4. Rowan
FOUR
ROWAN
Rowan stared at Lane’s huddled form. He was too bulky to sleep on the narrow couch, his legs too long to stretch out. Rowan was an ass for treating him this way after he nearly died.
But he didn’t know what to make of the night. Lane wasn’t trustworthy. Did that mean his appearance was a precisely executed plan? Or a plan at all?
No. Rowan could admit to himself that Lane had a point.
If Rowan were the real target and the curse a ruse, the spell would have been constructed differently, and if Rowan wasn’t the target, it was plausible Lane had spied on the Hillmans for exactly the reasons he claimed, and their plot against Rowan had come as a surprise.
Just because Lane was a habitual spy didn’t mean he was spying on Rowan again, and being a liar didn’t mean everything he said was untrue.
Still, it was best to confirm his story. Rowan shot off a series of texts to Cecile, detailing the situation and requesting she corroborate as many of Lane’s claims as possible. With the vast network Cecile maintained throughout the city and beyond, there wasn’t much she couldn’t find out.
If tonight was nothing more than Lane claimed, there would be no harm done once Nicole countered the curse, and he went on his way.
After Lane left, Rowan could deal with the Hillmans and keep an eye on the Blackburns, in case Marshall wasn’t as shocked by his ally’s supposed hidden plans as Lane hoped.
And if things weren’t as Lane claimed, Rowan had to be on his guard.
He didn’t want to think deeply about his desire for Lane to be telling the truth. It was practical and pointed to the smoothest outcome, that was all there was to it.
But if Lane wasn’t lying about the events that brought him here, why throw in the lie denying he’d been a seducing little spy?
Was it nothing but a bruised ego? There couldn’t be an alternate explanation to what happened at that party, could there?
Rowan was a fool to hope so, just as he was a fool to hope for an apology if Lane were ashamed of previous behavior.
Too bad Rowan’s foolishness was nothing new tonight.
His feelings for Lane were as ill-advised as ever, and yet a hot seed of shame festered in his gut as he listened to Lane’s careful, choked breaths, his broad shoulders shaking slightly as if he were doing his best not to break down into sobs.
Dammit, why did Rowan have to care?
He went over to the couch. “Get up. You need rest and can’t sleep like that. I don’t expect Nicole to have anything for us in short order, so you might as well get comfortable.”
Lane twisted around. There were dark circles under his eyes that Rowan hadn’t noticed before. “Why’d we come here if you don’t want me lying on your couch?”
“I needed to check something,” Rowan lied. “Now I’ve finished, and there are proper places to sleep on this floor, not involving my nice leather furniture.”
A few coven members lived on site, and there was usually a vacant room or two available for members to use on short notice. Rowan didn’t like the idea of being closed in one of those small rooms with Lane. He probably wouldn’t like it either, but at least he could stretch his legs.
Lane got stiffly to his feet. Damn, he looked terrible. He wasn’t even wearing a jacket, and the night had been too cold for a mortal to go without.
“Where’s your coat?”
Lane’s brow furrowed. “It got torn off in the struggle. Lost my phone too. It had the recording I needed to prove to my father that the Hillmans were lying.”
“Bad luck.”
“Yeah, not a great night all around.” Lane shot him a stony look as if Rowan’s words had been a jab. Rowan didn’t bother correcting him. Letting too much kindness show wasn’t in his interest.
Rowan led Lane to the end of the hall and opened the combination lock box mounted on the wall. All the keys were missing, meaning no rooms were free. Damn. Rowan belatedly recalled that Charles was between apartments and Kai had a visitor.
“Problem?” Lane asked.
“I thought we had a room available.”
“The couch is fine. I need to lie down, okay?”
He sounded annoyed, so Rowan led him back the way they’d come and opened the door across the hall from his office. “You can rest here until Nicole calls for us.”
Lane stepped cautiously inside, and Rowan closed the door behind them.
Lane froze. “Is this your room?”
Rowan couldn’t see his face, but he sounded incredulous, and Rowan bristled. Lane had the energy to judge his personal taste at a time like this? “There’s a bathroom through there,” he snapped. “You might want to wash up before touching the bed.”
“Yeah, almost dying makes you sweaty. Not to mention how gross the riverbank is.”
Rowan cursed himself for being rude because Lane had been. He was better than that. “I’ll stand outside the door. You should be fine inside without me.”
Lane hesitated, then moved cautiously toward the bathroom, checking over his shoulder and quickly whipping around once he saw Rowan following. He seemed apprehensive as he shut the bathroom door, but nothing happened when they lost sight of each other.
Rowan sagged against the wall.
Perhaps Lane’s sneer should have been expected.
Rowan’s room stood out compared to the rest of the building.
The club looked exactly as you’d expect.
The casino, which Lane hadn’t seen in years, was typical, even if it operated outside human law and catered to the magic world, and the rest of the building’s interior followed a modern theme.
In here, Rowan indulged his love of vintage things, a common habit for vampires of a certain age.
He preferred a 1920s aesthetic, though he was old enough to have known previous decades. Previous centuries. But he hadn’t enjoyed much before the twenties, and the trappings were a reminder of new beginnings.
None of which was Lane’s business.
Bringing him here was a mistake. This room was the one place Rowan kept for himself. There were members of his coven who’d never been in here. He’d thrown yet another careful rule out the window because Lane was annoyed and tired. Fuck. Why did Lane make him like this?
Hopefully Nicole worked fast.
After a while, Lane cracked the door open. “My clothes are dirty, so I’m coming out in my underwear. Don’t accuse me of seducing you, or I’ll get dressed and rub my muddy jeans on your sheets.”
Rowan swallowed an unexpected laugh. “I’ll avert my eyes to preserve your modesty.”
Lane snorted, and Rowan closed his eyes, pleased with himself.
Sounds of Lane moving quickly across the room were unmistakable to his vampire hearing. After a fair amount of rustling sheets, Rowan opened his eyes. The sight of Lane tucked under his fine duvet flooded Rowan’s cheeks with heat.
Mistake. This was another mistake.
Lane didn’t belong in Rowan’s bed, but hell if he didn’t look as though he were made for it, his sandy hair perfectly tousled on Rowan’s pillow, covers pulled to his nose.
Lane moved the covers away from his mouth, exposing a frown. “What?”
“Nothing.” Rowan strode to the antique chair in the corner and sat. “I have work to do. I’ll make sure not to disturb you.” He pulled out his phone.
There was a long pause. “Thanks.” Mercifully, Lane rolled over, facing away.
There. At least Rowan didn’t have to feel bad about forcing him to recover from his near-death experience on a hard leather couch. He could feel bad about the unwelcome ache in his chest instead.
It was a long night. Lane fell asleep quickly, leaving Rowan alone with his thoughts.
Vampires needed sleep, though less than witches or humans, and since he could walk around in sunlight as well as anyone, Rowan didn’t generally stay awake all night, especially with nothing to do.
It turned out he wasn’t a fan. He’d have welcomed unconsciousness to escape this predicament.
Lane’s presence seemed to grow in the silent room until it took up all the air.
It was a welcome relief when Rowan’s phone finally buzzed.
Nicole:
Where are you? I have a theory to test, then I should have some answers.
Rowan:
Excellent work. Meet me in my office.
Hopefully, she’d untangle this mess, and he’d be rid of Lane before breakfast. Rowan cleared his throat dramatically.
Lane snorted awake. “Where the hell…?” He sat up, covers falling to expose a broad chest dusted with light hair.
“Morning.” Rowan stood and grabbed a fluffy robe, tossing it on the bed. “Nicole has something for us.”
“She figured it out?” Lane’s sleepy demeanor evaporated, and he hurried out of bed to slip the robe on. It was too tight across his shoulders, but covered him well enough.
“Let’s find out.” Rowan led the way across the hall.
Nicole arrived shortly after he and Lane, carrying a large mug of coffee, which Lane gazed at with longing.
“I want to do one more assessment before I start spouting theories,” Nicole said without preamble.
“Be my guest.” Rowan settled on the couch opposite Lane, who was perched on the edge of his seat.
“Whatever you need,” he agreed.
Nicole sent magic washing over Rowan, her eyes closed in concentration. She gave no indication of her findings as she moved on to Lane.
“All right.” Nicole opened her eyes, expression neutral.
“I can say with certainty that the curse is parasitic, designed to feed off the victim until there’s nothing left.
What I said last night stands. The curse is shared between you.
Now I’ve had a better look and can see what it’s doing, I can say definitively that it’s feeding off of you, Rowan, not Lane. ”
“Not at all?” Lane clutched the robe’s hem with white knuckles. “I mean, that makes sense. I don’t feel anything, but why?”
“Rowan is more powerful. Vampire magic is immortal and can theoretically sustain the curse forever, giving it no reason to feed on you.”
“Forever?” Lane’s eyes widened in panic.
“Not if I counter it.” Nicole directed this at Rowan. “Until then, your immortal magic is doing its job protecting you, and incidentally protecting Lane. Unless he moves too far away, fracturing the bridge between you.”