Breaking Sky(54)

“No stretcher.” Chase tried to stand, but her vision popped with black spots. She loathed the idea of being wheeled through the academy like an invalid. “I’ll make it,” she said, wavering on her feet.

“I’ll take her.”

Before Chase could sort out the voice, someone swooped her up. Her head tipped against a neck. She smelled salty sweat and stared into a tangle of black hair. “Tristan,” she murmured. His name sunk through her and warmed everything.

Tristan shifted her weight, walking so fast that the motion rocked her into a half-conscious daze. They were on the Green when she came to again. She would have known the stillness of the leaves and the rhythmic knock of the brick path underfoot anywhere.

“What was Sylph doing over the line?” Tristan asked Kale.

Good freakin’ question, Chase thought.

“Even if I knew, you know we can’t discuss it,” Kale said.

“Of course.” Tristan’s tone edged. “Any guess how Chase destroyed that drone?”

Kale spoke in a hurry. “General Tourn already requested her flight footage. He’ll call a meeting after he reviews it, but I think it’s certain this will have serious repercussions.”

Not him. Her mind cartwheeled over her father. His curse of a name. His too-large forearms and clipped gray hair. She held Tristan tighter, and he lifted her a little higher, closer.

“But it’s the first drone anyone’s managed to knock out of the sky,” Tristan argued. “It has to mean something good.”

“Does it?”

The silence that followed Kale’s question held too many answers. If Ri Xiong Di knew that the U.S. had airpower capable of taking down a drone, they might attack in a hurry. Chase’s breath cut out. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe before this night was done with its darkness…

“Will this affect the trials?” Tristan asked.

“They won’t look kindly on her passing out like that.”

“But her RIO hit the autopilot in time.”

“What if she hadn’t brought down that drone before she needed the autopilot? Or there had been a second drone waiting? Dragon would have been a sitting duck. We can’t afford to lose multibillion-dollar jets that easily.”

“She’s the only one of us who could have outmaneuvered that drone. You have to tell them that. That thing was fast.”

“I know.” Kale took a very loud, deep breath. “But no one wants kamikaze pilots.”

Chase lost her grip on Tristan as Kale’s words fell all over her like dead weight.

Tristan only held her more firmly. “Nyx could have lost that drone, but she stayed in front of it. I know what she’s like in the air. She made sure it didn’t bring its intel back to Ri Xiong Di.” His hold on her tightened as his words grew tenser. “Come on, Brigadier General. If your military can’t—”

“Cadet. Let me remind you that you are under my command while you train here.”

Silence knifed its way in. Chase’s brain had woken fully from the heated exchange. Why was Kale dismissing Tristan’s concern? Why did Tristan seem like he wanted to deck the brigadier general? For once, Kale’s hardness felt overly stubborn—and Tristan…the way he kept defending Chase made her want to tangle up with him. Hands, arms, and lips.

When Kale spoke again, his voice had softened, sounding more like himself. “We need to start thinking as allies, Router.”

“Yes, Brigadier General.”

Chase heard it all too slowly to respond. She locked her fingers around Tristan’s neck and peered at a few brown freckles on sand-hued skin.

So she’d gotten her colors back.

When they reached the infirmary, a commotion eclipsed the warmth of being close to Tristan. Voices shouted all over the place. She heard Pippin yelling at Sylph about the drone and Riot telling everyone to chill out. Chase tried to stir, but her mind still felt behind, and she felt too beat for flyboy drama. She groaned, and Tristan seemed to understand. He didn’t leave her in the midst of the arguing. He took her to one of the beds in the back, through the sea of curtains, where it was much quieter.

“Let go, Chase,” he said, unwinding her arms from his neck. She settled into a mound of pillows. Now that she was inert, she felt more awake.

Or maybe it was because she was alone with him.

“What, no kiss?” she mumbled.

Tristan leaned in and pinched her ear. “Maybe next time.”

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.”