinished business concerning the demarcation line.
Chase went to the room Riot and Sylph shared. She knocked for a solid minute before a sleep-washed Riot answered the door. “I need Sylph,” she said.
“She’s not here,” Riot said through a yawn.
“Why were you guys over the d-line? You shouldn’t have been closer than a hundred miles from it.”
He ignored her question. “Try the hangar. She goes to Pegasus when she can’t sleep.” He shut the door on Chase, almost snipping her face. His bandaged hand was the last thing she saw.
Chase headed to the hangar. The chilled air of the concrete building took hold faster than usual, along with a flash of red through Chase’s thoughts. That drone had been so terrible, and yet beautiful—a sleek death machine.
It should have killed them.
Dragon sat where she always did, but her landing gear had been disassembled. Again. Sylph’s bird was parked next to hers, pristine and girly like always. Even after its run-in with the drone, the jet appeared unscathed. Chase heard a strange shuffling as she took in Pegasus. She stepped around the wings and braked hard. Boards out.
Sylph was pressed against the jet’s side, her arms and lips locked on a young airman with a familiar hawkish face. He had his hands up the back of her shirt, and Sylph’s too-long legs were wrapped around his waist.
“Whoa.” Chase’s heartbeat shot off the charts. The way they devoured each other made Chase’s make-out sessions seem like kids at play. “Whoa,” she said even louder. They stopped kissing and scrambled to detangle themselves. The airman buckled his belt while Sylph smoothed her hair, calmly eyeing Chase.
The guy’s face, however, was turning reddish purple. Embarrassment smeared with fear.
“You!” Chase heard herself saying. “You work up in the tower.” She checked the front of his uniform: MASTERS. He had been the staff sergeant who lipped her after she’d first spotted Phoenix. “Am I hallucinating?” Chase blinked hard. “I must be.”
Masters looked like he was going to bark a command, but Sylph whispered in his ear. He nodded, gave her another scorching kiss, and left. Sylph approached, casually braiding her hair back.
“What was that?” Chase asked.
“Get over it,” Sylph said. “This has nothing to do with you, and you’re not going to say anything to anyone.”
“I’m not sure I’d know what to say,” Chase said honestly.
Sylph hooked arms with Chase and led her through the hangar, more purposeful than friendly. “Liam and I are in love, Nyx, and I’m eighteen, so it’s legal.”
“Legal nothing. Kale will crap a mongoose when—”
“He can’t know.” Chase thought Sylph was going to get fiery with her, but Sylph’s mood went the other way. She seemed…scared. The effect took years off Sylph’s ordinarily hardened persona. “The trials and that drone—if Kale finds out, he’ll put me on the Down List. Liam’s the most important thing to me.” Sylph looked at Pegasus. “But I don’t want to lose my wings.”
Liam? It was weird to think the hawk-eyed staff sergeant had a first name. Then again, Chase had just seen his tongue in action. She eyed Sylph. The girl was much less daunting at this angle, not to mention she almost glowed when she said Liam. “I won’t say anything, Sylph. But you have to tell me what in hell happened yesterday.”
“Blackmail. That’s how you want to play this.”
“No. I want you to tell me what happened. I think I deserve that much.”
“You saved my life.” Only Sylph could say that without gratitude. “So I will tell you. But after all the crap you’ve pulled over the years, you better not judge.” Her eyebrows scrunched. “You and Arrow blasted off together faster than I’ve ever been willing to go, and I didn’t want to be third best anymore. I was…it was just supposed to be a hop across the d-line and back again. That quick. I wanted to be the first to cross it.” Her smile was downright heartbreaking. “And I was. I’ll always have that over you. Even if they take my wings for it.”