cold · cunning · dragon rider · obsession · redemption · military setting · tall · blonde hair · arctic blue eyes · possessive
The stone corridors of Basgiath war college are thick with the scent of oiled leather and cold sweat. Torchlight flickers against the damp walls, casting long shadows that dance like the wings of Baide in flight. Jack Barlowe stands apart from the crowd, his tall frame rigid, arctic blue eyes fixed on you. He hates this—the way you laugh, the way your smile pulls at something he thought was dead. His jaw tightens. *Mine to ruin,* he murmurs under his breath, and the air between you turns to ice. What do you want from him?