26. Roan
Roan
I glance up from my half-finished meal, absently rolling my tankard between my hands when movement at the bottom of the stairs catches my eye. Aria.
A flicker of warmth stirs low in my chest before I can stop it—a remnant of the night before, of waking tangled in her warmth, of the soft sound of her breathing against my skin. The memory is dangerous. Too easy to sink into.
She stands frozen at the landing, dark hair slipping forward as she peers into the common room. But something’s wrong. The relaxed ease of waking beside her is gone, replaced by a tightness in her posture, the way her fingers clutch at the banister like she’s bracing for a blow.
My stomach knots.
Then, as if deciding something in an instant, she turns on her heel and disappears back towards our room.
The warmth from before vanishes, replaced by cold unease curling in my gut.
What the hell was that?
I barely have time to register the weight in my gut before the conversation at the table beside me cuts through the tavern’s background noise.
“—bounty’s high enough to turn anyone’s head.”
I still.
“Vampire girl, dark hair. Some noble’s runaway brat. Word is, the clan wants her back alive.” A rough chuckle. “Alive don’t mean whole, though.”
Ice floods my veins.
Shit.
I’m on my feet before I have time to think, my chair scraping loudly against the wood. Grabbing my pack, I sling it over my shoulder. My instincts scream at me not to attract attention, but my movements are too hurried, too sharp. The table discussing the bounty—two men and a woman, all dressed in worn traveling leathers, blades strapped openly at their hips—continue their conversation, oblivious to the way my pulse thunders in my ears.
“—last sighting was a town over. They’re closing in.” The woman speaks in a low, confident drawl, tilting her tankard to her lips. “She won’t last long on her own.”
The larger of the two men chuckles, a rough, unpleasant sound. “Doesn’t have to. Not when she’s worth that much coin.”
The third scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “If it’s smart, the leech will let itself get caught by its own kind. Better that than the alternative.”
A sharp laugh. “What, someone like us getting to her first?”
My fingers tighten around the strap of my pack, breath slow and controlled despite the fire curling in my chest.
I slide the empty bowl of stew and half-empty tankard back toward the barkeep with a curt nod. He barely glances at me before turning to another patron.
I take the stairs two at a time, heart slamming against my ribs.
Mouse.
What the hell are you doing?
I push the door open without hesitation, already bracing for the worst.
Aria stands at the small table, shoving items into her pack in frantic, uneven motions—an extra cloak, the handful of coins we looted. Her hands tremble as she works, but the moment she hears me, she goes still.
Slowly, she straightens, her shoulders tense.
And when she turns, I see it—the guilt flashing in her eyes, raw and undeniable.
Just like that, every suspicion rattling in my head is confirmed.
“You’re leaving,” I say flatly, voice rougher than I intend.
She clutches her pack to her chest, lips pressed into a thin line. “I—yes,” she admits, stumbling over the words, raw and hesitant. “It’s for the best.”
Anger flares in my chest, molten and unforgiving. “The best for who?” My voice is harsh as I step closer. “Because it sure as hell isn’t best for me, and I doubt it’s best for you.”
Her jaw locks, stubborn as ever, and her eyes flick toward the door like she’s already calculating her odds. Like she thinks she can slip past me if she times it right. As if I’d let her.
“They’ve put a bounty on me, Roan. Half the people downstairs are probably already sharpening their knives. If I stay, you’ll get dragged into it—more than you already are.”
I cross my arms, planting my feet, and refuse to acknowledge the ripple of unease at the mention of her clan. I’m not afraid of them. Not for myself, anyway. But for her? For what they might do if they ever get their hands on her again? That’s a different story entirely.
“So your brilliant plan is to sneak out alone?” My voice is rough, edged with something dangerously close to desperation. “You really think they won’t find you again? Or that you’ll be safer on your own?”
She flinches, and I see the shadows of memory in her eyes—probably recalling the last time her enforcers caught up to us, or maybe it’s that night, the one where she finally ran, her whole world left behind in the dust.
“At least you won’t be in danger,” she murmurs, almost too low to hear. “You can go back to your life. No more vampires, no more dangerous scrapes.”
My throat tightens. She thinks this is just an inconvenience, like I could walk away unscathed.
The idea of her doing this without even asking what I want sends heat rushing through me—anger, yes, but underneath that, something deeper, something worse.
Fear .
Fear of losing her.
“Dammit, Aria,” I growl, stepping forward without thinking.
She backs up, pressing against the rickety table, wide eyes flick to mine, full of defiance and uncertainty in equal measure.
“You think I’m going to let you run off and get yourself killed?” My voice is low, roughened by something I can’t shove down fast enough. “You really think I can just…forget about you?”
She breaks my gaze, fingers twisting in the pack’s strap, the tension in her shoulders drawn so tight I can almost feel it in my own skin.
“You could have a normal life,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “Without all of this. Without me.” I open my mouth to argue but she keeps going. “I saw you,” she adds, quieter still. “With that red-haired woman. Earlier. You looked... like you belonged there. Smiling. Talking. Like nothing was chasing you.”
Her words land harder than a blow.
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face. “I don’t even know her name,” I say flatly. “I wasn’t interested. I was being polite.”
I hold Aria’s gaze, letting the truth settle between us.
“She meant nothing. I don’t want normal. I don’t want her.” My voice drops, rough.
She looks away again, jaw clenched. “It doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t.”
She goes rigid.
I lower my voice. “You think I smiled at her like I smile at you ?”
Her fingers tighten on the strap, but she doesn’t answer.
“You don’t get it,” she whispers. “This is my problem. I won’t let you suffer for my mistakes.”
A sudden wave of possessiveness swells in my chest, so fierce it momentarily takes my breath.
She still doesn’t see it—how much of her I’ve already chosen.
How dare she think I could give her up that easily?
As if she’s just another contract, another lost cause to cut free when things get too complicated.
As if she doesn’t know me at all.
I should be calm. Rational. But the thought of her walking away rips through me like a blade to the gut.
"You’re not going anywhere,” I snap, the force of it surprising even me.
Her head jerks up, disbelief flashing across her face before it hardens into something sharp.
“You don’t own me,” she snaps back, voice shaky but unwavering. “And I’m not about to drag you further into my clan’s hunt.”
I exhale through clenched teeth, forcing down the growl rising in my throat. “ I’m already in the hunt, Aria. You think I haven’t been since the moment I found you bleeding in those ruins?”
Her lips part, stunned—but I don’t stop.
“You can’t make me leave it. You can’t make me leave you. ”
Silence crashes between us, thick and searing.
Tears brim at the edges of her lashes, a mirror to the roiling storm in my own chest. I swallow hard. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything but her.
I’m losing her , a panicked voice screams in my head. If I don’t do something, she’ll vanish for good.
All the emotions I’ve been wrestling with—the worry, the anger, the bone-deep fear of losing her—collide in a single, reckless moment. My pulse is a war drum, drowning out reason, drowning out anything that isn’t her .
Before I can think it through, before she can slip away, I grab her wrist, my fingers wrapping tight around hers, and yank her toward me.
She lets out a sharp breath, eyes going wide, lips parting in shock.
“Roan—”
I cut her off the only way I know how.
My mouth crashes into hers, hard and desperate, a collision of breath and heat and all the unspoken words I can’t seem to shape. It isn’t soft, isn’t careful. It’s a demand, a plea, a warning.
Don’t go. Don’t leave me behind.
For a heartbeat, she’s rigid against me, frozen in place, as though she might push me away. But then she exhales—a small, trembling sound against my lips—and something in her melts.
The pack she was holding slips from her grip, hitting the wooden floor with a dull thud.
Her hands, hesitant at first, slide up, fingers ghosting over my arms, then gripping my shoulders. I take the invitation, my free hand moving to her waist, pressing against the curve of her hip, drawing her impossibly closer.
My fingers flex at her waist, a quiet war waging in my head— closer, hold her closer, don’t let her slip away.
Her lips are soft but urgent, and when she tilts her head just slightly, pressing back into me with a need that sends fire racing through my veins, I let out a low, shuddering breath. The kiss deepens, the space between us vanishing, lost to something too big, too raw to contain.
I don’t know where she ends and I begin.
I don’t care.
Her fingers thread into my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp, and I groan into her mouth, fingers tightening at her waist. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. She will never be enough, and yet she’s already everything.
A sharp gasp breaks between us, her lips parting just enough for me to feel the way she’s struggling to catch her breath. I ease back an inch, my forehead resting against hers, both of us breathing hard, caught in the tangle of heat and need and the terrifying realization of what just happened.
She doesn’t pull away.
She doesn’t run.
And neither do I.
I swallow hard, my grip on her waist loosening just slightly, afraid to shatter whatever fragile thing has settled between us.
“Roan,” she whispers again, her voice unsteady, barely a breath of sound.
I close my eyes, exhaling against her lips. My heart is still pounding, still demanding more , but I force myself to pull back just enough to see her face. Her wide eyes search mine, filled with something I can’t quite name—shock, maybe. Or something deeper. Something that mirrors the ache curling in my own chest.
She sways slightly, like she doesn’t trust her own legs to hold her up. My hand steadies her without thinking, fingers skimming her spine.
Aria is beautiful. Her lips are kiss-bruised, her breath uneven, and when she blinks up at me, it takes everything in me not to lean back in, not to get drunk off her all over again.
But she hasn’t spoken. She hasn’t moved. And for the first time, a flicker of doubt seeps in.
What have I done?
I clear my throat, voice rough. “Tell me to stop.”
Aria blinks, her grip tightening on my arms. She doesn’t let go.
Silence stretches between us, thick with unanswered questions.
Then, barely above a whisper, she says, “I don’t want you to stop.”
Her words crash through me like a jolt of lightning. I don’t move. I barely breathe. I don’t want you to stop.
It’s a whisper, a confession, a permission wrapped in something fragile. Something I don’t dare break.
My fingers flex against her waist, a barely-there touch, waiting for the moment she realizes what she’s just said and pulls away. But she doesn’t. She stays pressed close, her breath still uneven.
I swallow hard, every muscle in my body tense with restraint. “Aria…” Her name tastes different in my mouth now, heavier.
She looks up at me through her lashes, something unreadable flickering in her dark eyes. She’s still catching her breath, still holding on, and I wonder if she even realizes it.
I should let go of her. I should. But instead, I lift a hand, trailing my fingers over the curve of her jaw, tilting her chin just slightly. She leans into the touch before she can stop herself, the smallest movement, but it’s enough to undo me all over again.
“You don’t want me to stop?” I ask, my voice rough, low. A final chance for her to step back.
She shakes her head. Slow. Deliberate.
“Then tell me what you do want,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over her cheekbone. Her breath hitches.
“I don’t know,” she whispers, voice unsteady. “I…” She trails off, lips parting, searching for words that won’t come.
I exhale sharply, resting my forehead against hers. She’s shaking, just slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. “Aria,” I say again, softer this time.
Give me something, Mouse. Anything.
She sways closer, her hands curling into the fabric of my shirt, like she’s grounding herself. Her breath trembles against my lips. “I just want us to be safe,” she admits, so quiet it almost isn’t there. “Both of us.”
Something sharp lances through my chest. Because I know that feeling. The weight of it. The ache of it.
I tilt my head, nudging my nose against hers, grounding her as much as myself. “We’re safe right now,” I rasp. “And we’ll figure out the rest.” My fingers tighten at her waist, my voice dropping lower. “But I’m not letting you go. No matter what's hunting us, I'll be the one standing between it and you."
She makes a sound, something caught between relief and uncertainty, and before I can stop myself, I close the space between us once more.
This time, the kiss is slower. Less desperation, more certainty. A quiet promise between us, unspoken but understood. She softens against me, hands still tangled in my shirt, like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
I kiss her like I can convince her otherwise. Like I can prove it to her.
Her lips part beneath mine, hesitant but willing, and a deep, shuddering breath escapes me. I tighten my hold on her waist, drawing her flush against me.
She makes a small noise against my mouth, something that sends heat racing through my veins. My fingers press into her back, desperate to keep her close, to memorize this, just in case—
No. I shove the thought down before it can take root. I won’t let her leave.
When we finally break apart, our breaths mingling in the small space between us, she looks up at me, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted.
I run my thumb along the curve of her hip. “Don’t run off, Mouse. Promise me.” My voice is rough, quieter than before.
She hesitates, biting her lip. But then, slowly, she nods.
“I promise,” she breathes.
And just like that, the tension in my chest finally eases.
I press a lingering kiss to her forehead before pulling her fully against me, arms wrapped around her like a shield. She buries her face in my shoulder, exhaling shakily, and I close my eyes.
For the first time in a long time, I let myself hold onto something.
Because she’s not running anymore.
And neither am I.
And if I have to fight a goddamn vampire clan to keep her safe, I will.