25. Chapter Twenty Five #2
The steam made the rest of the chamber a myth.
There was only the warm stone under my hands and the trail of water down her ribs and the hitch of her breath when I kissed the inside of her knee.
Only the slow, reverent path upward, my mouth learning her the way a thirsty man learns a spring—careful first, tasting the shape of the edges, and then bolder when her fingers knotted in my wet hair and urged me where the ache lived.
After that there weren’t words, or if there were I didn’t recognize them; there were only her hands guiding, and the way her spine arched when I found the right pressure, and the uneven rhythm of her breaths—too quick, then held, then released on a sound that made my knees go weak.
I anchored one palm to the small of her back and let the other steady her thigh, and I forgot—gladly, gratefully—everything I had ever known about restraint.
My own hand found my cock beneath the water before I even thought about it, strokes keeping pace with her rhythm.
She lay back on the stone, spine curved, breath trembling as her completion rocked her.
I held on through it, forehead pressed to her thigh, every muscle in my back drawn taut with the ache of wanting more.
Every flick of my tongue, every quake of her hips pushed me closer, until I was groaning against her skin, completely undone.
The water took the proof, swirling away into steam.
I pressed my forehead to her knee and breathed until the shaking left both of us. The lamplight swayed and went still again. Her fingers loosened in my hair, drifted down to cup the edge of my jaw. She tugged, gentle. “Come here,” she whispered.
I rose, the pool tugging at my clothes, and she welcomed me back into the heat of her.
She caught my mouth with hers, slow now, grateful, and the thank-you in it nearly undid me.
When my soaked shirt dragged cold against her stomach she shivered and laughed into the kiss. “You’re going to catch your death.”
“Impossible,” I said against her lips. “Too stubborn.”
We laughed into each other’s mouths. I pulled her back into the pool, into my arms, her legs around my waist, her hands at the small of my back like she’d always belonged there.
I kissed her again until there was nothing left but steam, heat, and the certainty that I would burn for her as long as the Rift let me breathe.
The following day after a well deserved night of sleep, I escorted Eva back to her chambers after training.
Once inside, she excused herself to bathe, leaving me alone in the warm ambiance of her room.
The enchanted lanterns throughout Riftreach cast a soft, golden glow, illuminating the space.
Her honeysuckle scent lingered in the air, weaving itself into the room like an invisible thread. It was intoxicating and comforting.
I drifted over to her desk, where the worn tome on Riftborn creatures lay open.
Unable to resist, I picked it up and flipped through the pages, the parchment crackling faintly beneath my fingertips. The illustrations and scrawling text reminded me of my younger years, poring over maps and old manuals while training for the Uprising.
Curiosity tugged at me as I searched for a particular entry. Then I saw it: the folded corner, dog-eared with precision. I opened to the marked page.
Dragonbloods
A slight grin tugged at my mouth. She bookmarked me. I skimmed the entry until my eyes snagged on the weaknesses section.
Weaknesses:
Although Dragonbloods are physically resilient, they are highly sensitive to betrayal or emotional wounds, often suffering disproportionately when they lose someone they care for.
Their intense nature can lead them to impulsive actions, sometimes to their detriment.
Additionally, prolonged exposure to powerful magic can weaken them temporarily, as their bloodline, though strong, cannot bear the full weight of dragon magic.
Notes:
Dragonbloods represent a unique fusion of human adaptability and draconic ferocity, making them as alluring as they are dangerous.
Those who engage with a Dragonblood should do so, with caution, for to win a Dragonblood’s loyalty is to earn a lifelong ally—or lover —but to betray one is to summon wrath as fierce as dragon fire.
Great. I slammed the book shut with more force than necessary, the sound echoing through the room. Essentially, it was a written warning not to get involved with me, and she highlighted it. My chest tightened as irritation flared in my gut. I wanted to chuck the stupid book out the window.
I sighed heavily, trying to push down the frustration, when a muffled thump came from the adjoining bathing chamber. My head snapped up.
“Eva?” I called out, already crossing the room.
Silence.
“Evandra?” No response. My pulse spiked. I shoved the door open, and the sight punched the air from my lungs.
She was crumpled on the tile floor, completely nude, her soaked red hair fanned around her head like spilled blood. Her back arched slightly, muscles twitching, convulsing. Her eyes—Gods, her eyes—rolled back in her head, showing only white. Not drowning. Not fainting.
A vision.
“Eva!” I dropped to my knees beside her, panic clawing at my throat. Gently but swiftly, I scooped her into my arms, pulling her trembling body onto my lap. Her skin was freezing despite the warmth of the steam-filled room.
“I’m here,” I whispered against her temple, my voice raw.
“I’ve got you.” She shook in my arms, shallow breaths stuttering from her parted lips.
Her whole body was locked like the Rift itself had reached up and taken hold of her spine.
I could do nothing but hold her through it—no training, no flame, no sword could stop this.
I tightened my grip, anchoring her. “Come back to me,” I whispered, brushing damp strands from her forehead. Her face was pale, her body trembling. My chest ached with helplessness. All I could do was whisper her name and wait for the storm to pass.
Finally— finally— the tension in her body began to ebb. Her convulsions slowed, and her breaths deepened, though her eyelids remained fluttering. I loosened my hold slightly, enough to look down at her face.
“Eva?” I murmured. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened slowly. Green eyes met mine—dazed, unfocused, but there.
“Drake,” she whispered, hoarse and breathless. She clutched weakly at my shirt. Her hand was trembling.
“I’m here,” I said again, more softly this time.
Tears welled in her eyes. “I saw him.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
My blood turned to ice. “Who?”
But her strength gave out. Her body sagged against mine, her head resting on my chest as her breath evened into sleep.
I didn’t move. I just held her.
Whatever she saw—it wasn’t just a vision.
It was a warning.