18. Chapter Eighteen #5
The bath with Rae and Ren was even less weird than I thought.
What I’d expected to be awkward had been anything but.
With my injured shoulder, their help had been a blessing.
They’d eased me into the tub—already filled with warm water, which I assumed was heated by one of their Rifts—and scrubbed the grime of the journey from my skin.
Their gentle care as they washed my tangled hair and even massaged my sore muscles nearly moved me to tears.
For a moment, it felt like having a mother again.
I swallowed hard at the memory, both painful and comforting.
I glanced around the room again, trying to take it all in.
The beauty of it, the luxury. It was fit for a queen, and yet it was mine.
A simple girl from Winshire, whose entire wardrobe had once fit into a burlap sack.
That thought made me wonder where it had gone until I spotted it sitting on a foot bench near the door.
I rushed to it and pulled out my pillow.
It was old, flat, and dusty, but I pressed my face into it and inhaled deeply.
It smelled of home. Of the inn. Of Papa.
And that was when the tears came. They slipped silently at first, streaking down my cheeks, until a small sob escaped my throat.
I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t regret leaving.
But oh, how I missed him. I missed the strength of his hugs and how he would tell me stories by the fire.
I imagined him finding the note, sitting alone at the hearth, tears in his eyes.
Did he have anyone for comfort, or had the villagers turned their backs on him, believing I was a murderer?
The thought twisted my heart. I wiped my tears quickly, determined not to let my guilt consume me. I couldn’t change the past, but I could change the future. For him. For my mother. For all of us.
I unpacked my things, carefully placing my battered hairbrush next to the beautiful mahogany one already on the vanity.
The contrast was almost comical. I hung my threadbare dresses beside the gowns of queens, wondering if I’d ever dare wear them.
Then I strode to the window, gazing out over the sparkling lights of Riftreach below.
It was mesmerizing—a new home, a new life, waiting for me to discover it. The view stretched endlessly, a reminder of how far I’d come—and how far I still had to go.
A sudden knock on my door startled me from my thoughts.
“Yes?” I called, my voice barely steady.
“Drake.”
“Oh—” I quickly wiped the tears from my cheeks, hoping the redness wouldn’t give me away. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Drake entered hastily, closing it behind him.
His gaze swept over me, and I felt the weight of his attention settle on every inch.
For the first time since we’d met, I felt…
presentable. Clean and cared for, with my thick red hair brushed and falling over my shoulders.
The silk nightgown Ren and Rae had chosen clung to me in all the right ways, its hem cutting off mid-thigh, leaving little to the imagination.
I couldn’t stop myself from looking at him in return.
His tight, white tank stretched across his broad chest, revealing glints of crimson scales that caught the lantern light.
He didn’t need to hide them down here, and the confidence suited him.
His long, clean hair flowed freely, and the ever-present leather pants hugged his form in a way that made me bite my lip.
“Good evening,” he said softly, his smile warm.
He stepped closer, but his expression changed as his sharp eyes caught the faint sheen of tears lingering in mine.
Concern darkened his features instantly, his jaw tightening.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was low and edged with a protective anger. “Did someone hurt you?”
“No, no.” I laughed softly, touched by his concern. “I found my pillow,” I said, gesturing toward the bed.
He looked at me, confused. “Your pillow?”
I smiled at his perplexity and walked over to sit on the edge of my bed. “It still smells like home. Like the inn. Like my papa,” my voice wavered slightly as I spoke. “It just… made me miss him.”
Drake stayed silent for a moment, his presence grounding. “I get it,” he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity.
“I’m okay,” I added quickly, not wanting to seem ungrateful or weak. “I just… Thank you for checking on me.”
“I wanted to show you something. Maybe help with the sore muscles after the ride here.” He gestured for me to follow him.
I followed Drake through a narrow hall cut into the cavern wall, unsure if I was more sore from the journey or overwhelmed by everything I’d seen since arriving.
My body ached in places I didn’t know could ache.
My excitement pulsed under my skin like a restless second heartbeat, and my mind buzzed with questions I wasn’t ready to ask.
I’d expected a lecture. Or perhaps a short tour. I hadn’t expected… this.
The bathhouse was empty when we entered.
It was carved into the cavern wall, a quiet sanctuary veiled in steam and flickering light.
Bioluminescent moss clung to the stone ceiling, casting the space in a soft, dreamlike glow.
The main pool stretched wide and natural.
The air smelled of minerals, lavender, and something older—clean and ancient.
Smooth ledges lined the water, and baskets of mismatched towels and herbal soaps sat in corners.
Drake paused just inside the arched stone doorway, scanning the space . He glanced at me. “You first.”
I raised a brow—then immediately questioned if it looked too confident. “Afraid I’ll stare?”
His mouth twitched. “Afraid you’ll enjoy it.” Gods. He was impossible.
My heart was thudding far too fast as I stepped behind one of the stone dividers. My hands trembled just slightly as I peeled off my bathrobe and the nightgown—slowly, deliberately, hoping I looked confident. The fabric whispered down my skin, and I tried to breathe past the thrum in my chest.
It’s just a bath, I told myself. You’ve seen him shirtless. You’ve touched him. You’ve had his fingers inside you.
But he hadn’t seen me —not fully. Not like this. Vulnerable. Bare. The real kind of bare.
Still, I stepped into the water without flinching, letting the warmth rise to my shoulders. I exhaled as I sank in, tilting my head back, hair floating like a question waiting to be answered. The heat on my sore muscles felt divine, like like a hundred knots being untied at once.
Then I heard footsteps. His.
I turned.
He stripped without ceremony, as if being naked was no more notable than breathing. His shirt was gone in a blink—fine, I’d seen that much before—but when his trousers slid low over his hips, my brain started short-circuiting.
I hadn’t meant to look. Truly. But there was a moment—just one—when the mist parted, and I did. Gods, I looked. And then I looked harder.
He was… impressive. Thick, long, and hanging heavy between his thighs with the kind of quiet confidence that suggested he had never once worried about living up to expectation. My mouth went dry.
No one had warned me that desire could feel like panic. Like how was that going to fit ? Was this a dragon thing? A warrior thing? A him thing?
The worst part? He didn’t even seem aware of the devastation he caused just by existing. Calm. Collected. Beautifully carved like a war God and fully aware of his power—or worse, not aware, which was somehow even hotter.
I forced my gaze away so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash, cheeks blazing. Focus on the water. Focus on literally anything else.
But the image was already seared behind my eyes.
And when he slid into the pool, all clean lines and slow strength, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:
I was in so much trouble.
He slid into the water without breaking eye contact. Across from me. Just far enough to be polite. Just close enough that I could cross the pool in three strides and?—
Gods. My skin felt too tight.
“Cozy,” I said, voice slightly higher than intended. I forced a smile and an awkward giggle.
He huffed a laugh. “You think this is safe?”
“No,” I said. “But it feels good.” We sank into silence. But not comfort.
My knee breached the surface, and his eyes tracked it like a predator. I stretched, hoping it looked natural—but I was painfully aware of how my breasts lifted just above the waterline. His gaze lingered. Controlled. Starved.
I leaned my head against the stone edge of the pool, trying not to squirm.
“You’re watching me.”
“You want me to.”
“Maybe,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Would that be so bad?”
Drake’s jaw ticked. He looked like a man holding back a dam with nothing but his spine.
“We’re already close,” I said. “You know that.”
His voice was low. “Too close.”
I drifted closer. The water lapped around me, warmth soaking into my limbs. My body wanted this. Gods, it wanted him. But my stomach fluttered with nerves, and my fingers fidgeted just beneath the surface. What if I wasn’t enough? What if?—
“You could stop me,” I said, breath catching. “If I came over there. You could push me away.”
He swallowed. “Don’t test me.”
“I’m not,” I said— but I kind of was. I bit my lip.
“Why do you always do that?” I asked quietly. “Pull away right when it’s about to be good. You act like you don’t care. Like none of this affects you.”
“I care,” he said, low and rough. “That’s the damn problem.
” He stared at me like I was a storm he’d already decided to drown in.
“Because I want too much,” he said. My breath caught.
“I want to take and not stop. I want to mark you where no one else will see. I want to bury myself in you so deep the Rift forgets where I end and you begin.”
My whole body flushed. A coil of heat wound low in my belly—and tightened.
I moved closer. Still space between us. Still time to retreat. But I didn’t.
“You think I wouldn’t let you?”
His jaw clenched. “If I touch you again, I won’t let go.”
I stared at him. At the man who refused to say what we were, but still looked at me like I was everything.
“You’ve already touched me,” I whispered. “You’ve already taken me.” He opened his eyes. Slow. Lethal.
“I know.”
“This is cruel, Drake.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think…” I hesitated, pulse fluttering like a rabbit’s. “I think you want me to snap first. So you don’t have to break your precious self-control.”
“I’m trying to protect you ,” he growled.
“From what?”
“From me .”
I should’ve been afraid. But all I felt was want.
“Then why do you look at me like I’m the thing that could end you?”
His hand twitched on the stone. White-knuckled.
I reached forward, slowly, and touched his thigh under the water. Just above the knee. My hand shook—but only a little. His skin was hot, tight with tension. He didn’t flinch. But every muscle in his body locked.
“You want me.”
His voice cracked. “Eva?—”
“I’m not asking.” I leaned in, my mouth brushing the shell of his ear.
“I feel you when you’re not in the room. I ache when you’re near. And you keep pretending, but I know what I feel.”
The space between us thrummed. His breath ragged. My lips close to his cheek. My hand drifting higher.
Then—he turned. Our mouths brushed. Not a kiss. Not quite. But it stole my breath.
“I want you,” I breathed. “But I won’t beg.”
He looked at me like he was already shattered.
Then he whispered, “Don’t.”
I blinked. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t stop.” For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Then he did.
Drake surged forward, his control breaking like a snapped tether. One hand found the back of my neck—firm, commanding. The other slid down my bare back beneath the water, pulling me into his lap in one smooth, hungry motion.