25. Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Five
Eldrake
It was finally the afternoon and time for our first bout of training. I knocked lightly on Eva’s door.
“One second!” she called, and even her voice made my chest ache.
When the door opened, I nearly forgot how to speak. She stood there in her training leathers, somehow managing to look both battle-ready and heartbreakingly soft. Her red hair was braided in twin plaits over her shoulders, and her daggers were strapped to her hips like she was born with them.
“Good Gods, woman,” I muttered.
She launched into my arms and kissed me full on the mouth. I groaned into it.
“I loved the flowers,” she murmured, her lips still brushing mine. “Thank you.”
My hands slid down to her waist, then her hips, then firmly cupped her perfect, round ass. “Fuck. You’re going to make it impossible to concentrate today.”
“And what kind of training will we be doing today, Captain ?” she asked, her voice dripping with seductive playfulness as she batted her lashes at me.
“Don’t tease me, Eva. I will take you right here in this hallway,” I growled. Her lips curved into a mischievous grin, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as her eyes dared me to make good on my threat.
“No, no.” I flicked her nose, earning a scowl. “We have to train. I have to do my job, but fuck you make it hard.”
“I know,” she quipped. “I felt it last night.” She winked and licked her lip. I groaned, peeling her arms off my neck before I lost all semblance of self-control.
“Succubus,” I muttered, grabbing her hand and dragging her down the hall. If I had stayed there another second, training would have been out of the question.
We wove through Riftreach’s winding walkways and over footbridges, passing curious onlookers and the scent of warm bread drifting from morning stalls. When we reached the training hall, Eva’s excitement faltered.
The cavernous room loomed before us—shadowed and echoing, its stone walls lined with racks of blades, staves, and practice gear. Torches flickered in wrought-iron sconces. In the center, the sand-covered sparring ring waited.
Eva stepped inside, her boots crunching softly on the ground. I followed, trying very hard not to stare at the way her leathers hugged her curves.
Okay, focus Drake. Don’t look at her butt. Pretend she’s just another soldier. A soft, squishy red-haired soldier with great tits. No! Fuck. Just pretend she’s a guy. Wait-
“Where do we start?” she asked, dropping into what I could only assume was her version of a fighting stance— feet too close, shoulders stiff, chin too high.
“Today is an assessment,” I said, circling her slowly. “We’ll test your strength, balance, reflexes. How likely you are to stab yourself.”
Her eyes followed me warily. I tapped her foot with mine. “Left foot back. Shoulder-width. Bend your knees.”
She adjusted, brow furrowed in concentration. “Like this?”
“Close enough.” I pressed a hand to her shoulder. She immediately toppled.
“Hey!” she flailed, catching herself.
“You’re welcome.” I smirked. “Again. This time, flex your thighs and brace your core. Pretend you’ve got something to prove.”
She grumbled under her breath— probably rude— but resumed the stance. When I nudged her again, she barely wobbled.
“Better.” I raised my hand. “Now, reflexes.”
She blinked. “Like?—”
I smacked her ass.
“Drake!” she yelped, spinning to swat me, cheeks flaming.
“You should’ve deflected that.”
“Tell me, Captain, ” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Do you smack all your trainees on the ass?”
“Yes.” I deadpanned, then quickly twisted, moving behind her in a blur, and pressed my hand mockingly to her throat. “And they all block better than this.”
She shoved my arm away with a huff, but a smile tugged at her mouth. “You’re insufferable.”
“Look, this is how you deflect. Try to hit me,” she hesitated, then threw a half-hearted punch. I caught her wrist easily, twisted it behind her back, and pinned her arm with a flick.
“See?”
“Unfortunately.” She tugged free, cheeks pink with frustration now.
We ran the drill again. She missed. Again. And again.
“Your hips are ahead of your fist,” I said. “You’re swinging like you’re stirring soup, not trying to kill someone.”
She growled under her breath and lunged at me, this time aiming for my ribs. I sidestepped easily and tapped her forehead.
“Boop.”
She groaned. “You are the worst.”
“I’m better than your footwork!” I said smugly.
But the next strike was sharper—instinctive. Her balance improved. She ducked faster. By the third round, she blocked my jab and nearly swept my leg.
“That’s better,” I said, breathing a little heavier. “Try again.”
She did. And this time, when I twisted to grab her wrist, she beat me to it—twisting my arm behind my back with surprising strength.
She grinned up at me, breathless. “Did I just beat you?”
“I let you.” I lied.
“You did not.”
We moved on to strength training. I showed her how to squat correctly, then stood close behind her as she mimicked the motion. Too close. Her ass brushed my thigh on the way up, and my restraint nearly snapped in half.
She faltered. “You’re standing way too close.”
“That’s to check form,” I said flatly. “Totally professional.”
Her smirk said she didn’t believe me.
After a round of planks and pushups, she dropped onto the mat with a groan, sweat glistening on her brow. “I need a bath. And a new spine.”
I sat beside her, my arms resting on my knees. “Not bad for your first day.”
“Not bad?” She looked at me incredulously. “You insulted my soup skills and threw me around like a sack of potatoes.”
“Yeah, but you kept getting up.” I shrugged.
Her breathing slowed, her lashes casting shadows on her flushed cheeks.
I stood and offered my hand.
The bathhouse was ours. Steam draped the chamber like silk, curling against, soft light spilling from lanterns set into the stone. It smelled of eucalyptus, sharp and clean, like someone had thought to burn it for us.
Eva hesitated at the threshold, hands on the tie of her robe. “There’s no firewood,” she said, a half-complaint, half-dare.
Eva hovered at the threshold, fingers worrying the tie of her robe. Then she smiled—nervous, daring—and let it fall to the bench. Her skin pebbled instantly, gooseflesh rising over every inch the steam hadn’t yet kissed.
“Remember the last time we were here?” she teased, stepping into the pool.
I crouched at the edge and pressed my palm to the water. Heat bled from the shimmer of scales at my wrist, running up my arm in a low, steady thrum. The pool warmed with a shiver, steam lifting in a sudden breath.
She sighed, low and helpless. “Show-off.”
“Practical,” I said, standing. “Now, in.”
She sank beneath the steam until only her shoulders and the line of her throat showed above the surface. Her head tipped back, hair slick against her neck. The sound she made—small, almost indecent—went straight through me. “That’s… Gods. That’s perfect.”
“Turn,” I said before my courage thought better of it.
She blinked, then obeyed, scooting forward until her back was to me and the water lapped at her collarbones. I rolled my sleeves, set my palms to the knots braced beneath her shoulder blades, and pressed. Her breath caught. Then I felt her loosen—bit by bit—under my hands.
“You’re… good at this,” she murmured.
“Professional necessity,” I said. “People keep swinging sharp things at me. I figured out how to repair the mess afterward.”
My thumbs found the places combat had taught me to find—the stiff ridge where tension hoards itself, the roped line along her scapula that locks when you’ve been wielding a blade too long.
I worked slow. When she winced, I eased.
When she breathed out, I followed the breath with my hands.
She relaxed so completely that I caught myself smiling—helplessly, stupidly.
“Drake?”
“Mm?”
“Is this a trap?”
“Define trap.”
“You say ‘bath’ and ‘ten minutes,’ then proceed to make me melt.”
“That would be a lure,” I said. “Traps snap. Lures invite .”
“Gods,” she whispered, and the word came out like laughter.
The sound undid me. I leaned in, and with the barest brush of my lips I kissed the corner of her damp shoulder, a single point of heat amid the steam.
She froze. Then turned, knees rising onto the seat until we were face to face. Her fingers found my forearm, nails brushing just above the shimmer of scales.
“You’re… still dressed,” she whispered.
“Technicality,” I said, and stepped straight into the pool. Boots, shirt, everything. The heat hit like a slap. My boots filled; my trousers grabbed my thighs; my shirt went heavy and immediately transparent.
She gasped—more laughter than shock—and clutched my collar as I sank in front of her. “You absolute menace.”
“Accurate,” I agreed, nodding enthusiastically.
Her hands dragged me closer, until our foreheads touched. “Ridiculous,” she whispered.
“Ridiculously into you ,” I corrected, and kissed her.
The pool muffled the world. Her mouth was heat and honey, her hands twisting in my shirt. I curled an arm beneath her thighs and lifted, setting her onto the warm stone lip. Water poured down her ribs, her stomach, her throat.
“Drake—” she whispered, uncertain.
“Say stop,” I told her. “Just one word, and I’ll stop.”
Her lips parted. Curved. “Don’t.”
So I didn’t.
I kissed her knee. Then her thigh. Then higher, careful first, reverent. She trembled, biting her nails, trying to keep the sounds inside—but I felt them in the way her hips shifted under my hands.
“Eva.” I lifted my eyes to hers and held. “Say it and I stop.”
Her lips parted, trembled—and curved. “I know,” she whispered.