16. Roan
Roan
As the day stretches on, the tension loosens its grip, unraveling thread by thread. We settle back into the routine we’ve built, the quiet understanding between us smoothing over the sharp edges left in Selis’s wake.
The sun sinks behind the trees, streaking the sky in dying embers. Shadows stretch long over the forest floor. Night is coming.
I circle the perimeter of our camp for the third time this afternoon, double-checking every inch of brush, every bit of cover. It’s become almost obsessive—but then again, so has the rest of my life lately.
Everything’s changed since I ran across Aria in those ruins, half-dead, more ghost than girl.
I stop, pressing a hand to the rough bark of an old oak. Its surface is warm from the sun, ridged and solid beneath my fingers. Leaf-shadows flicker across my forearm, wind weaving through branches above.
From here, I can see her.
She’s seated on a fallen log at the edge of our camp, her cloak pooled around her like ink. One hand moves slowly, absently smoothing the fabric between her fingers. Her gaze is distant, turned inward. Whatever thoughts she’s chasing, they have her full attention.
And her eyes… Gods. In moments like this, when she thinks no one’s watching, they hold a kind of softness that guts me. A quiet ache. She tries to mask it with sharp edges and silence, but I see it. I always see it.
There’s something about her that pulls me off-center, that makes the air feel heavier and the ground less solid. A ghost in the ruins, and yet she’s the most alive thing I’ve ever known.
You’re in deeper than you planned, Roan. My own voice in my head is wry.
I press my lips together and continue my patrol, stepping carefully over knotted roots.
I don’t like staying in one place this long, don’t like the feeling of roots digging into my boots when I should be moving. I’m used to the road—town to town, contract to contract, never letting anybody get too close.
But here I am, forging a makeshift refuge for the two of us.
I rationalize each moment as a job, another task.
Keep the perimeter secure. Keep Aria safe.
Except no one’s paying me. And worse—I don’t care. There’s a sense of…purpose, maybe. A reason to keep watch besides the promise of coins or a warm tavern.
When I return to camp, she looks up quickly, startled. “You’re quick,” she says, a little breathless.
“Force of habit.” I roll a kink from my shoulder. “Everything looks clear for now.”
Her gaze lingers on me—just for a second—and something in it softens. She gives a small nod. “Thank you.”
Two simple words. But they land heavier than they should. I’ve heard thanks before—loud and slurred from tavern drunks, tired and transactional from merchants. But this? From her?
It’s real . Quiet. Earnest.
And it unsettles something in my chest. A tight pull I don’t have a name for. Don’t get used to it.
Then she shifts on the log, rolling her shoulder. The faintest wince crosses her face.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice coming out rougher than I mean for it to. “Shoulder bothering you?”
She glances at me, then away, flexing her fingers like she’s debating how much to admit. “It still aches sometimes. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
I frown. It’s been over a week since she got hurt. The last time I got a deep wound like that, it took months to heal, granted, but she’s a vampire. Shouldn’t she be healing faster? My gaze flicks to the exposed stretch of her shoulder where her sleeve has slipped. No bandage, just raw pink skin, tight and new. Still healing.
Slowly.
I remember what little I know about vampires and their healing—fast, near instant if they’re well-fed. I’ve kept her on a steady supply of rabbits. It should be enough.
“Let me see,” I say, setting my knife aside and leaning forward.
She stiffens. “It’s fine.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Humor me.”
Reluctantly, she shifts the fabric aside. My fingers hover, then brush the edge of the healing wound. Just a light touch. Gentle. Careful. Too careful.
Aria shudders.
Not a flinch, not a recoil. A shudder.
My breath catches. She’s warm. Unexpectedly so, considering. She feels alive in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
Her body stills under my fingers.
I yank my hand away before I do something stupid, before I let myself linger and learn too much—like how she’d feel pressed against me, how the warmth of her skin would seep into mine.
“Not healing as fast as you should be,” I murmur, forcing my voice even.
She clears her throat, still not looking at me. “Animal blood isn’t as strong,” she admits, rolling her sleeve back down. “It works, but… it’s not the same as human blood.”
The words settle uneasily in my gut. I nod once, flexing my fingers, still tingling from the contact. “Guess that makes sense.”
She stands suddenly, too fast. “I’ll grab more firewood.”
I open my mouth to stop her, instinct ready to protest—she’s still not fully healed and I don’t want her out of my sight—but I swallow it. She’s trying to be useful. To keep some piece of control.
“Sure,” I say. “We’ll need fresh branches. We’re down to scraps.”
She disappears into the trees without another word, her cloak trailing behind her like smoke.
The camp feels colder without her. Emptier.
And I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, pressing a palm to the center of my chest like I can soothe the ache blooming there.
Maybe she needs the space.
Maybe I do, too.
I tell myself it’s responsibility. Duty. That I’m just doing what anyone decent would’ve done. But that excuse has worn thin—and now the truth settles in my gut like a stone.
It’s not just responsibility anymore. It hasn’t been for a while.
It’s crept in slow, like tidewater through a cracked wall. At first, she was just a girl bleeding out in ancient ruins, hunted, half-conscious, barely more than a whisper of a person. I couldn’t leave her there. So I didn’t. Then came the rationalizations—she was weak, I was capable. Keeping her alive made sense.
But now?
Now I watch her too closely. I know the way firelight dances over her skin like it belongs there. I know the exact shape her lips make when she’s lost in thought. I know the rare softness in her face when her guard slips, the quiet curve of her smile that undoes me more than any blade ever could.
And I know how she shuddered beneath my touch.
And how I want to make her do it again.
I exhale, sharp and unsteady, and drag a hand through my hair. The gesture does nothing to settle the fire under my skin.
Doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.
She’s still in danger. We both are. And whatever this is—whatever’s clawing its way up through the cracks in my self-control—it only complicates things.
I rise to my feet and grip the hilt of my sword hard enough to hurt, staring out into the trees where she vanished minutes ago. The shadows stretch long, dusk bleeding into darkness.
“Don’t be stupid, Roan,” I whisper.
I turn back to camp, crouching by the fire pit and reinforcing the ring of stones. Clearing dried pine needles. Busy work—quiet, methodical. The kind of thing I’ve done a hundred times in a hundred camps.
But my thoughts drift, unbidden. Back to Aria’s stories of her clan—of their cruelty, their rituals, the ice in her mother’s eyes. The way her voice would go quiet when she talked about the ones she left behind.
If they come and I have to defend her against an entire clan—what then?
I shove the thought away. One step at a time.
By the time Aria returns, arms cradling a small pile of branches, I’ve refreshed our fire pit. She offers me a tentative smile, which I can’t help but return.
“Thanks,” I say gruffly, reaching for a few of the branches to stack in the pit.
As dusk thickens, I take my usual loop around camp. The air tastes cooler, and birds have gone quiet—a sign that night’s about to settle in. On my way back, I spot Aria standing near a mossy boulder, gazing off into the distance. Her posture is too still—rigid in a way that sets every nerve in my body on alert.
Something’s wrong.
I clear my throat softly. “What’s wrong?” My voice comes out low, coaxing. “Your shoulder again?”
Maybe another rabbit will help.
She doesn’t move right away. Just breathes—shallow, uneven. Then, slowly, she turns her head, and the look in her eyes twists something deep inside me.
Haunted. Wide. Distant.
“They’re here,” she whispers. “I can hear them.”
My blood turns to ice.
“Who?” I ask, though I already know. I know .
“Enforcers,” she says, barely breathing. “From my clan.”
The words hang in the air like a death sentence.
My hand goes instinctively to my sword. The forest suddenly feels too close, too quiet. Every tree a potential hiding place, every shadow holding danger.
They’ve found us.
I meet her gaze. “Show me where,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, steady. My heart’s pounding like war drums beneath my ribs, but I can’t let her see that.
She nods faintly, eyes flicking toward the darkened trees. “They’re close,” she murmurs. “Very close.”
The air between us stills. A hush, thick and expectant, falls over the camp.
And though every instinct in me is screaming to act, I wait—wait for her eyes to meet mine again before repeating, “Show me where, Aria.”