Chapter 45
Chapter
Forty-Five
Isigh as I sink into the dust encased chair that balances precariously on the wooden floor of what used to be our dining room. It seems that every time I walk through the front door of my childhood home, the memories refuse to leave me alone. Except now they feel blurred by the truth.
I find myself picking at the memories, wondering if there were things I missed, moments where my parents shared glances, or quiet conversations. Now I wonder what they spoke of.
Why didn’t they raise us like Aurora did with Rylan? Why did they never tell us who we really were, or where we came from? Maybe if they did, we wouldn’t have to put ourselves in dangerous situations to find out. Maybe Finnick would still be here.
I feel a sting forming behind my eyes, and I tilt my head back, trying to hold the tears at bay. My father used to tell me it was okay to cry, but I feel as if I have cried more in the past month than I ever have before.
I made up the mixture to get back into my mother’s study close to an hour ago now, but I have yet to take it. I told Rylan to meet me here, hoping he might recognise something that I otherwise wouldn’t, but he is late.
I could have taken it and gone in by myself like I did last time, but I haven’t had the courage.
I think perhaps I fear what more I might find.
But I don’t have to do it alone. Now I face uncertainty with people at my side, with Rylan at my side.
I can’t explain how much that settles the worry that curdles in my stomach when I think of everything we still don’t know.
I should worry, about just how close I’ve gotten to him in such a short amount of time, about how deeply I feel towards him. Nothing good has ever come from me feeling this way.
I think of Silas now, of the way I felt about him only weeks ago, and just how quickly that feeling subsided.
He was the one person I could trust, the one person left of my family, and now he’s gone.
He has drifted from my life, and I don’t know why.
No matter what did or didn’t happen between us, I never thought he would truly abandon me, not after everything we’ve been through. But it seems I was wrong.
My heart jumps in my chest as I catch a glimpse of Rylan’s face out the lichen-covered window. Grazes and bruises mar his sharp features, sending my heart alight with worry.
I stand out of instinct before pushing on the door and barrelling down the front steps. “What in the gods happened to you?” I say in my head, not close enough that he could hear my voice if I spoke out loud.
My steps are hurried as I get closer to him, his injuries becoming clearer with every step. Our bodies are flush at once, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, while his fall around my waist.
“I had a slight run-in with Barton,” he says over my shoulder.
“What?” I say, pulling back to survey his injuries. “How?”
He just shakes his head. “I said the wrong thing, evidently.” My finger hovers over the split in his lip.
“Come on,” I say, pulling back and tugging on his arm. “Let me fix you up.”
I pull him towards the house to clean him up a bit. I carefully open the door before gently pushing him into the seat I was in moments ago. “Sit down.”
He does as I say as I open my medicine box that I brought with me, collecting some cloth and a comfrey-based poultice. I only wish we were in my shop now, so I could boil some water to clean his wounds. Alcohol will have to do.
“I suppose I should be grateful you brought that with you,” he says.
I tip the alcohol onto a piece of cloth. “I thought it might be useful to have a secret compartment if we find anything that needs hiding,” I say. “I also wanted to see if anything happened if I took the key in with me.”
He nods, allowing me to press the cloth to the cut that slashes across his cheek, even if he sucks the dusty air through his teeth as I do.
I can feel him watching me intently as I work, clearing his face of any dirt and spilled blood. He reaches his hand up, brushing a delicate finger across my brow. “So serious,” he teases.
I bat his hand away. “Yes, well, you tend to want to concentrate when someone you care about is hurt.”
“Do you not concentrate with your other patients?” he teases.
I scoff at his obvious attempt at distraction—for me or for himself, I’m not sure. Perhaps both.
“You know what I mean,” I say as I toss the cloth aside, coating a new one in the clear liquid.
He catches my wrist in his firm, but delicate grasp. My heart nearly stops as I try to decipher the look in his eyes, as I try to decipher the feelings coursing through my veins. “Yes,” he whispers. “I know what you mean.”
It is amusing that only weeks ago he was a stranger to me, because now, he feels so familiar, like someone I’ve known in other lives, someone who was always meant to cross my path.
I clear my throat, pulling my arm from his grasp as I press the fresh cloth to the cut above his brow. He hisses as I pull the cloth away, balling it up to gently wipe at the blood around the cut.
“Are you going to tell me what really happened?” I breathe while delicately dabbing around the wound.
“Is that a requirement of your services, madam apothecary?” he teases, but when he instinctively raises his brows, he hisses once more.
“Serves you right,” I murmur.
His hand finds my waist, resting just above where my skirt flares at my hips. “They wanted me to wield an iron door. One they could bolt onto a wagon.”
I try not to let my movements halt as I think up the image of what he is explaining. “Like a prison wagon?” I ask.
“Precisely.”
I step back, dropping the cloth on the table next to the other. Rylan doesn’t take his hand off me. “And…what did you say?”
He uses his hand still on my waist to pull me into him. “I said no, Everleigh.” I simply look down into those mossy green eyes. “Hence why Barton decided to let me know that no is…not entirely an option.”
My hands carefully find his face, holding him delicately as one of my hands slips into his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Ah.” He shakes his head. “Do not bother yourself with it. There are plenty of other things to occupy that gorgeous mind of yours.”
I immediately think of the gods’ blood. I don’t know where to start in trying to understand it.
“Start in your mother’s study,” Rylan says, and I blink rapidly.
“How did you hear that?” I ask. “I wasn’t speaking to you.”
“No,” he says, “but you were still thinking of me, even if I wasn’t in the forefront of your mind, meaning that if I was thinking of you—which I tend to be quite often these days—then I can still hear your thoughts.”
I feel myself frowning as I let out a breath. “Why can I not hear your thoughts then?”
“I use the power as a shield, like a wall in my mind.”
“Against me?” I ask. Why would he need to shut me out when I unwillingly allow him access to everything in my mind?
“Not against you,” he says with his mouth sealed shut, his fingers rising to brush my cheek. “Against anyone. My mother taught me to always keep that wall up. I can teach you too, if you like.”
“Please,” I whisper back. “But first, let me get something on this first.” I step out of his grasp, reaching for the poultice.
I quietly unscrew the lid, collecting some of the mixture on my finger and spreading it over Rylan’s cuts.
He reaches up, pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “Rylan,” I breathe.
“Mmm?” His lips climb further up my arm. He stands, towering over me as he picks up the cloth from the table, cleaning the poultice from my finger.
Over his shoulder, I notice flowers growing in a pot in the corner of the room, a sparkle of gold fading as they bloom.
Rylan’s hand cups my cheek. “You know, I’ve always been so good at hiding my abilities.
My mother taught me early that it’s something I needed to keep for moments when it was just the two of us,” he says, his hand trailing down my neck.
“But I can’t hide it when I am around you, Rosie.
It’s as if my power reacts to you. It vibrates every time I’m near you.
It’s like the magic hums just below the surface, begging to be let free. ”
I feel my heart thundering in my chest as his face stops inches from mine, his breath skating across my nose.
“Being around you,” he whispers, “it feels electric.”
I let out a breath before I hook my arms around his neck, pressing my lips against his.
That electric feeling he speaks of sparks through my body as he pulls up my skirts, his hands grasping my thighs before he picks me up.
I squeal into his mouth, holding on tight as he pushes open the door, walking us out into the clearing.
He doesn’t stop kissing me, not once, not even as he kneels down, laying me down in the cool grass. “I want to be consumed by you,” he says, hovering over me. “I want to be confused about where you end, and I begin. I want to reach the core of your heart and attach myself to it.”
I reach up, pulling him back to me, moaning as I open my mouth to him. He already consumes me, my every thought, my every desire, he’s at the centre. We should be taking the mixture, searching through the study, but that can wait. This can’t.
He leans down on his elbow, holding his weight just above me as his other hand finds my skirts, pushing them up until his palm splays over the top of my thigh, dangerously close to where I’m aching for him.
I writhe, moving my hips, hoping he will reach it. He just grins against my lips, and I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me as my breaths come out in puffs.
I’ve never felt such an overwhelming desire to feel someone’s touch, to give myself over to someone else so entirely, but that is all I want in this moment.
Rylan’s hand slowly dips between my legs, and my breath escapes me as I let out a noise I’ve never heard come from my lips before. His touch is delicate, but decisive, and somehow falls exactly where I want it at the exact time I want it.