29. Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Twenty Nine
Avod
Drake’s boots hadn’t even finished echoing down the hall before Fen let out a long, theatrical sigh.
“Gods,” she muttered, yanking her satchel off the table. “I can smell the pheromones from here.”
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Jealous?”
Her look was sharp enough to peel paint. “Of that ? No.”
“Sure,” I said, pushing off the wall. “Come on. Let’s check your gear. If you fall off a rooftop, I’m not explaining it to Julian.”
She rolled her eyes but followed.
Her stride through the corridor was clipped, too fast, like if she walked hard enough, maybe she could outrun the tightness in her spine. In the ready room she went straight to the weapons rack, shoving blades into hidden sheaths with precision that bordered on violent.
“You’re doing the thing again,” I said.
“What thing?” She didn’t look up.
“Packing like it’s a warzone.”
“It could be,” she snapped, ramming a dagger into her boot. “You think they’ll hand over a Riftborn kid with a thank-you note?”
She yanked a strap too tight and cursed. I stepped forward, loosening it for her, fingers lingering on her thigh longer than I should’ve.
“No,” I said calmly. “But maybe you’re mad you’re not the one kissing someone before battle. So you’re making love to your knife set instead.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”
I lifted both hands. “Just saying.”
She strapped on her vambrace, knuckles white. Grabbed another knife, shoved it into her belt like it had offended her.
“Or maybe,” I said, softer, “you’re pissed Drake finally let himself have something good—and it wasn’t a version you approved of.”
She froze for half a breath. Just long enough to tell me I’d hit true.
“He’s not some lovestruck idiot, Fen. He’s the most loyal bastard I know. If he’s choosing Eva—it means something.” I adjusted the strap over her shoulder. “You could go easier on them.”
She ignored me, tightening another buckle like she could strangle the thought itself.
“The last time you packed this fast,” I said, lowering my voice, “you were trying not to think about me bleeding out.”
That stopped her. She sucked in a breath and went still.
The memory flickered hot in my mind too: cold stone, my blood slicking her hands, her voice breaking as she screamed at the medic to move faster. And later, when she thought I couldn’t hear—her whisper, don’t you fucking dare die on me.
I hadn’t forgotten.
“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” she said finally, voice tight, lashes shadowing her eyes.
“You keep not telling me I’m wrong,” I murmured. Our faces were inches apart.
A beat. Then another.
“You’re in my space,” she said.
“Barely.” I leaned closer. Her gaze flicked to my lips before she tore it away. She smelled like sweat and leather and Orchids.
She turned sharp, sudden—like she might slap me, or kiss me. Instead, she slowly bent to pick up a fallen strap near my feet, face deliberately close to my crotch as she moved. Rising, she locked eyes with me, smirk curling like a blade dragged over skin. Evil woman.
My pulse stuttered.
“Relax,” she purred. “If I wanted you, you’d know.” Her hand brushed a stray hair off my shoulder—casual, cruel, intimate.
She cocked her hip and reached for her crossbow. The motion was smooth, but her grip was too tight.
“Don’t get killed,” I said quietly. “I’d hate to lose someone who makes being annoyed this fun.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She turned, walking out like she hadn’t just rearranged my ribcage.
The door clicked shut.
I exhaled, chest tight in the way it always was after she left—like something important had been ripped out with her. My gaze drifted to the gear she’d forgotten. Fen didn’t forget. Not unless she was distracted. Not unless she was looking at me like that.
I rubbed the back of my neck, paced once, then collapsed onto the bench, head in my hands.
I’d let her take out every Godsdamned ounce of her rage on me. I’d let her beat me down and build me back wrong. I’d let her fucking choke me, bruise me, cut me—if it just meant I could love her.
She’ll kill me one day. And I’ll thank her for it .