Chapter Thirty-Five #2
Forcing myself to wake up from whatever spell I was just under, I kick Draven’s shin as hard as I can. The moment he loosens his grip, I twist out of it, bringing my elbow down on his arm.
Once safely a few paces away—my body a disheveled mess of different feelings—I blow out a breath and reset. “Now, let’s try this again.”
“Alright,” he says with a new wave of amusement. “But try not to get distracted this time.” His lip kicks up with a wry grin, and something about the way he says it tells me he wasn’t referencing the moment I looked at Griff.
And if I wasn’t already committed to bringing him to the ground, I certainly am now.
I will win using whatever means necessary.
If that means I need to play a little dirty?
Well then, so be it. I’ve done a lot worse for a lot less.
And conveniently, I’ve picked up on a particular thing about Draven when he moves.
I just have to distract him, if only for a moment.
I lunge forward, engaging him. I strike, and when he effortlessly dodges, I allow my shoulders to hunch slightly, as if I am bordering on giving up.
I pivot back to the left, and when I feint, I make it obvious.
Draven catches my punch again, and this time, I am banking on him clutching me.
When he does, I flick my eyes up at him, allowing something a hell of a lot like desire to rest within them, and then I slowly use my free hand to graze along his inner thigh, just past that sensitive part of him.
And I make damn sure to ignore the stir it causes within my own stomach.
Draven hesitates, only for a moment—his breath catching as he flicks his eyes to my lips. Slowly, he shifts his weight onto his other foot, preparing for his next move.
The exact moment I’m waiting for.
Right as his balance shifts, I hook my foot behind his knee, sweeping hard against his legs, taking his feet out beneath him.
Draven’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then he plummets toward the ground, his back landing with a satisfying thud .
The unexpected sound echoes through the stunned silence.
Gray swears under his breath. Marcella chokes on a noise somewhere between shock and delight. Griff outright screams with praise. Kiran claps.
And Draven—
Draven looks up at me, his eyes rounding into an expression he’s never gazed at me with before.
He blows out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Some would call that a dirty move,” he informs me, humor punctuating his words.
I lift a lazy hand and shrug. “I’ve never been one to play by the rules. I’ll win however I can.”
He tilts his head. “And who says you’ve won?” Quicker than a blink, he hooks one hand around my waist and the other around my wrist. Then he yanks me toward the ground—toward him .
I let out a startled gasp as the world tilts. I fall—
And laid right on top of Draven.
The impact knocks the air from my lungs, and I find myself half-sprawled on top of him, hands braced against the ground on either side of his head, my braid slipping over my shoulder.
He leans forward, sitting up slightly, and my body heightens with awareness as he shifts beneath me. “Never claim victory prematurely,” he says, his voice low in this throat.
I freeze.
He doesn’t.
With impressive ease, Draven reverses our positions, rolling me underneath him. He pins both my shoulders to the ground, the action pressing his hips against somewhere I’d rather not imagine them being. And the fires coursing through me as a result are spreading faster than I can quench them.
“I told you,” he says, eyes bright. “I never lose.” The thick rasp in his voice sends a chill down my skin—and not from fear.
“You almost did,” I point out, a slight quiver in my words.
His lip kicks up. “Not the same thing.”
“Well aware,” I mutter. “But thanks for the reminder. Now, will you let me go?”
His smirk curves a little more. “Say please,” he drawls.
I mock a smile.
Then, without warning, I twist sharply, ungracefully wiggling free from his hold.
He releases me, chuckling under his breath as he does, and I roll away in one fluid movement—an action that results in twigs getting intertwined with my hair. When I glance down, I also realize I now have grass stains pressed into my clothes and dirt smudged across my cheek.
Draven, propped upright on his knees, watches me with a curious expression on his face.
Kiran approaches from behind, crouching down next to me, offering me his hand. “You performed admirably,” he praises, genuine pride caressing his words. “I’ve never seen a single person put Draven on his back before. Ever.”
“I still lost in the end,” I mutter through a pout. I swipe mud from my cheek and huff a sigh. My eyes slide back to Draven, whose attention remains fixed on me.
The curves of his mouth deepen, spreading until a full-fledged smile consumes his lips.
Then, quite unexpectedly, he laughs—the sound low and deep, pulling from his throat.
Until, in rhythm with the tilt of my head and the confusion pinching my features, that laugh migrates to pulling from deep in his stomach.
And as Draven shifts to sit back on his outstretched arms, he practically doubles over from laughing so hard.
And gods help me, something about it makes my breath catch.
“He’s laughing…” Kiran breathes, a poignant bow tied delicately around his words. “Draven’s actually laughing again.”
I glance at Kiran, a notch in my brow. “Is he really such a stoic ass that it’s that surprising?”
Yet, despite what I’ve said, something deep in my gut tells me it is that surprising. That, for one reason or another, Draven isn’t afforded many moments where he may laugh freely, without restraint. And I understand that sort of feeling more than I wish I did.
Suddenly, Marcella’s words ring in my head.
Because those stitched from the same threads will always recognize each other.
Is that what this growing feeling toward Draven is? A recognition? Is it possible—despite how implausible it seems, with him undoubtedly being a highborn noble—that we are somehow stitched from similar threads?
Kiran doesn’t respond right away, but instead watches Draven with conflicted eyes that seem to grapple with dueling emotions, deciding if they wish to fill with relieved happiness or pensive sadness. Finally, he murmurs through an attempted smile, “Something like that.”
I study Kiran closely. There is something there, hiding in the shadows of his words. But before I can ask what it is he meant, Gray, Marcella, and Griff shuffle over, whooping and hollering for my—almost—victory.
Marcella tackles me back to the ground and presses a wet, sloppy kiss to my cheek. “That was badass .”
Griff, following Marcella’s lead, plops himself on top of her, thus on top of me. “ So badass,” he echoes with a humorous amount of enthusiasm. “You dropped a gods-damn captain .”
Gray chuckles, folding his arms over his chest at the display. “Damn right she did,” he beams.
Kiran rises with not some wry smirk, but a warm, authentic smile pulling at his lips.
He walks over to Draven, who watches contentedly as Griff and Marcella squirm on top of me, making whooping noises of praise, showering me with compliments.
He has a leg propped comfortably into the air, and he rests his cheek in his palm, placing his weight on his propped elbow.
And I’ve never seen him look so…at ease. Happy, even.
I’m surprised by how breathtaking of a sight it is.
The sun grazes the horizon, and the sky is cast in such a magnificent red-golden light, my breathing hitches.
My heart swells, and the sensation squeezes behind my breastbone before migrating to my chest, as if my heart doesn’t know what to do with such astounding feelings of happiness.
Between Draven’s laugh, Kiran’s unforgettable smiles, Gray’s loyalty, Marcella’s constant support—even Griff’s goofy, yet disarming presence—I’m not sure I know how to process something so… good.
And a thought crosses my mind—
Maybe it’s moments like this one that are meant to be buried deep beneath my skin.
That perhaps I should attempt to be built on memories featuring the warm glow of sunsets instead of the damning glow of flames.
Maybe the past isn’t meant to be carried around forever—perhaps the past is meant to be nothing more than a fleeting thing.
To pass through me like warm wind through open hands.
I don’t have to forget it, but I don’t have to bear the weight of it forever, either.
If I did, there wouldn’t be any room for memories like this one.
And I think I want more memories like this.