Chapter 134: A Safe Haven
As though she were afraid of pulling even a single strand of those long, deep-blue locks slipping through her fingers with an almost unreal softness. She first dabbed the top of his head, then his temples, before slowly working her way down the still-soaked lengths.
Before he even realized what was happening, the Drakion began to purr, clearly enjoying the attention.
The fresh scent of soap, mingled with Saphir's subtler fragrance, reached her with every movement.
The most powerful of all Drakions said nothing.
He simply watched her.
His magnificent blue eyes, usually so calm, had widened ever so slightly in surprise.
Blanche continued with almost endearing seriousness, completely absorbed in the task, as though, for one fleeting moment, drying his hair had become the most important thing in the world.
She gently wiped away a few forgotten droplets from his forehead.
Then along his temple.
Finally, without really thinking about it, she let the towel glide over his cheek, where a tiny bead of water had just traced a thin, shimmering path.
Her movements were slow.
Delicate.
Almost tender.
A striking contrast to the boundless energy that usually defined her.
Saphir still didn't move.
It was as if he feared the slightest motion might shatter this suspended moment.
His shoulders—strong enough to bear the colossal wings of his draconic form—had imperceptibly relaxed beneath the young woman's improvised care.
When their eyes finally met, Blanche suddenly realized what she was doing.
Her hands froze.
So did the towel.
Silence settled between them.
Not an awkward silence.
Nor a heavy one.
Simply the quiet intimacy that sometimes blossoms from the simplest gestures.
At last, Saphir smiled—a smile of disarming gentleness.
"So... do you take care of everyone like this... or am I getting special treatment?"
Blanche immediately felt her cheeks grow warm.
"You... you were dripping everywhere."
A perfectly logical answer.
At least... she desperately hoped so.
Quick. Change the subject.
"Cassian told me you're quite the dancer... and with the gala coming up..."
"Say no more," he replied with a smile. "I'll go get dressed, and I'll be right back."
He took the towel from her before leaning in slightly.
"And then... I'll take care of you."
The dark promise laced through his voice sent a shiver down her spine before he straightened again, a teasing smile playing at his lips.
To the right of the entrance were three doors. When he reached the last one, he untied the towel around his waist.
Blanche, who had been absentmindedly watching him, instantly turned scarlet.
She knew he wasn't particularly modest...
But still.
He burst into hearty laughter before slipping through the doorway and disappearing down a staircase beyond it.
Well... that was a terrible idea.
A very, very terrible idea.
It took every ounce of her self-control not to bolt straight back to the car.
Only the prospect of humiliating herself in front of the entire supernatural community kept her rooted where she stood.
While waiting for Saphir, she wandered through the house.
Although she had visited before, she'd never really taken the time to appreciate the décor.
This time, her gaze lingered.
Until now, she'd mostly been distracted by the owner—which, objectively, was fairly understandable.
Now that her heartbeat had finally settled into something resembling a normal rhythm, she allowed herself to truly explore the home with genuine curiosity.
Many of the objects looked as though they belonged to another age.
Not merely old.
Ancient.
Vases of every size, delicately hand-painted, rested atop pale wooden consoles. Their remarkably intricate floral motifs depicted species she had never seen before, combining almost translucent blue petals with golden foliage. Despite their apparent age, not a single crack marred their perfectly glazed surfaces.
Farther along, several sculptures quietly drew her attention.
They had been carved from pale wood of extraordinary smoothness, whose natural grain seemed to form the shapes of mythical creatures on its own.
A dragon coiled around a tree.
A stag with blossoms blooming from its antlers.
A wolf running through the waves.
Each piece possessed such organic softness that it almost looked as though it had grown that way without ever being touched by a sculptor's hand.
Blanche found herself stepping closer.
She ran her fingertips across one of the sculptures.
No tool marks.
No chisel cuts.
As if the wood had simply chosen to become that shape.
Strange.
Her attention drifted next to the enormous bookcase covering nearly an entire wall.
Between the books rested crystals and stones, scattered here and there as though they naturally belonged among the furniture.
A massive amethyst geode, its deep violet crystals sparkling in the light, stood near the window.
Farther away, a block of black obsidian reflected the room like an imperfect mirror.
She also recognized rose quartz, glowing citrine, iridescent labradorite, fluorite with its almost unreal color gradients, and countless other minerals whose names she didn't even know.
Nothing was displayed like a collection.
The stones simply... lived there.
Exactly where they belonged.
Like ordinary household objects.
Intrigued, Blanche tilted her head to read the book spines.
Natural Health.
The Language of Stones.
The Art of Medicinal Plants.
Divination Through Tarot.
The Body's Energy Centers.
Chakras.
The Cycles of the Moon.
She blinked several times.
Then read them again, convinced she'd misread.
No.
That really was what they said.
She never would have imagined Saphir taking an interest in subjects like these.
In her mind, he embodied nobility above all else.
Diplomacy.
Quiet strength.
An elegance that bordered on the supernatural.
She could easily picture him negotiating treaties between worlds, soaring above mountain ranges, or wielding a sword with the effortless grace that seemed second nature to him.
But sitting comfortably in an armchair reading tarot cards...
Or leafing through a book on the energetic properties of amethyst?
That image was so unexpected she almost smiled.
Then she thought about it.
Actually...
Perhaps it suited him far more than she'd first assumed.
Saphir radiated serenity.
He listened before he spoke.
Observed before he acted.
He always sought to soothe rather than dominate.
Those books were, in the end, nothing more than a natural extension of his personality.
They told the story of a man deeply devoted to balance, healing, and understanding the world—far removed from the clichés one might associate with the title of the Perfect Drakion.
She absentmindedly brushed her fingers along the spine of a book devoted to gemstones.
"I never imagined he'd be... passionate about all this."