Chapter Forty-Seven
“ W hat’s your favorite food?”
Draven arches a brow. “You finally complete all your tasks, and that’s the first question you choose to ask me?”
I laugh and shove his shoulder. “Don’t gripe. Just answer.”
Draven and I sit at the base of a small waterfall, eating the dried jerky and nuts I brought for us to snack on.
It’s a bit salty, but I am on a high and don’t care.
Because today, I finally completed each and every task Draven assigned me.
Which means I am the one asking him the questions for a change.
“Spiced apple tarts,” he admits.
My brows do a little jump.
An action that has Draven bumping his shoulder into mine and mimicking my voice, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Don’t judge. Just ask.”
I scrunch my nose at him. “Fine. Favorite season?”
Draven leans back, popping an almond into his mouth. “That one’s easy. Autumn.”
“Mine’s spring,” I confess. “I love to watch all the flowers bloom.”
He watches me with a soft smile. “That makes sense.”
I take a bite of the jerky. “Hmm, let me think…most cherished possession?”
Draven lifts his eyes to the sky as he thinks. “Back home, I have a pendant made entirely from sea glass, strung on a fine leather cord. It was a gift from my mother.” He pulls his gaze from the sky, placing it instead on his open palms. “She said the colors matched my eyes.”
“I’ve had the thought many times that your eyes look like sea glass,” I tell him.
Draven turns his chin over his shoulder. “So what I’m hearing is you’ve thought about me many times?”
I click my tongue at him.
He smirks in response.
I roll my eyes. But then a small crease forms in my brow as I think of my next question. “Do you know why your eyes are the way they are?”
Draven shrugs, staring out at the waterfall. “No clue,” he answers. “My father took me to a scholar once who had a particular theory, but that is perhaps a story for another day.”
I watch him a moment longer, deciding not to push. I want to know everything about his past—about all the things that have compiled inside of him, shaping him into the work of art he is today. But I want it to be on his time, when he is ready.
I know there are certainly things I still haven’t told him—even though he practically knows everything else about me now, thanks to all those previously failed attempts at my tasks.
Draven looks at me, the corner of his mouth curved.
“You wear your thoughts like an expression.” He leans over and tucks stray hair behind my ear, gliding his knuckles down my check after.
“Alright,” he says after a moment. “Enough questions for now. It’s time for the next part of your training—magic. ”
“Fantastic,” I mutter dryly.
As the first fragments of sunset appear in the sky, I have to fight the urge to kick and scream with frustration.
“Why can’t I summon anything ? Not a root, not a bud—nothing.” I push hair back from my face and clench my fists at my side, the frustration bubbling hot in my chest.
Draven frowns, thinking. “I would say perhaps it’s connected to your unmanifested wielder’s mark, but you’ve done those things before, so the action should feel familiar to your lakt?.”
I groan like a child.
And I don’t even care.
Draven watches me. And then, as if deciding on something, he blows out a breath and reaches for my hand, tugging me behind him. “Follow me.”
I pull at my brows. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere that might help clear your head.”
He escorts me through the rolling hills, past grand, tiered waterfalls and sparkling pools, and stops only when we reach a small, trickling waterfall covered in ivy.
I glance at him, confused. Not that I don’t appreciate all of the wonders of nature, but as far as Bathara goes, this waterfall is rather…nondescript, to say the least.
I glance at him sidelong with a curve in my brow. “And this is supposed to help me clear my head, how, exactly?”
Draven turns his chin over his shoulder and looks down at me, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll see,” he hums, the sound a cryptic melody.
He guides me around the tiny basin, until we reach the base of the waterfall. And then, after a quick glance back at me paired with a smirk, Draven steps through the silvery veil, disappearing behind the cascading stream.
I stare at the spot where he vanished a moment longer before biting down on my lip and exhaling a sigh that puffs out my cheeks.
I follow after him.
And I am entirely unprepared for the sight that greets me once I emerge on the other side.
Sprawling cave walls rise up and up, meeting at an open circle that exposes the dimming sky above.
At the very back, another thin waterfall pours into a body of water—the color a glimmering shade of turquoise—stemming from the aperture, appearing as if the sky has cracked open and the stream pours from the very fabrics of it.
Along the walls are softly glowing words, scribbled in an almost illegible penmanship, fading from the wears of time .
But it is what surrounds the cave that steals my breath.
Hanging from the walls, dotting the spaces between river stones and twirling around rocks, are bioluminescent flora—the flowers glowing a soft and luminescent blue.
And complementing the radiant hue gleaming throughout the cave are moss and water lilies.
But my eyes snag on the vine practically swooping down into the water, leading to a bed of deep indigo flowers with star-shaped petals, splashed with white flecks, glimmering under the light’s touch like a starry sky.
Nox’s Caelum.
My favorite flower.
I’m so lost in the sight of it all, I don’t notice Draven sneaking up behind me. Not until he sweeps my two braids over my shoulders and presses his lips to my neck, the kisses soft and reverent.
I shut my eyes against the explosion of feeling his touch ignites.
He traces the slope of my neck, until he reaches the base of my shoulder, where he pauses and breathes onto my skin, “What do you think?”
My eyes do another slow sweep. “I think it’s one of the most magical places I’ve ever seen.” I glance back at Draven, my chin turned over my shoulder. “But I don’t see how this is going to help me with my magic.”
Draven chuckles—the sound low and mischievous. It sends butterflies soaring from the pit of my stomach up into my chest, a trail of heat rising in their wake. “It won’t,” he answers. At my sharp surprise, he adds darkly, “But it will help clear your head, which will help you access your magic.”
I arch a brow at him. “Why do I feel like I was lured here under false pretenses?”
He presses his hands to my hips and spins me around so we’re face-to-face.
“I did no such thing. All I said was I would take you somewhere to clear your head. I didn’t specify the whys or hows.
” The corner of his lip curves with a teasing smile.
“However you chose to interpret the information is entirely on you.”
The sounds of falling water fill the silence stretching between us as I glare at him with a pointed brow and he smirks at me with satisfaction.
Draven grips my chin lightly with his thumb and index finger, tilting it up toward him. He scans my eyes and murmurs thickly, “Such expressive eyes.” He leans forward, hovering his lips just centimeters away from mine. “Tell me, what can I do to make those eyes soften for me?”
I feel my cheeks flush as a wave of heat warms my blood. “I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean,” I reply with a taunting lilt.
His smirk sharpens along with the hunger simmering in his gaze. “Oh,” he counters lowly, “I think you do.”
My breathing hitches in my chest as I hold his mesmerizing stare. His eyes practically glow under the soft light of the cave, and my knees weaken with desire.
Gods, when was the last time I felt like this? Have I ever ?
The way I want him is entirely different than anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s a pull, a constant magnetism tugging me toward him. But it is more than pulsing heat and desire. It is…is…
It is the giddy exhilaration of falling backwards with outstretched arms, knowing a soft mattress waits to catch me.
It is the safety of arms that will never let go, vowing to hold and to shield.
It is the disarming scent of home. The comfort of worn pages in an old book, where the ending is known and cherished.
It is the struck chords of a favorite song, spoken lines from a dear poem—
A place to go when the world feels like it's folding in on itself.
He is not fire and he does not burn like flames; he is the steadiness and peace of flowing water. And this thing between us? It is like the tide—constant and inevitable.
It makes me want to drown myself in feeling—embedding his voice, the feel of his touch, and that glimmer in his gaze when he looks at me deep into my skin, washing myself in its contents until all the painful numbness is swept away.
“Lyra,” Draven drawls, his voice thick. “If you keep looking at me like that, I make no apologies for what happens next.”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. An action Draven watches, his gaze heavy-lidded. “And is that a promise or a threat?” I question.
“It is whatever you want it to be.” His voice is gruff in his throat.
I hum, and his fingers press firmly into my hips. “And if I said I wish it were a promise?”
Draven flicks his eyes to my lips, and he tugs me closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around me. “Then your wish is my command, and I am yours to instruct. I will bring down the stars and string them into jewelry if you wish me to. All you have to do is ask.”
I smile, feeling smitten, and press my body firmly against his. I practically melt when I feel him bulging in his pants. “I don’t want jewelry.”
“No?” he drawls. “What do you want, then?”
I let my silence speak louder than anything else, allowing my gaze to flare with the same desire I feel coursing through my body.
Draven presses his teeth into his bottom lip, and his grip on me tightens. His reply comes low and rough. “Your wish is my command.”
He takes a step back from me, and, without looking away, he grips the hem of his shirt and slowly pulls it over his head, revealing his bare chest and all the toned muscle that comes with the sight.
I rake my gaze over him—slightly shocked when I realize I’m licking my bottom lip. A fire ignites in the pit of my stomach, and desire fans its consuming flames throughout every inch of me. Still, I study Draven’s tattoos, remembering I still have questions left.
“Did you get the tattoos to purposefully hide your wielder’s mark?”
He looks down, inspecting the black lines snaking around his forearm, rising up to his shoulder, reaching the tip of his neck, expanding across his chest. He exhales a deep breath. “Truth?”
“Always,” I murmur.
Draven’s eyes return to me, and they do not break away again. “It’s all my wielder’s mark.”
Shock courses through me, a slight reprieve from the drunken desire clouding me. “But that would imply…”
He steps forward, lifting my chin with the crook of his finger. “Do you want to talk about some silly magical mark, or…” He jerks his chin to the sparkling turquoise pool filled with glowing flowers and moss-covered river stones. “Do you want to join me for an evening swim?”
I swallow against the dryness appearing in my throat. “A swim sounds nice.”