Chapter Eleven #3
“Poppy,” he says lightly, and his fingers slip from my hair like nothing terrifying just happened. “I only unleash my shadows on pretty women for pleasure, not pain.”
I blink, dragged back into the moment whether I want to be or not.
“Oh, please,” I mutter, shifting my weight instead of rolling my eyes for once. “You’d flirt with a cursed mirror if it reflected you well enough. At this point, I just think you like the sound of your own rakish voice.”
He grins, unrepentant. “And still, here you are. Listening.” I know he is just being Riven.
A flirt. A rake. But between the glowing around us and the air thick with magic and heat and pretense, my brain is struggling to register the difference between his usual nonsense and the way he’s looking at me now—less performance, more intent. Or so I think.
Same Riven.
Different feeling.
And it is deeply unsettling.
My mouth opens, desperate for a distraction. “If not mind control, how would your shadows force answers from me?”
“I was going to make the shadows tickle you.” He shrugs, and a shadowed hand appears behind him, wiggling its disembodied fingers like it was about to tickle-attack.
“Come on, Poppy, just tell me.” The shadow-hand moves, though not with irritating intent.
It slides delicately up my arm, moving slowly like the fingers of a lover, caressing my skin and sending a shiver through my body.
I answer to stop the blissful torment. “It’s the stupid heart rate thing!” I blurt. “Mine flared dramatically, and yours stayed steady as a drum.”
“I think the bracelet was excited,” he says lightly. “It gets to be wrapped around you, on a floating rock next to me. We’re a stimulating duo, especially dripping wet.”
“Riven,” I groan and rock my head back, sending my bracelet flaring to life once more. This time, with the increased heart rate of annoyance.
“Poppy,” he mocks me, rocking his hips and brushing his manhood against the seam of my swimsuit. Cue racing heart part three. Fate, it’s been so long since I’ve been intentionally touched there that an errant brushing of clothes gets me all hot and bothered.
“Yours didn’t race,” I choke out, ignoring the heat in my core.
At these words, he glances at his wrist and smirks. “Yeah, well, some people have expressive hearts, and some of us are emotionally repressed works of art.”
My back teeth grind together. “I’m sick of being me.” This halts his foolish words and wipes his cocky grin away.
“I like you being you,” he replies quietly. “Why would you say something like that? You’re amazing.” The sincerity of his words nearly cracks my heart in half, especially since I’m once more hearing this from someone who only sees me as a friend.
“I don’t have that kind of effect on anyone.” I swallow back the emotion in my throat. “I’m half naked, dripping wet, and clinging to you in a way that I’m pretty sure is a sex position and—”
“The upstanding citizen,” Riven interrupts matter-of-factly.
“What?” I can feel my face pinching with annoyed confusion.
“This position, it’s called the upstanding citizen, and it takes a hells lot of core strength once you start thrusting, I mean, one time, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I groan, face unbearably hot with a combination of heat, exhaustion, and embarrassment. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m sick of feeling utterly unappealing to everyone.”
Riven stiffens, eyes lifting to mine—sharper than I’ve ever seen them.
“Poppy,” he says, voice low and steady as stone.
“I’m a trained soldier. I learned to control my breathing in foxholes, so I didn’t panic and die.
” His thumb grazes my back, slow and deliberate.
My pulse spikes so high the monitor glows like wildfire, and I swallow hard, ignoring the snickers of the remaining contestants around us.
“Just because my heart didn’t spike doesn’t mean I wasn’t affected. ”
“Prove it,” I say before thinking, shocking the hells out of me. And him too, if his agape mouth is any indication. “Drop the soldier breathing and let your response be authentic.”
Riven’s shadows tighten under me as his hands weave deeper into my hair.
In an act that reeks of unintentional swagger, he tips my head back slightly until I’m staring up into his glittering amber eyes.
The crowd fades to a whisper, and I don’t even feel the cool waves crashing against my toes anymore. The world has narrowed to him.
His Adam’s apple bobs, eyes flicking imperceptibly between mine before dipping down to my lips for a brief second. He is hesitating. Maybe because he doesn’t want to meet my challenge, but an errant part of my mind can’t help but wonder if he’s hesitating because he actually does.
I feel the grip of his shadows shift again, pulling me closer. I lift my chin and press just a little more of myself into his hold.
What am I doing?
My logic is long gone, but with the sun-flecks in his eyes blinking out as his carefree jouv de vivre disappears, I can’t be bothered to care.
For the first time all challenge, he stops inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling routinely through his slightly parted full lips. Instead, his breath shudders for a moment, vibrating my chest, and his heart monitor flickers.
A small but undeniable spike sparks on the screen and sends his wristband alight.
I should feel satisfied. I have proven I affect him too.
But for some reason, this shudders me to my core. What could it mean? And why is a small part of me thrilled?
He tilts his head, eyes flicking to mine for another brief second—I can feel the ghost of his breath, warm and salty-sweet, against my mouth.
What is happening?
What is he about to do?
And more dangerously, why do I want to let him do whatever it is?
My mind scrambles for something solid to hold on to. Is this part of the game? Another performance for the crowd? Riven’s usual devil-may-care inability to back down from a challenge?
Or is it…something else entirely?
Something that doesn’t feel rehearsed.
Something that feels like it’s only happening because it’s us.
Before anything can tip over the edge, a siren horn blasts across the water. The sound is sharp and violent, slicing straight through the moment. I blink, air tearing back into my lungs in a gasp, like I’ve been yanked out of a dream I wasn’t ready to wake from.
Another couple has fallen into the water, ending the first phase of the challenge.
Our stump dissolves beneath us, the magic giving way all at once. For half a heartbeat, there’s nothing—no ground, no rules, no gravity—just the cold rush of reality crashing back in.
Riven’s hands replace his shadows instantly. Solid. Real. He drops into the water and lifts me without hesitation, carrying me around his waist through the surf like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He doesn’t look away.
Not even once.
The crowd claps. Someone cheers. The Moirai begin explaining the next round, their voices distant and ceremonial, like they’re speaking through water.
Riven sets me down on the sand, my toes sinking into it like I need the reminder that I’m still in my body. A helper of Fate hands him a towel. He wipes the salt from his face and neck, breathing a little harder than before.
I’m still trying to remember how to breathe at all.
What just happened?
And worse…why does it feel like something just changed, even though nothing technically did?
I place a hand to my chest, massaging the space above my heart. That traitorous organ that I think is determined to wreak havoc once more.
Was it me? Am I what changed?