28. Roan
Roan
The sight that greets me when I push open the door is not what I expected.
Aria, straddling Selis, a dagger pressed against her throat.
Selis, grinning like she’s enjoying every second of it.
We’re all breathing too hard, the air charged with something sharp and dangerous.
I stare. Blink.
“What the fuck?”
Aria jerks her head toward me, wild-eyed and flushed, as if just remembering where we are. But she doesn’t lower the blade. Good.
Selis tilts her head back slightly to get a better look at me. “Hey, Talrik,” she purrs, unbothered. “Didn’t expect such a warm welcome.”
I don’t move from the threshold, but my grip on the sack of supplies tightens. My eyes flick to Aria’s knuckles, bloodied. Her shoulders are tense, trembling slightly.
I exhale, slowly. “What,” I say, carefully enunciating every word, “the fuck —is happening here?”
Selis lets out a dramatic sigh. “Relax. Just a friendly chat.” She winks up at Aria. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
Aria’s jaw tightens. The dagger doesn’t waver.
I’d be proud if I wasn’t so angry, but my stomach twists. Aria had been alone when Selis showed up… Shit.
I set the supplies down with deliberate care, keeping my eyes locked on the woman pinned beneath Aria. “You always had shit timing, Selis.”
She hums. “Yeah, well. This time, I might be in luck.” Her gaze slides back to me, dark and calculating. “See, I heard something very interesting in town.”
I don’t react, but my pulse ticks up.
Selis grins. “Turns out, our little runaway here is worth a lot of coin.” Her voice is almost conversational, like she’s discussing the weather. “And if I know you, Roan, you hate leaving money on the table.”
I go still.
She keeps talking, confident, despite being the one pinned. “Now, I could turn her in myself. Drag her back kicking and screaming, deliver her all nice and wrapped up. But—” she flicks her gaze to me, gauging, “—I figured I’d give you an offer first.”
The air in the room shifts. Aria tenses above her, waiting.
Selis’s smirk widens. “We split it. Fifty-fifty. No one gets hurt. No one even has to know you were involved. Hell, I’ll even be the one to do the dirty work. Just say the word.”
My fists clench.
Aria stiffens like she’s been struck, her breath catching audibly.
Selis chuckles. “C’mon, Roan. You’re practical. You know this is a bad investment. She’s dangerous —”
“ She’s not yours to sell. ” My voice cuts through the room, cold and sharp.
Selis’s amusement falters.
I take a step forward, slow and deliberate. “I don’t sell innocent people, Selis. And I don’t betray them.”
She exhales through her nose, shaking her head like I’m the one being unreasonable. “That’s rich, coming from you. You of all people should know what happens when you let yourself get attached to strays.”
A very specific kind of anger flares inside me.
She sees it. Pushes it.
She tilts her head, watching me with the kind of casual cruelty that used to be entertaining—before I learned better.
“You’d think after last time, you’d have learned your lesson. What was his name again?” she purrs, voice laced with mock sympathy.
My stomach turns to stone.
Selis grins, seeing the shift in my expression. “Ah, that’s right. Garrick. ” Selis hums thoughtfully. “You and I both know how that ended. You can’t help yourself, can you? You find some poor bastard, make them feel safe, and then—”
She doesn’t get to finish.
Because Aria moves.
Faster than I expect, faster than Selis expects.
The knife flicks from Selis’s throat to her shoulder, and Aria presses—just hard enough to make a point. Just hard enough to break skin.
A thin line of crimson beads against the steel, slipping down in a slow, deliberate path.
Selis hisses through her teeth, the first crack in her carefully crafted arrogance.
Aria leans in, voice low and lethal. “Say his name again,” she dares, her grip steady. “See what happens.”
She presses the blade just a fraction deeper, and Selis flinches.
Aria’s lips curl—not in amusement, not even in anger, but in something colder. Sharper. “You know, I’ve been very good lately,” she murmurs, her breath ghosting against Selis’s ear. “I swore off feeding on humans. Told myself I wouldn’t sink to their level. That I’d be better. ”
She tilts her head, studying Selis like a wolf sizing up a wounded deer.
“But you,” she continues, voice silky with menace, “I think I could make an exception for.”
Selis’s smirk is gone now, wiped clean. Her breathing shallows, her pulse a rapid staccato in her throat.
“You talk too much,” Aria adds, a mockery of casual indifference. “And I do get hungry.”
She drags the blade ever so slightly, enough for more blood to well up.
Selis stiffens, her muscles tight. I can see the war inside her—pride versus self-preservation. She doesn’t fear me. But Aria?
She isn’t so sure.
And I—
I just watch.
Because the way Aria holds her, the way her lips curl slightly, the way her shoulders square in absolute certainty—
It’s beautiful.
It’s dangerous.
And for the first time since this whole mess started, I think Selis might actually be afraid.
I almost smile.
Almost.
Instead, I step closer, towering over them. I fix my gaze on Selis, who, for the first time since I walked in, seems to realize she’s not winning this one.
For a moment, just a moment, I let it sit. Let Selis feel it.
Then I step forward, voice calm, coaxing. “That’s enough, Mouse.”
Aria’s eyes flick to mine. There’s something wild there, something feral, but after a beat, she exhales sharply through her nose and pulls back—though not before giving Selis’s shoulder a parting scrape with the blade.
Selis swears under her breath, jerking away. “Fucking hell,” she mutters, pressing a hand to the wound. “You’ve got a type , don’t you, Talrik?”
I grip the back of her collar before she can move. “Get up.”
She groans but doesn’t fight me. She knows better.
I lean in, voice low and edged with steel. “You’re going to forget you ever saw us, and if I ever hear you went sniffing around this bounty again—” I tighten my grip on her shirt, yanking her close enough that she can see just how serious I am. “I’ll make sure Aria isn’t the one you have to worry about.”
Selis exhales, long and slow. “Damn,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “Guess I hit a nerve.”
I slam her against the wall— gently, by my standards.
She grunts as her back connects with the wood, the smirk finally slipping from her face.
“Shit, Talrik—”
I cut her off by twisting her arm behind her back, forcing her to her knees before she can fight back.
“Yeah,” I mutter, yanking a length of rope from my pack. “Guess you did.”
She jerks once, testing my grip, but she’s not stupid enough to push it. “ Tying me up? Didn’t know we were still into that.”
I scowl. “Shut the fuck up.”
Then I haul her up just enough to tie her hands behind her back.
Aria watches, silent.
I work quickly, securing the knots with practiced ease. She tries to shift her weight, but I press my boot to her shoulder, keeping her where I want her.
Selis exhales through her nose, something amused and resigned in the sound. " Damn, ” she muses, glancing between me and Aria. “Now I get it. Why you’re breaking your own damn rules for this one.”
My jaw clenches. "Shut up."
She grins. "Hit a nerve again, didn't I?"
I reach for a scrap of cloth and shove it between her teeth before she can get another word out. Her eyes glint with something between irritation and amusement, but she doesn’t fight it.
Aria steps closer, eyeing Selis with a lingering wariness, her lip curling slightly. “How long will that hold her?” she asks.
“Tied like this? A while.” I give one last tug on the rope, ensuring the knots won’t give. “Not our problem anymore.” I rise, dusting my hands off, and turn to Aria. “We need to move. Now.”
She nods, exhaling. “Yeah.”
But before I can turn, she catches my wrist.
I look down at her, expecting hesitation, maybe regret—but all I see is resolve.
“You really don’t feel bad about this?” she asks, tilting her head toward Selis.
I smirk, brushing a thumb over the scrape on her cheek, a remnant from the scuffle. “Do you? ”
She hesitates—then grins. “No.”
“Good.” I lace my fingers with hers, squeezing once before pulling her toward the door.
We don’t look back.
***
The tension in my shoulders lessens a fraction as we slip out of the inn, though I can’t quite shake the prickling sense that everyone in town is watching us. The bounty on Aria’s head weighs on my mind like a constant drumbeat: Hurry, hurry, hurry.
We don’t have time to linger, not if we want to keep half the population from trying to claim her.
I shoot a glance at Aria, her hood pulled low to hide her face. Her lips press into a thin line whenever we pass a stranger. I can practically see her self-consciousness. Every time I think of her bolting, the knot in my gut pulls tighter.
Not again, Mouse, I vow silently. I won’t let you run off alone.
The market square is busy at this hour—carts and stalls laden with turnips, salted fish, and rough-woven textiles. A few merchants eye us as potential customers, but mostly folks are shouting their wares, trying to catch the attention of passersby.
My gaze snaps to a stout man loading crates onto the back of a wagon. A sign on the side reads Humboldt & Co., Fine Ceramics.
I nudge Aria. “Wait here,” I murmur, not waiting for her protest before I stride forward.
The merchant sizes me up the moment I approach, eyes flicking from the sword at my side to Aria’s hooded figure lingering just behind me. He doesn’t like what he sees—I can tell from the way his fingers twitch near the edge of his belt, as if debating whether he should reach for a weapon or call for a guard.
I don’t blame him. I look like trouble. I am trouble.
But when I mention coin—more than fair pay for a ride out of this town—and a little extra protection along the road, his expression shifts. Greed flickers in his eyes, overtaking caution, and I know I’ve got him.
“Mercenary work?” he asks, voice gruff with suspicion. “You one of those sellswords, then?”
“Something like that,” I reply evenly. “Not looking for a fight, just a ride. My…companion and I need to get out of town.”
His eyes cut toward Aria again, still shadowed beneath the hood of her cloak. He can’t see her face, but something about the way she stands—tense and poised, a little too still—seems to set him on edge.
“You two in some kind of trouble?” he asks, tone casual but pointed.
I force a smirk, leaning a little closer, enough that he catches the steel beneath the amusement in my tone. “Not the kind that concerns you.”
The merchant exhales through his nose, scratching at his stubbled chin. He’s still debating, I can see it—the risk, the payout, the unknowns. But in the end, money wins. It always does.
“Fine,” he grumbles, waving a hand. “But you stay in the back, quiet. I don’t want my business getting mixed up with whatever storm you’re running from.”
I reach into my belt pouch and toss him a handful of coins, more than he was probably expecting. His brows lift slightly, but he pockets them without hesitation.
“You two keep low,” he advises, louder, so Aria can hear as he wipes his brow with a handkerchief. “Don’t want to lose any of my merchandise—or my neck.”
“Understood,” I say curtly, lifting a crate aside to make enough space. “We won’t be any trouble.”
He mutters something about “mysterious couples,” but I pretend not to hear. Once he’s back to loading a few final boxes, I turn to Aria.
“Come on,” I say, voice gentling. “It’s not luxurious, but it’ll get us far from here.”
Her lips tighten—more at the discomfort of being hidden in a stranger’s cart than anything else, I think—but she climbs in without protest. I follow suit and we arrange ourselves among tightly packed crates wrapped in straw. The smell of hay and fresh clay dust tickles my nose.
“It’s a step up from the last time I had to hide in a cart,” I say, forcing a bit of levity into my tone. “At least we won’t be sitting on sacks of potatoes.”
Aria lets out a soft snort, adjusting her cloak so her face is mostly concealed from anyone looking in. “You’ve hidden in a potato cart before?”
“Don’t judge,” I shoot back, smirking. “I was young and needed the free ride.”
Her eyes flick up, and for a moment, the tension around her mouth eases. I like that little glimmer of humor in her expression, even if it’s fleeting. It feels good to see her relax, if only for a second.
The merchant hauls himself onto the driver’s seat and snaps the reins. The cart jerks forward, and I instinctively brace an arm behind Aria’s back to keep her from toppling into a stack of crates.
“Careful,” I mutter, lowering my voice.
I know she isn’t fragile. I’d be a fool to think so after seeing her fight, after feeling the sharp edge of her defiance when she pinned Selis like she was nothing more than an inconvenience.
And yet…
Some protective instinct flares deep in my chest, unshakable and instinctive. Even knowing what she’s capable of, even with the image of her restraining Selis, blade steady and gaze colder than I thought possible—I can’t help it.
I shift slightly, adjusting so I’m shielding her from the jostling cart.
Aria doesn’t move away. If anything, she leans into me, letting out the softest exhale, like some part of her needed this. Like she’s letting herself rest, if only for a moment.
Still, she whispers, “You’re fussing.”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t fuss.”
But the lie is barely out of my mouth when a rough bump makes her shift, and I tighten my grip, steadying her without thinking. My fingers brush the edge of her cloak, tugging it back into place to keep her hood up, even though it hasn’t slipped.
“Roan,” she murmurs, a faint smile curving her lips, “you’re quite literally fussing right now.”
The corners of my mouth tug upward. “Fine. Maybe I’m fussing a little.” Letting out a breath, I place my arm more comfortably around her, feeling the warmth of her body. The cart jolts again, straw rustling beneath us. “Better safe than sorry, Mouse.”
She huffs at the nickname. “Still calling me that, hm?”
“’Til something better comes along,” I say, smirking. “Anyway, don’t pretend you hate it. I see that little blush creeping in.”
Aria huffs, trying to hide her face in the folds of her hood. “You’re ridiculous,” she grumbles, but there’s no heat in it. If anything, her tone is playful, and I count that as a victory.
A few miles out of town, the merchant settles into a steady rhythm. The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves lulls the busy chatter of the marketplace into memory. Dust kicks up around the wheels, the road opening out to rolling fields under a high sky.
In the relative privacy of the wagon, I let myself relax, resting my cheek against the top of her head. She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she settles more against me, like she belongs there.
I’m half-dozing when her voice breaks the silence.
“Did you and Selis ever…?”
My eyes snap open. My body tenses before I force myself to loosen it, but I know she feels it.
I tip my chin down, catching the edge of her expression under the shadow of her hood. Her gaze stays on the road beyond the cart, but there’s something careful about the way she’s holding herself, like she’s bracing for an answer she doesn’t want.
I could lie. Or brush it off. But neither of those seem right, not with her.
So I sigh, rolling my shoulders. “For a while,” I admit. “Nothing that mattered.”
She hums, unreadable. “And why was that?”
A slow grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. “What, you looking for advice?”
Aria swats me lightly on the chest. “I’m serious.”
I chuckle, but the sound fades quickly. I let my head rest against the wooden frame of the cart, staring up at the endless blue sky. “She and I worked together for years. We were good at it. And when you live that kind of life—moving from one job to the next, never knowing when you might not make it out—you take whatever warmth you can get but…”
Aria is quiet, absorbing that. Then, softer, “But?”
“But it was never real,” I say simply. “Selis doesn’t do real. She doesn’t do care, not unless there’s something in it for her.”
I glance down at Aria, expecting more questions, but she’s watching me with that sharp, assessing look—the one that makes me feel like she’s peeling me apart, piece by piece.
“Have you really tied her up before?” she asks after a beat, lips twitching slightly.
I huff a laugh. “More than once.”
She lets the silence hang for a breath, then asks, “And what did she mean… breaking your rules?”
That question sticks in my ribs.
I shift, exhaling slowly through my nose, and lean back slightly like distance might make answering easier. It doesn’t. Still, I choose my words carefully, tasting each one before I let it go.
“I don’t let myself get attached,” I say, the words low and even. “It’s not smart. You learn that quick when you lose people. It’s easier not to have anyone in the first place.”
Aria tilts her head, looking up at me. “And yet,” she murmurs.
The words settle in my chest like a weight. She doesn’t have to say more. The implication is clear. I broke my own rules with her. Selis was right.
I glance down at her, and she’s still watching me—steady, thoughtful.
“Really though, Roan, that sounds…” Her voice softens. “Lonely.”
I swallow hard, but I don’t look away. I should. But I don’t.
Because the truth is, it is lonely. It has been, for a long time. I just didn’t notice how much until she started filling the quiet.
The cart jostles over a rough patch, and she presses against me to keep her balance. My arm tightens around her waist, steadying her instinctively. Her breath hitches, barely audible.
Something shifts in the air between us, something slow and warm, curling through my chest like embers catching on dry wood.
“You were incredible back there,” I say, voice lower than I mean for it to be.
Aria blinks at the sudden change in topic. “What?”
“The way you stood up to Selis,” I clarify, letting my fingers skim lightly over her hip before I catch myself and stop. “I’ve never had anyone defend me like that.”
Her lips part slightly, a flush creeping up her neck. “Well,” she mutters, shifting as if suddenly self-conscious. “She was a bitch.”
I blink, startled—and then a laugh escapes me, rough and genuine.
“Gods,” I chuckle, shaking my head, the grin tugging at my mouth. “She was. ”
She chews on her bottom lip, hesitating. Then, quietly, “And I didn’t like how she talked to you. No one should ever talk to you like that.”
The words settle deep in my chest, heating through me.
For a moment, I forget the cart, the road, the merchant a few feet away. I forget everything except the way she looks up at me, wary and wanting at once.
I lift a hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She doesn’t pull away.
“Mouse,” I murmur, voice dropping lower, more careful. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”
Aria’s gaze is steady, unwavering. No hesitation, no uncertainty—just quiet certainty as she meets my eyes and says, “I do.”
The words sink into me, settling somewhere deep, and before I can fully process them, she moves.
She kisses me like she means it. No tentativeness, no caution—just firm, deliberate intent. It’s different from before, from the hesitant touches, the stolen moments of uncertainty.
This is hunger. This is decision.
I don’t hesitate either. My fingers thread into her hair, tugging her closer, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss. She goes with it, pressing into me, her hands fisting in my tunic like she never wants to let go.
Gods, I like the way she kisses. There’s no more holding back, no more careful restraint—just need, raw and undeniable.
And then—I feel them.
Her fangs.
I hadn’t noticed them before. They’re usually so small, barely there, just a hint when she spoke or smiled. But now… now they’re longer.
That happens when she’s hungry.
A shiver rolls down my spine, something sharp and dark curling in my chest. Not fear. Something else. Something just as dangerous.
I press my tongue against one, tracing the razor-sharp point, testing the edge. Aria makes a quiet sound—a soft, startled exhale that turns into something else entirely when I tug her closer.
It should make me wary. Should remind me exactly what she is, what she could do if she wanted to.
Instead, it just makes me want her more.
The kiss grows deeper, fiercer. She’s pressing into me, hands gripping the front of my tunic like she’s afraid I’ll pull away, and fuck, I have no intention of doing that.
Then pain—sharp and quick.
I jerk slightly as the sting registers, realizing too late that I’ve cut my tongue on her fang.
Aria gasps against my lips, going rigid for half a second before her grip on me tightens. Her tongue flicks out, tentative at first, then bolder as she sucks at the wound, drawing my tongue into her mouth, tasting the blood.
Heat licks up my spine, something primal twisting deep in my gut. The sensation is dizzying, her mouth soft yet possessive, her fingers digging into my arms.
Then, just as suddenly, she wrenches back with a strangled breath, her chest rising and falling too fast.
Her eyes—wide, wild—lock onto mine.
“Sorry,” she whispers. One hand flies to her lips, as if she can still taste me there.
I reach for her, but she flinches, shaking her head.
“Aria—”
“I’m sorry,” she breathes, voice unsteady, eyes darting to my mouth, to my tongue, then back to mine. There’s something raw in her gaze—fear, hunger, and something deeper.
I exhale, forcing my pulse to steady even as heat thrums beneath my skin. “Don’t be,” I murmur, watching her carefully.
But she already looks torn, fighting some invisible war with herself.
I want to tell her that I didn’t mind. That I liked it. That I wouldn’t have stopped her.
But she looks so shaken, so uncertain, that it tugs on my chest.
Her breath hitches, her whole body going rigid against me. My lips are still tingling, my pulse still hammering from the kiss, but it’s the sudden shift in her that pulls me fully into the present.
“Hey,” I murmur, voice low and careful. “You alright?”
She turns her head away, her jaw tight, a single nod cutting through the tension. But I see it now—the sheen of sweat on her brow, the way her fingers clutch at her cloak like she’s anchoring herself in place.
A pang of concern sharpens inside me. “Aria…”
She sucks in a sharp breath, like she’s trying to force herself steady. “I’m fine,” she manages, too quickly.
I know better.
Hunger.
The realization strikes like a blade, slicing through the haze of everything else. I’ve picked up on the signs by now—the way she tenses, the subtle flush in her cheeks, the way her breathing turns shallow like she’s holding back something dangerous. And after the fight with Selis, the adrenaline, the blood drawn, it must be worse.
Damn it.
Her last real feeding was what? Early yesterday morning? The scraps from small animals aren’t enough as is, and the stress of running hasn’t exactly helped.
I press my palm against her thigh, grounding her. “Hey,” I whisper, voice firm but gentle. “You’re not fine. You’re hungry.”
Her fingers twitch, curling tighter around the fabric of her cloak. “No,” she mutters, shaking her head. “It’s nothing. I can manage.”
Frustration flickers in my chest, but I force my voice to stay steady. “You don’t have to manage alone,” I remind her, my fingers pressing slightly into the fabric, feeling the heat beneath.
Her whole body locks up, and when she looks at me, there’s panic in her eyes—maybe even something dangerously close to temptation. “No. We’re not talking about this. Especially not here,” she hisses. “We can’t—”
I nod, exhaling slowly. She’s right. Not here. Not in a merchant’s cart on a road where we’re nothing more than cargo. It’d be reckless, and she’d never forgive herself if something went wrong.
Still, seeing her like this—struggling, barely holding herself together—it makes something fierce claw up inside me. I hate that I can’t fix this for her, not right now. And worse? A part of me is tempted. A part of me wonders what it would feel like—her fangs grazing my skin, the sharp edge of pain mingling with something else. The closeness of it.
I tighten my arm around her waist, pressing her closer. “We’ll stop soon,” I murmur.
Her shoulders rise and fall with a measured breath, and little by little, she relaxes into me, though I can still feel the tension humming beneath her skin. I don’t think she’ll ever truly let it go. Not until she feeds. Not until the ache fades.
The cart rattles over uneven ground, jostling us together again. She exhales sharply at the movement, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she fights for control.
I duck my head, my lips brushing the shell of her ear as I whisper, “Are you going to survive my terrible jokes until then?”
She makes a choked sound—somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Somehow.”
The merchant calls something over his shoulder—probably telling us we’ll reach the next town by nightfall. We exchange a glance, understanding passing between us without a single word. Towns mean people. Prying eyes. Risk.
But also, a chance. A moment to breathe. To recover.
I shift, pulling her just a little closer, letting her settle against me again. She doesn’t resist. If anything, she leans into me more, the tension easing, if only slightly.
For a few precious hours, it almost feels normal.
Two weary travelers resting on a merchant’s cart, the road stretching ahead of us, the world quiet except for the steady rhythm of hoofbeats against dirt.
But I don’t forget the hunger in her gaze.
And I don’t forget what we promised each other.
We’ll figure it out. Together.
We have to.