19. Chapter Nineteen #2
I adjusted myself—because fuck —and stalked down the hall like a man on a mission.
Noble. Official. Important. I marched through the ship, already rehearsing the speech in my head.
For the benefit of the cause. A personal mission of utmost importance.
See to her every need. Yes. That sounded official.
Noble. I made my way up the stairs, crossed the deck, passed through the dining hall, and burst straight into Julian’s chambers without knocking.
Julian nearly launched out of his chair, the book in his hand flying like a startled bird. “Drake! Saints preserve us, must you always enter like the Angel of Death kicking in the gates? A knock, a cough, even a delicate tap—any of those would suffice!”
“No time for formalities, Commander.” I gave a hasty bow and launched into my well-prepared spiel.
“With all due respect, I demand to be reassigned. Effective immediately, my sole mission should be as Lady Evandra’s personal watchdog and protector.
As our most valuable ass, she is crucial to the success of the Uprising.
Someone of my particular skill set guarding her at all times is not only prudent—it’s necessary. ”
Julian blinked. “Did you mean asset ?”
“That’s what I said.”
Julian leaned back in his chair, long limbs folding like a marionette at rest. He steepled his fingers, lips quirking.
“So let me see if I understand: you wish to abandon your squad—your finely tuned, well-oiled squad—to play nursemaid to our Seer? To hover about her skirts like a lovesick mastiff? That’s the proposition? ”
I paused. “Yes.”
He tapped his chin, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Remarkable. I always assumed it would be Fen who snapped first, not you.”
I glared.
Julian chuckled, waving a hand. “Relax, Captain, relax. You’ve made a sound argument.
Aberdeen would give his crown to see her captured, or worse, and you do make an impressive wall of muscle.
Intimidating. Broody.” His expression sharpened.
“And you’re right: we cannot afford to lose her. Not to him. Not to anyone.”
I straightened. “So you’ll approve it?”
He ignored me, twirling his mustache thoughtfully before speaking again. “Fine. You’re reassigned. From Squad Captain to... Captain of Lady Evandra.” My heart stuttered, but I kept my face neutral.
“Thank you, Commander. I believe this is the wisest decision for the movement.” I bowed lower this time, suppressing the grin tugging at my lips.
“Yeah, yeah,” he waved dismissively, already turning back to his book. “And for fuck’s sake, knock next time before I die of fright.”
I exited like a man on a mission. Once alone in the hallway, I pumped my fist in triumph and tried not to look like I was skipping. Captain of Lady Evandra. Gods, that had a ring to it.
Now, the hard part: telling Felix and Fen.
I didn’t find them right away. I wasn’t sure what I would’ve said anyway. Hey, I accidentally bonded myself to a Goddess in a bath—want to grab a drink?
I wandered for a couple hours instead, letting my pulse finally settle, letting my head catch up to my body.
But the Rift still hummed under my skin.
There was something different in me now. Subtle, but real. A pressure in my chest. A presence. Like I was no longer entirely alone inside my own mind.
Like a part of her had come with me. Gods, I was so far gone.
The smell hit me before I reached the end of the hall—garlic, onions, and something sweet beneath it. Apples. Cinnamon.
Gods. She was trying to kill me.
I slowed at the kitchen doorway, leaning my shoulder against the frame like I had any intention of walking away.
Like I wasn’t already burning from the memory of her wet skin pressed against mine.
Like I hadn’t spent the last two hours spiraling through a cold shower, a sparring dummy, and three near-bond-induced panic attacks.
Eva stood at the counter, sleeves pushed up, hair knotted high and already unraveling. She stirred something in a battered pan like the fate of the world depended on it.
I should’ve walked. Should’ve turned around the second the Rift pulsed in my chest the moment I smelled her. Instead I watched. Like an idiot. Like a man addicted.
There was flour dusted along her cheekbone. A smudge of jam on her wrist. Her mouth moved as she muttered to herself—soft, focused, unbothered by the way my entire body was short-circuiting.
The Rift stirred again—low, steady, waiting. Not aggressive. Not demanding. Just a tether. A heartbeat syncing with mine like it belonged there.
I gritted my teeth. It’s not a bond. It’s proximity. Shared trauma. Bathhouse stupidity. Any man would feel like this. Any man would imagine her stirring soup in his kitchen. Wearing one of his shirts with nothing underneath. Looking at him like she did in the water.
She turned slightly, slicing into a pear with slow, confident strokes. And something twisted deep in my chest.
That image hit me again—her barefoot, humming, sunlight on her skin.
Our kitchen. Her laughter. A kiss at the back of her neck as I passed by.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing it away.
No. I didn’t get a future like that. And she—she deserved more than a damaged man that doesn’t even know how to love.
The Rift pulsed sharper this time. Like it knew I was lying to myself.
I cleared my throat. She jumped slightly and turned. Her eyes lit up. Fuck.
“Didn’t hear you sneak up,” she said, smiling. “You want some?”
My mouth opened to say no. What came out was, “What is it?”
“Apple-garlic tarts,” she said proudly. “It’s a Winshire thing. They look ugly but taste divine. Like me.”
I snorted before I could stop myself. She’s Lethal.
I stepped forward. She held one out. Our fingers brushed—barely—and my whole arm went tense from the contact.
The tart was warm. Flaky. Savory-sweet and somehow nostalgic in a way that gutted me. Eva leaned beside me, waiting for my verdict, eyes bright. I didn’t say anything. Just took another bite and groaned. Her grin widened, smug as hell. Then she licked sugar off her thumb.
And I almost dropped the Godsdamned plate.
“I used to make these with my mom,” she said softly. “Ya’ know. Before.” I nodded. Didn’t trust my voice. “Before” was enough.
“I like cooking,” she went on. “Makes me feel like I’m in control of something. Like I can take chaos and fire and make something incredible.”
I glanced at her. Did she know she was talking about me?
“You’re good at it,” I said.
“I’m good at chaos, too,” she smirked. “But this smells better.”
I huffed a laugh. Then silence settled heavy in my throat. Warmth spread across my skin. I set the plate down. Too loud.
“I’ll come get you before training tomorrow. I’ll… show you around Riftreach,” I managed. I looked down at her. Gods, that was a mistake.
She was still smiling. Still radiant. Still a little flour-dusted and wild. Still everything I wanted to devour and everything I don’t deserve.
“I’ll look forward to it,” she said. Then—teasing—“Unless you disappear on me again. Should I bring tarts to keep you from bolting this time?”
My throat worked. “It wasn’t you,” I lied. “Just… too hot in there.”
She raised a brow. “That a compliment?”
I didn’t respond. Just turned and left, fast, like something might snap if I stayed another second.
Because it might.
The next day I woke before the lanterns lit, practically buzzing with anticipation.
I’m going to keep it together. I told myself.
I bathed, brushed my hair, and rubbed my mother’s spice salve into my scales—a generations-old recipe to keep them smooth and flexible. The scent of honey, beeswax, and clove clung to my skin. I pulled on my best leathers and pinned my wing emblem at my breast. I looked good.
Confident. Ready.
By the time I reached her door, I was standing at perfect attention, heart pounding.
The door creaked open, and my composure crumbled.
My jaw slackened before I could stop it.
She stood there, wearing the standard-issue leathers, yet looking anything but standard.
Good Gods, who in the rebellion thought that outfit was appropriate?
Her red hair was down, cascading in waves around her shoulders and framing her striking face.
But it was her figure that knocked the wind out of me.
The leather corset-style top hugged her in all the right places, cinching at her waist and emphasizing her generous curves.
The laces pulled snugly across her chest, pressing her breasts together just enough to be a distraction.
The outfit flared out slightly at the hips before giving way to tight leather pants that clung to her thick thighs like a second skin.
The pants disappeared into tall, knee-high boots that looked devastatingly practical.
Focus, Drake. Gods.
“You… you look…” Say something coherent, idiot!
She shifted. “Ugh, it’s too much, isn’t it? I told the girls?—”
“No!” I blurted too fast. “No. It’s good. You look good. It’s, uh… practical,” Great. Flawless delivery, really.
Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she fidgeted with the laces on her top. “You’re sure? I feel like I might pop out of this thing if I move too fast.”
Don’t imagine that. Do not imagine that.
“Trust me. It’s functional. And… flattering.” I held out my elbow. “Shall we?”
She looped her arm through mine, her touch light and warm. “We shall! You look dashing, by the way,”
I nearly blushed from the simple compliment. Gods help me; I was falling for her harder than I’d ever fallen for anyone. And today, I’d get to show her the world I’d sworn to protect—and hopefully the place where she’d finally belong.