16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Evandra
My eyes fluttered open slowly, the cool morning air brushing against my skin.
For once, I hadn’t dreamed. The absence of those haunting visions felt like a reprieve—a silence I hadn’t realized I craved.
I turned my head and felt the soft pressure of warmth against my cheek.
I almost gasped when I saw him—Eldrake, still asleep, his strong chest rising and falling steadily beneath my cheek.
His scaled shoulder felt surprisingly smooth and warm against my palm. How did this become my reality?
I traced his features with my eyes, drinking in the sharp line of his jaw and the peacefulness that softened his otherwise battle-hardened face.
I couldn’t wrap my head around it—why someone like him, a God among men, would show any interest in someone like me.
Maybe it was fleeting. Perhaps it was something deeper.
Whatever it was, I’d take it for as long as I could.
He shifted in his sleep, brow furrowing faintly before his eyes fluttered open. For a moment, we just looked at each other—no words, no breath. Just warmth and something I didn’t have a name for yet.
Ahem.
The sharp sound of a throat clearing broke through the quiet, startling us both.
Eldrake shot upright in an instant, flames licking at his palms as though his body was already prepared for battle.
I reeled at the sudden absence of his warmth, clutching the bedroll for stability as I sat up.
My heart sank as my eyes landed on Felix standing at the tent’s entrance, arms crossed and shaking his head.
“Sleeping in, are we?” Felix tapped his foot in exaggerated annoyance, his golden gaze darting between my disheveled gown and matted hair. His lips twitched like he was holding back a grin. “Honestly, you two make sneaking around look about as subtle as a parade.”
“Fuck,” Eldrake muttered under his breath, extinguishing the flames as he stood. He cast Felix a dark look, but Felix only flicked his curls dramatically and muttered something about “Godsdamned dragons and their timing.”
Eldrake turned back to me, his expression somewhere between sheepish and amused.
“This was… nice,” he said with a crooked smile, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. The soft gesture sent my heart racing all over again. Before I could respond, he slipped out of the tent, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Nice, I thought to myself. It was more than nice. I pressed my fingers to my forehead where his lips had been, the ghost of his touch lingering. I’m falling for him—hard.
Before I’d get hurried along to pack up, I scrambled to my satchel, dragging out the old index I’d packed in haste. My hands trembled as I flipped through brittle pages, my eyes skimming desperately until they caught the word that had burned itself into me last night.
Dragonblood
Classification: Beast – Draconic Hybrid
Rarity: Extremely rare
Threat Level: High
Appearance:
Dragonbloods are humanoid in form, bearing a striking resemblance to men and women but with unmistakable draconic features.
Although primarily human in shape and size, they are distinguished by patches of iridescent scales on their shoulders, hips, chest, and throat—remnants of their ancient ancestry.
These scales often shimmer in hues of emerald, onyx, or sapphire, and their patterns are as unique as a fingerprint.
Most Dragonbloods possess Star-Glow eyes, which seem to pulse with inner fire, and many have slightly elongated canines, adding a subtle but unmistakable predatory edge to their otherwise human faces.
Temperament:
Known for their fiery intensity and unyielding passion, Dragonbloods are as feared as they are revered.
Loyal to a fault, they will defend those they consider kin or bonded with a ferocity unmatched by any other Riftborn.
Their emotional range is vast—and explosive.
Love and hatred burn equally deep, and once sparked, their fury is nearly impossible to extinguish.
Their loyalty is not easily earned, but once given, it is lifelong.
Just as true: betrayal cuts them deeper than any blade.
Abilities:
Dragonbloods retain formidable elemental magic, particularly tied to fire.
Flames often respond to their emotions without conscious command.
In battle, many exhibit enhanced strength, speed, and agility and can withstand injuries that would incapacitate most Riftborn.
Rare individuals have also been recorded as possessing limited telepathic or empathic abilities with dragons or other dragonkin—suggesting a lingering psychic bond to their ancestral bloodline.
Weaknesses:
While physically resilient, Dragonbloods are emotionally volatile.
They are particularly vulnerable to heartbreak, betrayal, or loss, often suffering psychological effects far greater than most. This emotional volatility can lead to dangerous impulsivity-especially when provoked.
Prolonged exposure to heavy Rift magic may also weaken them temporarily, as their hybrid blood was never meant to channel the full power of dragons.
Notes:
To engage with a Dragonblood is to step into the fire. They are creatures of heat and hunger, devotion and destruction. To win a Dragonblood’s trust is to gain an ally—or lover—of mythic loyalty. But to betray one…
…is to summon wrath as fierce as dragon fire.
I carefully folded the corner of the page, marking it for later reference.
I knew I’d want to return to it, to study every word.
Dragonbloods were known for their passion—for their intensity, their fire, both figuratively and literally.
And Eldrake? He embodied that passion in every look, every word, every deliberate move.
I closed the book, running my fingers over the scaly cover as my thoughts swirled.
He was devoted to the uprising and his cause with a fervor that was almost contagious.
But it wasn’t just his mission that stirred something inside me.
Packing up camp was a quiet, tense affair. Felix seemed intent on avoiding eye contact with either of us, clearly irritated. Drake, for his part, kept shooting me apologetic looks as if to say, This isn’t your fault. I tried not to smile every time he caught my gaze.
Once we were all mounted, I fell into the middle of the group, sandwiched between Felix and Drake. The awkward tension stretched into hours of silent riding, the rhythmic thud of hooves doing little to distract me from my racing thoughts. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“So,” I began, breaking the awkward silence, “you said you knew my mother?”
Drake slowed his horse to match my pace, his expression softening. “Not personally,” he admitted. “But our Commander, Julian, did. They were close. Your mother saved his life on multiple occasions, or so the stories go.”
He glanced at me, his chestnut hair catching the breeze and revealing more of his angular features.
“In fact,” he continued, “that’s how they met.
Your mother had the same vision every night for a month.
She saw a man—always the same—dying in an alley.
Sometimes poisoned. Sometimes his throat slit. But always dead.”
I listened, captivated, as we turned a bend in the road.
“She finally recognized the alley in Castle City’s market district.
Rode three nights and four days without rest until she found him.
When the assassin made his move, she intervened, killing him before he could strike.
The man she saved was Julian.” Drake’s voice was steady, but there was a quiet reverence there.
My heart swelled with a mixture of pride and disbelief. My mother—the woman I thought I knew—was a hero—a Riftborn leader.
“But if she was so powerful,” I asked, my voice cracking slightly, “how did she die in something as mundane as a house fire?”
Felix finally chimed in from behind me, his tone softer than usual but still distinctly his.
“No one knows. And believe me, we’ve asked every question you’re about to ask yourself.
It’s haunted us for a decade. Doesn’t add up.
A Seer who saved generals and kings brought down by a stray candle?
Please.” He gave a little shake of his head, golden curls catching the light. “None of us buy it.”
Drake’s expression darkened. “There were whispers of sabotage,” he said, his voice low. “But no proof.”
Silence settled over us again as I processed this new piece of my mother’s story.
“Why now?” I finally asked, unable to keep the bitterness from my tone. “If Julian knew about me, why did you wait so long? Why didn’t you come sooner?”
Drake looked away, guilt flickering across his features.
Felix answered before the weight could strangle the moment completely.
“Because the King is getting close,” he said simply, though his voice was clipped in a way that suggested even he hated the answer.
Then he gave me a quick sidelong glance, his mouth quirking just slightly.
“And believe me, love, if it were up to me, we’d have fetched you ages ago.
But Julian likes his timing dramatic.” he said, his voice clipped.
“He knows the Uprising exists and is working with one of our own—a Riftborn traitor,” the weight of those words hung heavy in the air.
Drake cut him a look, but Felix only shrugged, unbothered. “What? She deserves honesty.”
“A traitor?” I asked, my stomach twisting.
“Vyper,” Drake growled, his fists tightening around his reins. “A warlock. He’s powerful and ruthless, and he can see through our wards and disguises. He’s been picking off our people one by one.”