35. Aria
Aria
A Few Days Later
The fire crackles between us, painting Roan’s face in soft amber and shadow. We’re tucked beneath a canopy of stars in a clearing off the main road—no tents, no walls, just the open sky and the hush of wind through pine.
I should be cold, but I’m not. Not with her beside me.
It’s been days since the incident at the Miller house—since I stood face to face with everything I once feared. We spent a few days at the inn while Roan recovered, coaxing her to rest, convincing her more than once to try my blood for a change. It seemed to speed up her recovery, even if it disgusted her.
Now we’re back on the road, between towns again, the weight of the past growing fainter with every step forward.
Roan lounges against a fallen log, one leg stretched out, the other bent just enough for her arm to rest against. Her sword lies within reach, but her fingers aren’t twitching for it like they used to. No sharp glances over her shoulder. No tension in her jaw.
Just the quiet warmth in her eyes when she glances at me.
Peace used to feel like a lie. Like something meant for someone else.
But now? Now it’s here, flickering between us like the firelight, and I can’t quite believe it.
“I heard something strange in town today,” Roan murmurs, flicking a small twig into the flames.
I lift my head from her thigh, blinking the sleep from my eyes. “What kind of strange?”
She glances down, meets my gaze. “The bounty. It’s gone.”
I sit up. “Gone?”
“Disappeared. Along with any mention of it. Posters pulled down. No one’s asking questions. It’s like it never existed.”
My breath catches. A chill skates down my spine, even as relief rushes in after it. “So… it’s really over then.”
She nods, slow and sure. “Feels like it.”
I fold my arms around my knees, staring into the fire. My mother’s face flickers in my mind—cold, sharp, unreadable. I don’t know what finally convinced her to stop. Maybe it was seeing me bleed out. Maybe it was seeing me choose. Or maybe… she just lost.
Whatever the reason, she’s not coming. I know it. I feel it.
Roan reaches for my hand, and I give it to her without hesitation. Her fingers are warm and calloused, thumb sweeping along my knuckles.
We sit like that for a long time, saying nothing. Just letting the quiet stretch between us as we watch the flames.
Then she speaks, her voice soft, like she’s afraid to break the moment. “I was thinking…” she pauses, tugging me a little closer, “maybe we find somewhere to stay. Not just for a night.”
I blink at her. “You mean… settle?”
Roan shifts slightly, gaze flicking to the fire before returning to mine. A faint blush colors her cheeks, just visible in the firelight. Her fingers drum once against her thigh, almost like she’s second-guessing herself.
A small, almost shy smile tugs at her lips. “We don’t have to grow vegetables or anything,” she says, voice quieter than usual. “Just… stop running. Build something. A place that’s ours.”
The word lands like a spark catching dry tinder. Ours.
It hits something deep inside me—something I didn’t even realize had been hollow until she filled it.
I shift to face her fully, one leg crossing over hers. “Where?”
“Doesn’t matter.” She shrugs. “Somewhere with a roof. A lock on the door. A window you can sit in when you’re feeling dramatic.”
I laugh under my breath, but my chest is tight with feeling. “You want to stay with me?”
Her brow furrows like it’s the stupidest question I’ve ever asked. “I nearly died for you, Mouse. Of course I want to stay.”
The fire pops, sending up a shower of sparks. I turn my hand in hers, threading our fingers together, grounding myself in the quiet weight of her palm.
Roan’s thumb brushes over my knuckles once, then stills. “But I need you to promise me something,” she says, her voice low, careful.
I turn to her, heart already beating faster. “Anything.”
She looks at me then— really looks—and I swear the heat of the fire has nothing on the warmth in her eyes.
“No more running. No more goodbyes in the dark,” she says, voice steady but laced with something raw beneath. “If something happens—if the danger comes back—we face it. Together.”
She pauses, and I see it— feel it—the flicker of pain behind her calm. “But if you leave again… if I wake up and you’re gone, I won’t survive it twice, Aria.”
The words land like a stone in still water, sending ripples through every inch of me. I think of the note I left her. The hollow ache that followed me in every step after. The look on her face when she found me again—relief buried beneath heartbreak, like she wasn’t sure she should let herself hope.
She needs to know I won’t do it again. That I won’t shatter her like that.
I reach for her hand and squeeze it tightly, grounding both of us.
“I promise,” I whisper, fierce and certain. “I vow it. I won’t break it. And if there’s a next time… I’ll run to you. Not away.” My voice shakes, but I don’t look away. “I’ll choose you, Roan. Every time. Even if the world turns against us. Even if I’m scared. Especially then.”
Her fingers tighten around mine, but I press on, needing her to hear it all.
“You were the one who stayed when I had nothing left. Who taught me to fight—not just with blades, but to live. You never asked for my trust, but you earned it. And you held it, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
My throat thickens. “So I swear to you… no more running. No more silence. If danger finds us again, I’ll stand at your side. I’ll fight for this. For us. Because I want a life—with you. Not in spite of everything that’s happened… but because of it.”
Roan’s eyes shine in the firelight, and for once, she doesn’t speak. She just leans in, forehead resting against mine, and in that quiet, I feel it—
The vow settling into something sacred between us.
Roan exhales, slow and quiet, as if she’s been holding her breath since the moment I returned. Her shoulders finally ease.
“Good,” she murmurs. “Because nothing—no amount of danger, no shadow from your past or mine—could ever keep me from you.”
Tears burn at the edges of my eyes, but I manage a smile, soft and trembling. “I know…I love you.”
Roan’s expression shifts—goes soft, open in a way she rarely lets anyone see. The world narrows down to the warmth of her breath and the quiet between heartbeats.
“I love you too,” Roan murmurs, voice so raw, so real, I know I’ll remember the sound of it for the rest of my life.
I close my eyes, imprinting this moment into memory—the firelight dancing over her skin, the strength of her fingers laced through mine, the feel of her mouth as it brushes over mine, gentle and lingering. But it doesn’t stay soft for long.
Her fingers flex against mine, and she shifts closer, her thigh pressing against mine, her warmth chasing away the chill of night. The kiss deepens without either of us meaning to, like we’ve both been holding back and the dam finally gives.
She kisses me like I’m something sacred. Like she’s starving for something only I can give.
A soft sound slips from my throat as I slide my free hand up the curve of her arm, to the back of her neck. Her skin is warm, her pulse strong beneath my fingers. She tilts her head, deepening the kiss, and I feel her sigh against my mouth—rough and low and aching.
The fire crackles beside us, but I barely hear it. Nothing else exists except for her—the slide of her lips over mine, the way her thumb strokes absent circles on the back of my hand, grounding me even as she sets my body alight.
When she finally pulls back, just enough to look at me, her gaze is dark and hooded, her breath uneven. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” she says, voice thick, hoarse with restraint.
I shake my head, already chasing her mouth again. “Don’t stop,” I whisper. “Please don’t ever stop.”
Her hand leaves mine, sliding up my arm, my shoulder, then down—slowly, reverently—over the curve of my waist.
She draws me into her lap, and I go willingly, straddling her thighs. The new angle makes everything sharper, hotter. I can feel her under me, strong and steady and wholly mine.
“You’re sure?” she asks again, but this time her voice is a little more frayed, a little less composed.
I answer with a kiss—deeper this time, full of hunger and aching need. My hips rock once, unthinking, and Roan groans softly into my mouth, gripping my waist with both hands.
Her touch stirs something raw inside me—a hunger soft and wild, nothing like the monstrous cravings I’ve known before.
The firelight paints her in gold and shadows, and when I pull back to look at her—really look—I think my heart might split open. She’s so beautiful like this. Flushed, breathless, eyes dark with want.
Her hands slip under my shirt, and I shiver at the first brush of her fingertips over my bare skin. She’s slow, careful, even as the heat builds. Like she’s memorizing me. Like this means something more.
It does.
I lean in, brushing my lips along the edge of her jaw, trailing down to the tender place just beneath her ear. She shudders when I kiss her there, and I smile into her skin, emboldened by the way her breath catches.
Roan’s hands skim my ribs, tracing every line like she’s mapping them, committing them to memory.
For a fleeting moment, a thought flits through me: someone could stumble across us. We’re just off the main road, half-clothed in the woods, breathless and tangled in each other. But instead of pulling back, the thought thrills me.
Let them see. Let the whole damn world see.
Roan is mine.
Her hands slide higher, cupping my breast, and I moan softly against her neck. My hips keep moving, slow and seeking, grinding against the heat between us as her fingers tease and play, sending sparks through me. My body aches. Wet. Desperate for more.
I fumble with her shirt, peeling it up and off, and she lifts her arms to help. We break apart just long enough to toss the fabric aside. My eyes trail over her chest—strong, lean, scarred. Beautiful. My fingers trace one of the marks, following it until it leads to the curve of her breast. They’re smaller than mine, firm beneath my palm, and I keep moving, keep rocking against her, needing that friction, that closeness, that contact.
“Roan,” I breathe, brushing my lips over hers, “I want to try something.”
Her brows rise slightly. “Here?” There’s a flicker of surprise in her voice. “What if someone comes upon us?”
I smirk, mischievous and already pulsing with want. “I thought you weren’t the type to worry about what’s proper.”
“I’m not,” she says with a small growl, fingers gripping tighter at my waist. “But that doesn’t mean I want anyone else looking at you .”
My laugh is soft and wicked. “Jealous?”
“Damn right I am.”
I work the rest of her clothes off—her breeches first, then her underwear—kissing a path down her stomach as I go. She groans, hips twitching under my touch. Then she grabs the hem of my dress, tugging it upward. I raise my arms, and she helps me slide it over my head. My skin feels fever-warm, flushed with need.
I climb back over her, straddling her hips. Our breath mingles. Our chests brush. My knees settle on either side of her, and my core hovers just inches above hers.
Gods.
I can feel her heat. Slick. Waiting. It makes my pulse stutter.
Then our bodies brush. Just barely. Her wetness grazes mine and I gasp, hips jerking.
“Oh, gods,” I whisper, eyes flying open—and hers are already on me, blazing. Intense. Like I’m the only thing she sees.
When our pussies slide together again, wet and hot and perfect, I cry out. My slick mixes with hers, and the scent of it—raw, intoxicating—floods the air. My hands grip her ass as I grind down harder, faster, gasping with each brush of her clit against mine.
Her voice is low and dark when she says, “My turn, Mouse.”
Then she moves—flipping us easily, breaking contact—and I whimper, already missing the friction. She swallows the sound with a kiss, firm and possessive, then presses me gently back to the ground.
She looms above me like something wild and divine—hair tousled, lips kissed raw. A goddess with hunger in her eyes.
I shiver.
She shifts, thigh sliding between mine, and pulls me closer until our cores touch again. Her hips roll—slow, devastating—and I can barely breathe.
Our slick centers grind together, perfectly aligned, and I arch up into her with a moan. We fit . Like this was always waiting for us.
She rotates her hips in tight, aching circles, her clit catching mine just right, over and over, until I’m keening beneath her.
“Roan!” I don’t know if it’s a plea or a warning.
Her pace quickens. Faster. Rougher. My body chases hers, hips rutting up into every stroke, every grinding thrust. Her moans are right in my ear, low and ragged, and they drive me mad .
I clutch at her hips, guiding her, begging silently for more. The sound of our slick cunts grinding fills the air, joined by our breathless cries. She fucks me like she needs it. Like we need it.
And we do.
My climax rises hard and fast—like a wave that’s been building for too long. My body tightens, back arching, fingers clawing at her shoulders.
She thrusts one last time, crying out as she comes with me. Her voice breaks, and I swear the world breaks with it.
We’re still tangled, still gasping, when I finally collapse beneath her. Our skin sticks together. Our thighs tremble. My chest heaves against hers.
When we finally still, tangled in each other beneath the soft hush of firelight, there’s no more room for fear. Only the quiet beat of her heart beneath my palm, the slow rise and fall of our breathing.
Roan presses a kiss to my shoulder, then to my temple. “Aria,” she breathes, voice thick with sleep and something softer. Something that curls around my ribs and refuses to let go. “Say it again.”
My heart thuds gently, steady and certain. “Say what?” I whisper, my lips brushing against the curve of her collarbone.
“Say that you love me,” she pleads, quiet, raw.
“I love you,” I murmur against her skin. “I love you.”
She exhales like the words undo her.
Tomorrow, the world might start spinning again. But here, in the quiet warmth of her arms, everything is still.
I press one last kiss to her chest, just above the steady beat of her heart. It’s slow. Strong. Hers.
“I’m not running anymore,” I remind her, voice low but certain.
Roan’s fingers tighten gently around mine. “Good. Because I’d only chase you down.”
I smile, eyes fluttering shut, her words settling in my chest like a vow.
Every part of me hums with the echo of her touch—my skin still tingling where her hands had lingered, where her mouth had claimed me. I feel marked, not just by pleasure, but by belonging . Loved. Chosen.
The hunger I’ve carried for years— for freedom, for safety, for something that felt like home—
It’s quiet now.
Because I found it.
In her.