For a moment, his gaze lingers, and I swear sparks alight in his exotic green eyes.
Whoa. Dragon boy definitely checked her out. Then he drops his gaze and growls, “Of course she cheated. She’s Inara’s shadow. I’d expect nothing less.”
The Winter Prince scowls at Eclipsa as he joins us. “Don’t fill her head with nonsense. Cheat or not, that was embarrassing. If Summer wants to be my shadow, she has to actually protect me.”
Ugh, the nerve of this guy. I try to glare at him, but furrowing my brows sends a fresh wave of agony into my skull. “I don’t want to be your shadow. And I certainly wouldn’t ever protect you if it came down to it.”
Eclipsa’s mouth falls open, and she and Asher exchange glances. The dragon shifter suddenly goes from barely looking at me to studying me with a deeply curious half-grin. He must like what he sees because the other side of his lips curve upward into an impressed smile.
“Don’t listen to her,” Asher says, still grinning. “She has a pretty severe concussion. I’m surprised she didn’t pass out.”
The prince ignores both of us, his face schooled into a serious mask as he runs his fingers over my body, checking for broken bones. Every brush of his fingertips sends little bursts of pleasure rippling through my core.
When he’s done with his assessment, he yanks his hands up to my head, pressing his cold fingers into my temples.
I try very hard not to notice the way his palms graze the tops of my cheeks—or the way my heart flutters at the contact. I need help. Mental help. Finding him attractive when he’s the reason I’m here is madness.
He touches a tender spot and I flinch.
“Be still,” he barks. “I’m trying to heal your concussion.”
A shot of cold surges from his fingertips. I cry out, but a second later, the pain in my head dissipates.
The moment he’s done, he jerks his hands away like my flesh burns him and shakes them out. Then he shifts his gaze from me to Eclipsa. “Who’s doing her extra combat sessions?”
Eclipsa tugs on the end of a silver braid. “I think Richter assigned—”
“No,” he interrupts. “Whoever she assigned, they won’t be good enough. Can you take over her training?”
“I . . .” Her gaze slides to me, back to him. I can see she wants to refuse. But then she nods. “Fine. I’ll do what I can.”
Not exactly a vote of confidence, but I don’t blame her after my shameful beat down.
An awkward silence falls. Mack suddenly brightens. “Wait. You healed Summer’s head, which means you can heal the rest of her, right?”
Everyone stares expectantly at the prince, even me. With the pain gone, I might be able to forget the whole humiliating experience. And my lip stings something awful.
But he rewards us with a deep scowl. “Only her concussion, not the rest. She needs to feel every bruise. It will motivate her to pay attention in her first session tomorrow with Eclipsa.”
Jerk. I frown, sending a fresh wave of agony through the tender, swollen flesh of my lip.
“You get off on this, don’t you?” I snap, the pain adding fuel to my already short temper. “You could have called anyone up there, but you chose me, knowing I wasn’t ready. Why?”
A muscle jumps just above the razor-edge line of his jaw. “Just be ready tomorrow for Eclipsa’s sessions.”
When we arrive at the dorms, I shower in a daze and then collapse onto my bed. I stopped by the healing center on the way back, but the Advil and bitter herbal capsule the nurse insisted I take did little to soften my throbbing bruises.
Bruises the Winter Prince could have easily healed—if he wasn’t a sadistic dickwad who enjoys making me suffer.
Mack settles in beside me, and then we stare at the upper bunk and try to come up with a solution to food that doesn’t involve going to the dining hall. No way can I face anyone now.
Before either of us can find an answer, a knock sounds and then a school employee drops two trays brimming with food on the coffee table.
The offering is a mixture of human comfort food—hamburgers and pizza—and the Fae rabbit food I’m beginning to expect, like fruits, nuts, and vegetables.
Mack squeals and grabs the note, reading it in a male voice. “You haven’t bothered attending the dining hall much since you arrived, so I’m sending the food to you.” She flips the card over and frowns. “It’s not signed . . . but it has to be Rhaegar. Have I mentioned how you totally lucked out landing him?”
“Agreed,” I admit as I snag the burger, delighted to see American cheese curling over the edges of the thick meat. God, is there any better kind? There are even packets of both mayo and ketchup, and a little ramekin of pickles.