The Matchmaker (by Sophie Smith) novel Chapter 92

CHAPTER 92

The grass felt soft and sun–warmed beneath Saphira’s bare feet as she and Nikolas crossed the clearing, the pulse of earlier sparring still humning through her limbs. The others were gathered near the edge–Zafira seated on a rock, head tipped back as she tried to catch her breath, while Finn handed her a water bottle with a smug grin. Anastasia leaned against a tree, arms folded and eyes bright with lingering adrenaline, her braid dishevelled, and a small smudge of dirt streaked across her cheek.

led stood nearby, gear tucked under one arm, looking unusually content for someone who’d likely blocked more attacks than he’d delivered.

“How’d it go?” Saphira called out, stepping into their circle with Nikolas at her side.

Zafira exhaled dramatically, swiping her forearm across her brow. “Harder in human form. Everything hurts and nothing moves the way it’s supposed to.” Her shoulders slumped playfully. “Someone remind me why we’re not born with scales.”

Jed snorted, his grin already forming. “Because life would be far too easy. No drama, no bruises.”

Nikolas chuckled beside Saphira, arms folding lightly. “And you’d have nothing to complain about, Zafira.”

Zafira mock–glared between them. “Some of us enjoy a good complain, thank you very much.”

Saphira smiled, letting herself sink into the comfort of being together. “So,” she said casually, sweeping her gaze across the little longer on Anastasia-“dinner, anyone? After showers and a change, of course.”

-and letting it linger a

Anastasia’s eyes lifted to meet hers, and a quiet warmth passed between them. “Sounds good,” she said, voice calm but somehow touched with meaning.

“Food,” Finn echoed dramatically, “is the real reward for suffering.”

They all nodded or mumbled their agreement, beginning to disperse with stretched limbs and rolled shoulders, splitting off in pairs toward the pack house.

Saphira and Nikolas walked in easy rhythm to their floor, conversation quiet but comfortable. As they reached the hallway, Nikolas glanced sideways. “You still need to pack,” he said, tone teasing but factual.

Saphira made a face, half dramatic, half reluctant. “Fine. I’ll do it now. Then we can shower in our own rooms and meet back after.”

Nikolas stopped, brows lifting slightly in mock disbelief. “What do you mean our own rooms?”

She blinked, smile tugging at one corner. “You know, separate showers, some personal space…”

He shook his head, eyes narrowing playfully. “No chance. I’m helping you grab your things. And we’re showering together. In my room.”

Saphira laughed, warmth rising in her chest as she leaned into him slightly. “Bossy.”

“Efficient,” he corrected with a grin.

And as they turned toward her door, steps in sync and hearts still buzzing from the bond they’d solidified, Saphira felt it fully–this was no longer temporary.

The door clicked quietly behind them as Saphira stepped into her room, the space feeling smaller now–not confining, but intimate in its simplicity. Nikolas followed, his eyes sweeping over the shelves, the neatly folded stack of clothes, the lack of trinkets or clutter. The walls were mostly bare; a single sketch tucked into the corner near her desk and a small pouch of dried herbs resting in the window frame.

He picked up one of her folded tops and brushed the fabric between his fingers. “I wish you had more stuff,” he said softly. “Something… personal. Thing that felt like you.”

Saphira paused mid–step, fingers frozen on the zip of her bag. Then she glanced at him over her shoulder. “I didn’t need them before she rphed. Sin enough to get by.

Nikolas turned the shirt over in his hands, then set it gently in the pack. His jaw flexed, something quiet stirring behind

Saphira straightened slowly walking over and placing a hand lightly against his forearm, s My old pack n

CHAPTER 92

said. “Anything sentimental… meant weakness.”

Nikolas nodded, the motion slow. His eyes met hers, a flicker of sadness surfacing before he pushed it down. “That’s not how things are anymore,” he said. “Not with us.”

Her smile warmed, fingers giving a gentle squeeze. “We’ve got time now,” she said. “To collect all the memorable things. The ones that matter.”

He gave a soft huff of a laugh. “You realise I’m going to fill our space with all kinds of things you’ll roll your eyes at.”

“I’m counting on it,” she said, handing him a journal with a faint crease down the spine.

They packed together in companionable silence, their movements easy, filled with the kind of rhythm built over shared trust. Saphira rolled her boots in a cloth wrap. Nikolas sorted her books into a neat pile, nudging a dog–eared one aside with raised brows.

“I’m proud of Zafira,” he said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “She’s doing something–even if she’s not ready to shift. That kind of courage matters.”

Saphira tucked a scarf into her satchel and looked up. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s hard… but I think training like this might help both her and Anastasia. Not just physically. Emotionally. Learn to trust their dragons again.”

Nikolas nodded, his hands still for a moment. “Healing takes its own shape.”

“And sometimes,” she said, locking eyes with him, “that shape may come in an unexpected form.”

Saphira zipped the last bag closed with a quiet finality, her fingers lingering at the edge of the worn canvas as if it were somehow harder to let go than she expected. She scanned the room once more–the shelves emptied, the soft pouch of herbs tucked safely away, the quiet echo of memories that never quite had the space to grow here.

“That’s everything,” she said softly, turning toward Nikolas. Her shoulders relaxed with the words. “I’m ready.”

Nikolas stepped forward and glanced down at the small pile of bags at her feet. Without hesitation, he reached for the heaviest one first, slinging it over his shoulder, then grabbed two more with practiced ease. “Of course you packed like a tactical unit,” he said, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Compact and no- nonsense.”

“Can’t help it,” Saphira replied, brushing her hands together. “I trained myself to fit my life in three bags or less.”

His eyes flicked to hers–soft, perceptive. But he didn’t push. Instead, he nodded and nudged her playfully toward the doorway.

“Let’s go to our room, then.”

They walked the hallway together, steps falling into rhythm–hers light, his steady. Saphira’s hand grazed the strap of the remaining bag she carried, heart unexpectedly light despite the weight across her back.

Nikolas kept close, occasionally shifting a bag higher on his shoulder or glancing sideways as if checking whether she still felt okay. And each time, she did.

This time, she wasn’t walking into someone else’s space. She was walking into theirs. And something about that made everything she carried feel infinitely lighter.

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