Chapter 133: Drip by Drip

Phénix left her behind with a stream of grumbling complaints, abandoning the car where it was. His dear mistress had insisted she'd need it to get back. Had he known what awaited him, he would have teleported ages ago instead of enduring her brand-new—and utterly disastrous—driving skills.

He was practically hissing like a cat. The demon had grown far too accustomed to his feline forms.

Well...

As long as no one tried to feed him kibble.

Or catnip.

And no, he couldn't stay with Blanche. Fully aware that she danced like she had two left feet, she absolutely refused to let her familiar witness the spectacle. He had mocked her more than enough while she'd been practicing with Cassian.

The look of sympathetic pity from the handsome drakion would be more than enough.

Or perhaps...

She simply wanted to be alone with him.

"You take after your father more than your mother," the demon grumbled, casting a glance at the station wagon.

Fortunately, the latter owned an impressive collection of luxury cars himself. He probably wouldn't even notice one was missing. Besides, Phoenix hadn't exactly asked permission before borrowing this one.

Then again...

Asmodeus had never denied his best friend anything.

And now that she was his daughter...

Still, he offered her one last long-suffering smile as she rang the bell at her own house, fully aware that Saphir had already given her a key before vanishing.

Blanche absently played with her earring, unable to hide her nervousness.

Her fingertips brushed the scale Saphir had given her, delicately curled into a perfect spiral. Beneath her touch it felt surprisingly smooth, cool, almost alive, and its deep sapphire-blue reflections shifted with every movement, as though a fragment of her Companion had accompanied her all the way here.

Showing up at his door this late at night was a terrible idea.

A truly terrible one.

She didn't even have time to regret it.

The door opened.

Saphir remained still for a second, visibly surprised to find her standing on the doorstep.

He was wearing nothing but a thick white towel tied carelessly around his waist.

Apparently, she had interrupted him just after his bath.

His long midnight-blue hair, still completely drenched, flowed freely over his shoulders and down his back. Water caught the light within it, revealing flashes of sapphire so vivid they looked unreal, like the scales he bore in his draconic form.

Tiny droplets slid lazily down his neck, traced the elegant line of his collarbones, then disappeared across the broad planes of his sculpted chest. His physique wasn't ostentatious; it possessed the effortless harmony of a predator—a perfect balance of strength, flexibility, and almost insolent grace. Every movement appeared fluid and natural, as though his body had been shaped to move as easily through the sky as through the sea.

Blanche's gaze dropped involuntarily.

Water was still dripping from his hair.

Drop.

After drop.

The soft, steady rhythm echoed across the immaculate terrazzo floor, its pale stone flecked with bluish crystals reminiscent of a glacier's depths. For a moment, she followed the tiny beads of water as they splashed onto the polished surface, grateful for the distraction before making the mistake of looking at her host any more closely.

It was hopeless.

Her eyes rose again despite herself.

Very slowly.

Until they met those of the future King of the Drakions.

Those eyes were unforgettable.

Two living gemstones, an almost painfully pure shade of blue whose hues shifted with every change of light. They held infinite gentleness and unfathomable depth at once, like gazing into the ocean beneath a moonless sky.

The sapphire from which he took his name would probably have blushed with envy before such a color.

Saphir tilted his head slightly, the corner of his lips lifting into the faintest smile.

"Blanche?"

His voice, still softened by the warmth of the bath, carried a hushed gentleness that only unsettled her further.

She suddenly realized she'd been staring at him for several long seconds.

And that...

Showing up at the most handsome man in the Otherworld's doorstep in the middle of the night was really, truly, an awful idea.

"Am I bothering you?" the redhead asked.

"Never," he reassured her with sparkling eyes and an easy smile before stepping aside to let her in.

He watched as she hung her long black wool coat on the rack, revealing a flowing salmon-pink chiffon dress that complemented her complexion beautifully, even if it contrasted with her ankle boots.

"I'm happy to see you..." he said. "But why are you here?"

"If I told you I came because I wanted to see you... would you believe me?"

Blanche sat down on the midnight-blue velvet sofa and began slipping off her boots.

"I'd be delighted," he replied confidently as he grabbed another towel to dry his hair. "And I'd very much like to believe you... just not at this point in time. So tell me. Is everything all right?"

She didn't answer.

His smile vanished instantly.

Concern replaced surprise with startling ease.

Without asking permission, he crossed the short distance between them and sat beside her on the sofa, close enough that she could still feel the lingering warmth radiating from his skin. The towel he'd intended for his hair now rested loosely around his neck like an absent-minded accessory.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice even softer.

With Saphir, that gentleness felt completely natural. He never raised his voice.

He never had to.

His mere presence was enough to soothe almost anyone around him.

Blanche opened her mouth...

Then closed it again.

Her attention had been captured by something utterly insignificant.

His hair.

It was already dripping again.

The long midnight-blue strands, still dark with moisture, slid lazily over his shoulders before releasing delicate drops of water that landed on his collarbone and slowly traced paths down his sun-kissed skin. Some disappeared beneath the towel wrapped around his waist; others splashed soundlessly onto the terrazzo floor.

She frowned slightly.

"You're going to catch a cold..."

Saphir laughed softly.

"Me?"

He never got the chance to finish.

Moved by a reflex as spontaneous as it was inexplicable, Blanche raised her hands.

Her fingers gently closed around the towel he'd carelessly left draped around his neck.

The Drakion remained perfectly still, forgetting to remind her that he was a being of icy fire.

She carefully drew the towel toward his damp hair.

Then, with infinite tenderness...

She began to dry it.