Noir
Chapter 92

Thorin and I had been an item once, but had found after coming to work at the agency, we were better friends than anything else, but we still held a close relationship. However, my relationship with Eton was a different story; he had a problem with me for some reason and I had no clue what the hell it was.

Ever since I had come to work for the Steel brothers, the tension between us had grown with every passing day, thick and noticeable, like the humidity before a storm. We'd avoided each other's gazes, our conversations short and sharp. The air had practically crackled with his animosity toward me and it had only grown worse over time.

We'd often found ourselves thrown together during missions, our paths crossing as we worked to protect the innocent from the supernatural. Yet, even in the most dire situations, the unspoken tension remained.

Eton's muscular frame was always tense when I was near, his jaw clenched, and his eyes cold. His hostility was obvious, a silent challenge that I couldn't ignore, despite my efforts to remain professional.

But there was something else beneath that frosty exterior, something that sent a thrill of confusion through me. An unwanted desire that would spark whenever we were forced into close proximity. It was a feeling that had me questioning my own sanity. How could I be attracted to someone who clearly despised me?

Every time our eyes had met, it was like lightning had struck-electric and painful. And yet, I hadn't been able to look away. His gaze was a puzzle I'd wanted to solve, a secret I'd needed to uncover. Now, it was a dance we performed, this silent push and pull, and it was starting to wear on my nerves.

I had tried to brush it off as mere attraction, a fleeting spark that would eventually fizzle out. But as the months had rolled by, it had grown stronger, more persistent, and I hadn't been able to shake the feeling that there was something deeper, something that neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

As the nights had grown longer, and the missions more dangerous, the stakes had never been higher, and our team had never been more tightly knit. Yet, amidst it all, this unspoken tension remained like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. At the time, even Lyra had noticed the growing strain between us, voicing her opinion on it, as she and I had sat outside the agency on the steps following another word slinging match between me and Eton. "What's going on with you two?" she had asked with a furrowed brow.

I had shrugged, trying to play it off as nothing. "It's just work stress," I had said, hoping she would let it go.

But Lyra wasn't one to be easily dismissed. She knew me too well, had seen the way Eton's eyes followed me, the way my heart skipped a beat every time he was near. She had watched the tension thicken between us like a fog that no one else seemed to notice.

"You're lying," she had said gently. "It's more than that."

I had sighed, looking up at the stars, trying to replace some semblance of peace in the night sky. "I don't know what it is," I admitted. "But it's driving me crazy."

Lyra had just nodded, her expression knowing. "Well, you'd better figure it out," she had said. "Because if you don't, it's going to blow up in our faces."

Now, as we stood in the war room, the air was thick with the unspoken tension that had been building for months. Eton's eyes darted to me, then away again, as if he couldn't bear to look at me for too long. And yet, I could feel the heat of his gaze on me, a silent reminder of the tumultuous dance we had been locked in for so long.

We had to replace a way to work together, to save Lyra, to save us all, despite the volatile mix of anger and attraction that simmered just beneath the surface. I knew we had to put aside our personal issues for the sake of our mission, but it was easier said than done. Every time we were forced into close proximity, it was like trying to hold back the tide inevitable and exhausting.

With a shake of my head, I entered the training room, then damn near turned on my heel at seeing Eton. After a little hesitation I growled low, "Fuck this," and continued my way into the room.

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He was shirtless, his muscles gleaming with sweat from his own training. Our eyes met and I felt a jolt of something that was definitely not anger desire. His eyes never left my face as I moved to the far corner of the room, grabbing some spare weapons. The whispers grew louder, feeding off the tension, urging me to acknowledge the attraction.

For months, it had been like this-a dance of avoidance and accidental touches that had us both snapping at each other. The air thick with the unsaid, with the untouched, with the undeniable.

As we trained side by side, the space between us crackled with tension. Each grunt of exertion, each clang of steel on steel, echoed the tumultuous emotions we kept buried. Our eyes would meet, clash, and then dart away again, a silent battle of wills that mirrored the physical one we were engaged in.

"You're sloppy," Eton said without looking at me, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

I stopped mid-swing, the blade of my sword quivering in the air. "Excuse me?"

He turned, his eyes cold. "Your form is off," he said, stepping closer. "You're letting your emotions get in the way."

I could feel the heat radiating off him, and it was all I could do not to lean into it. "And what would you know about that?" I snapped.

"More than you think," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips for the briefest of moments before snapping back to my eyes.

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We stood there, inches apart, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, feel the way my heart stuttered in my chest.

"We can't do this," he said, his voice thick. "Not now."

"Agreed," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "But we need to deal with it. It's affecting our mission."

He took a step back, then with a curt nod he stated, "We'll talk when we get Lyra back. But until then, we focus on the job."

I nodded, my expression unreadable.

He turned away and continued his training, the air in the room still charged with the electricity of our unspoken words.

As we sparred, our movements grew more aggressive, our swords a blur. It was as if we were fighting our own personal demons rather than each other. The whispers grew quieter, as if they too knew that now was not the time for distractions. But as we pushed ourselves to our limits, the tension grew stronger, a force that seemed to fuel our every move. And with each clash of steel, with each near miss, I couldn't help but wonder if the battle we were fighting wasn't just about saving our friend, but about saving ourselves from the darkness threatening to consume us all.