26. Chapter Twenty Six #4
Drake was still asleep—on his back now, arm slung over his face, mouth parted just slightly in the quiet rhythm of sleep. The blankets were halfway off the bed, one large foot dangling over the edge. My chest ached with something I didn’t have a name for.
I stood there in the doorway, heart still bruised, eyes still raw, and realized I didn’t want to sleep.
We still didn’t have a plan. Not for the mirror, not for whatever it wanted from me. But I was tired of running. Tired of waiting. For tonight, I just needed to feel something solid.
I stepped softly across the room and lowered myself onto the edge of the bed beside him. He stirred at the movement, eyes fluttering open, squinting toward me.
“Eva?” he rasped, voice thick with sleep.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Sorry to wake you.”
He reached out blindly and found my hand. “You okay?”
I nodded. “I just… wanted to see you.”
His thumb brushed across my palm, gentle and grounding. “You’re seeing me,” he said, smiling lazily. “Unless I’m dreaming. In which case, don’t wake me up.”
I leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Not a dream,” I whispered. “Just me. Choosing this. Choosing you.”
He sat up slowly, eyes clearer now, searching my face. Whatever he saw there must have quieted whatever question had been forming on his lips.
I looked down at him—this warrior who was both shield and fire—and something in me cracked open.
I leaned forward and kissed him.
He rose with me, his arms wrapping around my waist, the kiss deepening. It wasn’t hungry—not yet. It was sweet. Soft. My fingers brushed his jaw. His stubble scratched my palms.
“To win a Dragonblood’s loyalty is to earn a lifelong ally,” I murmured, quoting my index. Then, softer, almost daring him: “Or a lover.”
His breath caught.
“Which one am I?” I whispered, brushing my lips against his throat.
He inhaled sharply as my fingers slid beneath his waistband.
“You don’t have to—” The protest already fading from his lips.
“I know,” I said, voice steady as I kissed the hollow of his throat. “I want to.”
Drake’s chest rose under my touch, his muscles tensing like he was holding back a storm. I dropped to my knees before him, my palms grazing the crimson scales that curled along his thighs—warm, supple, nothing like I’d imagined. He shivered as I ran my hands over them, reverent.
I pulled gently on the hem of his shorts and tugged them low. He sprang free. My breath caught. Even having felt him inside me, the sight of him like this made my mouth go dry.
I took him in hand, slow and teasing, my thumb brushing along his flushed head.
He sucked in a breath, his hand slipping into my hair, fingers gentle but taut with restraint.
Then I kissed him—softly, deliberately—before trailing my tongue along the length of him in a slow, sinuous motion.
His groan was deep and low, guttural. Primal.
I looked up. His silver eyes had gone molten, his mouth slightly open, and for once… he looked completely undone. Encouraged, I took more of him into my mouth, my hand stroking what I couldn’t reach. He twitched in my grip, his thighs flexing under my palms.
“Fuck, Eva…” His voice broke around my name.
I hollowed my cheeks, letting my tongue swirl with each motion, savoring the taste of him, the heat, the sounds he made.
One hand slid up his chest, nails grazing over his ribs.
He hissed, his hips jerking forward—and I didn’t stop him.
He hit the back of my throat, and I gagged slightly but held him there, breathing through my nose. He whimpered. Actually whimpered.
“Gods, I’m gonna—” I squeezed the base of his cock and pulled back just enough to look up at him again, my voice low, breath hot.
“I want you to,” his restraint snapped. Both hands cradled my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks as he fucked into my mouth in slow, controlled thrusts.
His groans came louder now, every breath ragged.
His head fell back. I watched his throat work, the sweat on his brow, the way his body trembled as he held on. I moaned around him. That did it. With a strangled cry, he came hard, hips stuttering as he spilled into my mouth. His fingers clenched in my hair, not pulling, just holding. Grounding.
I swallowed. Slowly. When I looked up again, he was staring down at me like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“Eva,” he said, breathless. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
I rose, laughing softly, and wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing myself to his chest. “Is that all it takes?” I teased, my voice light and playful.
He groaned again, dragging me into a kiss that tasted like desperation and awe. His hands found my waist, and I melted against him, basking in the buzz between us.
“I don’t think I can walk straight,” he muttered against my hair.
I smirked into his collar. “Good.” I leaned into his embrace, nuzzling into the warmth of his throat and breathing in his scent.
The days in Riftreach began to take on a rhythm, though nothing about them was ever dull.
Each morning started with training sessions with Drake.
He was relentless, pushing me to my limits and then just a little further.
It was grueling—my muscles burned, my lungs screamed for air, and I often left the barracks drenched in sweat—but I relished in every moment we spent together.
“You’re improving,” he said one morning, sounding almost surprised as I blocked one of his strikes during a reflex drill.
I smirked, out of breath. “You’re just going easy on me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he grinned, and then he swept my legs out from under me.
I yelped, but before I could hit the mat, his arms caught me in one fluid motion, holding me suspended against his chest like I was nothing.
His lips were way too close to my ear when he murmured, “That’s twice now. You’d better start paying attention.”
“Stop being so distracting,” I muttered, trying not to notice the way his arm flexed beneath me.
Completely unhelpful. We reset. Again. Jab, block, pivot.
He moved like a shadow—fast, controlled, impossible to predict.
Still, I watched him closer this time. Not just to win.
I wanted to impress him. I wanted that look in his eyes again—the one he gave me when I got it right.
When he was proud of me.
I narrowed my eyes. “Okay. Let’s try something different.”
“Oh?” His smirk deepened. “Finally bored of losing?”
Now he’s gonna get it. I dropped into a low stance, feinted left, and then shot toward his centerline. He blocked my first strike—but I pivoted, hooked my foot behind his, and dropped him square on his ass. There was a moment of stunned silence.
Drake blinked up at me from the mat, brows raised. “Did you just trip me?”
I grinned, breathless. “Sure did.”
“I must be concussed,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. Then, almost too casually—like the words slipped out before he could catch them—“Or maybe I’m in love.”
His eyes flicked up to mine, quick but loaded, as if testing how much of himself he’d just given away. My blood surged, a dizzying rush, like the floor had dropped out beneath me.
“You’re definitely something,” I managed, shoving my hand toward him, trying to keep my voice light. “But love? That might be above my pay grade.”
He didn’t take my hand. Instead, he yanked—swift, effortless—pulling me down until I landed with an “oof” on top of him.
“Cheater!” I laughed, wriggling.
“You tripped me! ” he said, his arms tightening around me. “That’s a violation of the rules. And you know what happens when you break the rules.”
“You tripped me!” he said, his arms tightening around me. “That’s a violation of the rules. And you know what happens when you break the rules.”
“I’m having trouble imagining this scenario on a battlefield,” I said, nose-to-nose with him, his hands placed on my low hips.
“Anything can happen,” he smirked. And then, wickedly, his hand darted down to the back of my thigh—the exact ticklish spot he’d found before—and pressed just hard enough to make me squirm. “Especially when I know your weak points.”
I yelped, laughing despite myself as I twisted against him. “That’s not fair!”
“War never is.” His grin widened, though his grip on me stayed firm. “But now I’m highly motivated to see what other moves you’ve been hiding.”
I huffed, determined not to let him win, and quickly managed to pin his wrists above his head, straddling him. “Careful, Captain. I’m a fast learner.”
His eyes darkened just a little. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You are.”
And the way he said it made my heart skip a beat. I hesitated, my gaze fixed on his handsome features. I needed to get off of him before the mood got entirely out of hand.
Also, Ness would definitely kill us if I showed up late to the archives with a less-than-legitimate excuse.
“Alright,” I said, brushing myself off. “Back to it. Stop distracting me.” I shot him a glare.
Drake propped himself up on his elbows, looking way too pleased with himself.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Afternoons were for Ness.
They had a way of making learning feel both like an honor and a punishment.
Their sharp gestures, their clipped diction, their absolute refusal to “simplify” anything made my head spin more often than not.
Yet beneath all the prickliness, I caught flashes of warmth—the way they would shove another book into my arms the moment I finished one, or the meticulous notes they scrawled in margins so I wouldn’t lose my place.
“Lady Evandra,” Ness said one afternoon, adjusting their spectacles with one precise finger.
“You are progressing, though still at a rate I would categorize as… cautious. I understand the Rift manifests irregularly, but irregularity itself can be mapped, if one applies sufficient rigor. Today’s exercise will test whether you can create repeatable results under controlled conditions. ”