23. Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Three
Eldrake
I closed the door behind me quietly, but the memory of Eva—bare skin, sleepy smile, soft breath—still burned in my mind. My chest felt too full, like something alive and fluttering had taken up residence there.
Gods, is this what love feels like?
I caught myself grinning. Actually grinning.
It felt foreign on my face, so wide my jaw ached.
My boots hit the planks too loudly, my stride bouncing between a march and a…
skip. Fucking skip. I cleared my throat, tried to settle into my usual prowl, but two steps later I realized I was humming.
Humming. I cut it off immediately and glanced around, as if someone might’ve heard.
I passed a porthole and glimpsed my reflection. Tousled hair, shirt buttons uneven, face flushed like a boy after his first tumble in the hay. I groaned. The great Captain Eldrake—stoic, feared, commander of a dozen missions—looked like some tavern drunk who’d just been kissed for the first time.
I should’ve gone straight to my quarters.
Rest. Plan. Brood properly. Instead, I found myself veering toward the kitchens.
I actually stood there, staring at a basket of muffins like an idiot, wondering if I should sneak one back to her room.
Breakfast in bed. Like some doting husband.
I ran a hand over my face and muttered, “Gods, you’re pathetic. ” Still… I took one. Just in case.
By the time I made it to my chambers, I was buzzing too much to sit still.
I tried to sharpen my dagger, but after three strokes I realized I was just smiling at the whetstone.
Tried to shine my pauldrons and dropped one on my foot because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking with adrenaline.
Muttered a curse, laughed at myself, then collapsed backward on the bed, staring at the ceiling with the goofiest fucking grin.
And still, through all of it, I felt her. Like a second heartbeat. Her calm. Her warmth. Her soft, post-sated glow.
And for a moment, I almost told her.
After dinner, after the kisses and laughter, when she looked at me like I was something good—like I was hers—I nearly said it. Nearly admitted what was happening.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet.
Not when she was finally happy.
Not when I’d seen the way joy lit her up from the inside out. I didn’t want to burden her with something she didn’t choose. Not yet. I just wanted one night where everything felt simple. Where it was just a date. Just a girl. Just a man.
Even if it was a lie.
I shook off the thought. Focus. I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed beside her, but duty called.
Julian would be waiting.
After changing into my fighting leathers, I headed toward the strategy room on the upper deck of the ship.
The air inside was heavy with ink, dust, and the residue of long-standing tension.
Julian stood hunched over a table of maps and reports.
Fen was reclined in a chair with her boots up on the table, smirking.
Felix sat nearby, his chin in one hand, clearly bored.
And Avod —of course—was inspecting the edge of a dagger-like he was appraising a work of art.
“Good morning!” I said far too cheerfully, startling them all.
“Clearly,” Fen said, raising a brow.
Avod grinned at me, still flipping the dagger. “Someone got laid.”
Julian didn’t even glance up from his notes. “Good date?”
“Uh…” I scratched the back of my neck, grinning like a damn fool. “Yeah. You could say that.”
“You dog,” Julian muttered, still not looking up. “What, she fall for the captain routine that fast?” That landed wrong. Like she was an assignment. A tool. A mission. She wasn’t. She never had been. My jaw clenched.
The corner of Fen’s mouth twitched like she was trying not to laugh. Felix, for once, had the grace to look away. Avod didn’t say anything, but I caught the flick of his eyes toward Fen, unreadable.
I opened my mouth to say something — anything to shut Julian up — but nothing came out. Not without sounding defensive. Not without giving too much away. So I moved to the table and pulled out a chair. Let it stew.
At least Fen and Felix got it. Avod, too, maybe. This wasn’t a strategy. This was real.
“So,” Julian began, his sharp eyes scanning the group, “as you all know, Fen and Felix have been reassigned. They’ll be working as a duo on a retrieval mission.
A Riftborn orphan has been located south of Market Street, living in an abandoned building.
Since you were their captain, I figured your input would be beneficial for strategy.
Even though,” he added with a smirk, “I had to pull you from your post.”
“Oh, don’t worry, he’ll have plenty of time to use his post,” Fen bit, her icy grin wide as she leaned back in her chair. “We’ll think of you fondly while we’re crawling through moldy alleyways.”
Felix snorted. Julian even chuckled.
Avod tapped his dagger against the edge of the table, eyeing Fen. “You could take the clean route through Market East, but the alleys off Crag Street have better rooftop access. Just don’t twist your ankle trying to out-parkour the orphan.”
Fen rolled her eyes. “I’ll try to keep my grace intact.”
“That’ll be a first,” he muttered.
She kicked his leg under the table—not hard, but with intent. He grinned wider.
We got to work. I laid out the plan: approach the child gently during the day, show the wing pin, and build trust. If they don’t come willingly, back off and return at night with supplies or healing—something tangible, something human.
“Keep your hands low and visible,” I added. “No sudden movements. One of our last rescues bolted because someone reached for their satchel too fast. Took us three days to find them again.”
“Riftborn kids don’t run from blades,” Avod added, tone even. “They run from kindness they don’t trust yet. You’ve got one shot to look harmless. Don’t waste it.”
I could see Felix mentally cataloging the suggestion, nodding slightly.
But my mind kept drifting—back to her skin under my hands, the heat in her eyes, the sound she made when she came apart beneath me.
The moment I felt the Rift press deeper between us—tightening the knot .
I felt guilty that I hadn’t told her. Not yet.
I Couldn’t. If I did, she might look at me differently.
Like I’d stolen her choice. Because I had. Even if I hadn’t meant to.
I didn’t realize I was white-knuckling the edge of the table until Julian dismissed the room. I stood fast enough that my chair scraped loudly against the floor. Fen raised an eyebrow.
“Tell her we say hi,” Felix said enthusiastically.
“Speak for yourself,” Fen muttered.
Avod only gave me a look. Not smug. Not judgmental. Just knowing.
I didn’t respond. I had more important things to do. Or maybe— I just couldn’t sit still anymore. Not until I understood what was happening to me. What this was. What we were. Because if what I thought was happening was happening… It could mean danger for both of us.
“Drake. A moment,” Julian said, gesturing toward the darker end of the war room as Fen, Felix, and Avod filed out.
I followed, pulse still ticking hard from the meeting. Julian waited until the others were out of earshot, then leaned back against the map wall with his arms crossed.
“You’ve done well,” he said. “The mission. Bringing her here. Keeping her safe. But…” He hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re getting a little… immersed in your role, don’t you think?”
I froze. “What are you talking about?”
“The way you look at her,” Julian said. “It’s… convincing. Maybe a little too convincing.” He gave me a pointed glance. “She trusts you. That’s good. But don’t forget what this is. You were supposed to make her feel safe. Invested. Not…” He gestured vaguely. “Enamored.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I lied.
Julian studied me a second longer, then shrugged. “Look. I get it. She’s sharp. Brave. It’s easy to start blurring lines. Just make sure you’re still seeing them.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
“We can’t afford complications,” he added, quieter now. “Not from you. Not from her. Not from the Rift.”
I nodded tightly. “Understood.”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder—affectionate, but heavy. “Good man.”
As he turned and walked away, my breath felt caught somewhere in my chest. I stood in the quiet war room, heart pounding like it was trying to outrun my skin.
He still didn’t know.
I wasn’t acting. I didn’t know when the pretending stopped—but it had. I wasn’t pretending I hadn’t completely fallen for her anymore. And if this was what I feared it was… I needed to know. I needed to be sure. Before I became a threat to her.
Before I lost her completely.
The archives were mostly dark, save for the glow of a single lantern swaying gently above the reading table. Most of Riftreach had gone to sleep, their laughter and music fading into distant hums. The city felt hushed now, like it was holding its breath.
I shouldn’t have been here. Not this late. Not for this reason. But curiosity was a dragon of its own—one that sank its claws into your ribs and refused to let go.
The stone floor was cold beneath my boots. My breath fogged faintly in the air. I sat alone at the end of a long wooden table, the weight of ancient texts pressing down from the shelves like silent sentries. The shadows between the stacks stretched long, and the silence buzzed.
Ness had left the texts on a back shelf for me without asking any questions, though I could feel their quiet curiosity echoing down the corridor as I passed.
They always knew more than they let on. I told myself it was purely academic, just another tactical inquiry.
Understanding the Rift was part of my job, after all.
The book in front of me had no title. Just a cracked spine and curling corners, as if it had been read a hundred times by hands more desperate than mine. I turned the brittle pages slowly.
Descriptions of Riftbonds were worse than I remembered.
Consuming. Corrosive. Two minds fused together in a storm of magic and emotion.
Lust mistaken for loyalty. Madness mistaken for love.
In most recorded cases, one of the bonded didn’t survive.
Either the Rift unraveled them, or their partner did.
I rubbed a hand over my face. My stomach turned.
But then, near the end—half-buried between a diagram and a warning—there was something different. A few brief paragraphs. Written in a different hand. The ink lighter. Newer.
In exceedingly rare cases, a Riftbond does not form through survival, trauma, or primal force.
It forms through love. Not lust. Not convenience.
Not compulsion. Love. These bonds are gentle in origin but no less potent.
The Rift recognizes the soul’s resonance and answers not with chaos, but with a gift.
Such bonds do not consume—they deepen. They do not burn— they warm.
But even love can be dangerous. When one heart breaks, the other does not always survive.
My eyes lingered on that last line, my chest tightening. My thumb traced the margin. Someone—Ness, maybe—had underlined it once. Beneath it, scribbled faintly in the margin:
Shared heartbeat. Dreaming together. Glimpses through the other’s eyes.
I leaned back slowly, staring at the domed ceiling above. The silence was thicker now. Heavier. Like the archives themselves were waiting for me to break.
A bond born of love? Could that be what this was?
Eva wasn’t a fever. She wasn’t a distraction. She was… something steady. Something that pulled me back from the edge when I didn’t even know I was near it. She didn’t just stir my blood—she calmed it. When she touched me, it didn’t feel like losing control. It felt like coming back to myself.
And still… a knot sat stubborn in my gut.
What if I was wrong? What if my love—this thing growing too fast, too hot—wasn’t a gift, but a spark waiting to devour us both?
I didn’t know what love was supposed to feel like. I’d seen it twisted, used, corrupted by power and desperation. Was this different? Or was I just fooling myself—letting the Rift whisper sweetness in my ear while it built something fatal between us?
I closed the book carefully, my fingers resting on the final line like it could somehow answer me. The silence pressed in again, familiar now.
I didn’t want to tell her yet. Not about the bond. Not about any of this. On the date, I’d just wanted to make her laugh. I wanted to see her eat something stupid and delicious and watch her eyes light up. I wanted to forget the weight. Forget the future.
Just… be with her. But now I knew. And I didn’t know what scared me more—the idea that the Rift had chosen us because of love…
Or the possibility that even that might not be enough to save us.