12. Rowan
TWELVE
ROWAN
Rowan sat behind his desk, staring blankly at the wooden surface, and relived pleasing Lane. The way Lane had stoked his hair. Lane’s heavy cock on his tongue. It had been everything Rowan needed, but he shouldn’t have given in.
It was as he suspected. There was no way to find space in the aftermath. Rowan’s urge to let Lane in grew, desires unrelated to sex floating around in his head. Everything weighing on him before returned, crashing around him with a vengeance, and he was tempted to throw it all at Lane’s feet.
See how much I need you now? Do you still love it?
What would Lane do? Take care of him even if it wasn’t fun and sexy? Could Rowan even allow it when his biggest burdens were personal, not practical?
Like a waking nightmare, Cris’s presence loomed, almost as if he’d never died.
Rowan couldn’t shake the memories creeping up on him.
How cold they were. How empty it had been to love someone while hating them.
How desolate to have no one else. And all in glaring contrast to Lane’s warmth and freely given affection.
Would the dark memories fade if Lane touched him again? Would they leave altogether if Rowan shared what troubled him?
Hunger gnawed worse than the day before, his blood on fire, scorching him from the inside out, and leaving him hollow. A void to be filled. Rowan clenched a fist in an effort to keep his fangs from descending. No doubt this wretched burning stoked his bleak memories.
“Talk to me.” Lane had come closer without Rowan noticing, moving from the couch, all the way around Rowan’s desk to his side.
His distraction was unacceptable. You’re so useless, that evil voice said, making Rowan desperate for his usual control. For distance. It was how he functioned.
“Fucking doesn’t mean I want a heart-to-heart,” he snapped, and instantly regretted his rudeness.
It wasn’t even true. He wanted Lane close in every way, his resistance crumbling. Lashing out was all he had left. Provoking Lane until he realized Rowan was too much work and gave up, proving he only wanted Rowan when neediness was hot. A sexy little game and not real.
“Sex doesn’t mean you have to share, but you don’t seem okay, Rowan. I’d ask regardless of what happened this morning.”
Would he really? He wanted Rowan to dump his problems on him? His emotions? To take care outside of play?
Cris’s cruel words were too fresh in his mind to believe it.
“Drinking blood isn’t sating my hunger,” Rowan ground out.
“Is that all?”
I feel like my sire is just out of sight, waiting to punish me. I feel alone, and the boundaries that used to comfort me are causing pain. I want something I told myself it wasn’t safe to have. “Yes.”
Lane put a hand on his shoulder. “Rowan, I know I have no right to make demands, but you can talk to me.”
There was a sharp knock at the door. Lane took a step away, his hand falling, and Rowan wanted to snatch it back.
Cecile strode in and stopped short at the sight of them. “Rowan…you don’t look yourself.”
He forced a neutral expression. “I’m fine. What is it?”
“Fine, my ass.”
“Cecile.” His voice came out sharper than he’d ever been with her, and his gut twisted.
She raised a brow. “I’ve changed my mind about coming in here.”
Rowan stood, his eyes glowing without permission, and the words he’d been about to say died on his lips. Shit.
Alarm flashed across Cecile’s fine features. “Rowan. What’s happening to you?”
“This curse.” He took a breath, grasping for control. “I’m hungry.”
“Wait here.” She darted out of the room at vampire speed and returned moments later with a cooler. “Feed until you can’t force another drop. Never mind why I came in. It’s handled. I’ll update you later.” Her attention landed on Lane. “Are you all right alone in here?”
“Rowan won’t hurt me. I’m fine,” he said as if he had any authority on the matter.
“I’ll trust your word, but call out if you need someone.” Cecile nodded to Rowan and left, closing the door on her way out.
Rowan wanted to rush after her and see what the problem was. To help. But he wasn’t the kind of leader who disregarded his coven, and he was no help to anyone right now.
He went to the cooler, and thankfully, Lane kept quiet as he worked his way through three blood bags. As he drained the last, the anger gripping him faded. Another glass, and he couldn’t force another swallow. He was full.
Thank fuck. He sagged against the couch cushions. The memory of his sire lingered, but it was bearable. He could breathe.
Lane perched beside him. “Better?”
“Yes. I’m sorry for talking to you that way.”
“No harm done.”
Rowan closed his eyes in relief. He believed Lane meant it, which tempted him to take this further. Perhaps Lane could be what he needed, not just sexually, but in everything. Maybe rejection wasn’t inevitable.
He’d guarded his independence for decades. By now, it should be all he wanted, but the desire to be taken care of not only remained, it grew stronger. With the right person, it didn’t have to be a risk, did it?
He opened his eyes. “I should ask Cecile why she came to see me.”
“She said it was handled. Why not leave her to it?”
Something wavered inside Rowan. “I can’t give up control over everything.” Did he sound like a fool? Lane didn’t even know what he was really talking about.
Lane laid his arm along the back of the couch, bringing the two of them closer together and nearly cradling Rowan, but not quite. He had a curious look, interested, not invasive. “Is that what this feels like? Giving up control?”
Rowan studied Lane in turn, not in a hurry to answer.
Lane seemed different. His confidence hadn’t gone anywhere, even though they weren’t in the club or fucking.
Maybe this was who Lane was when he wasn’t fighting to prove himself.
Rowan wanted to grab hold of him and say, yes, be this man.
Don’t listen to anyone who shoves you aside.
And yet, what was Rowan doing if not shoving Lane aside? Ignoring him and his offers of help, even when he needed it. Wanted it.
Rowan hated being another person who underestimated Lane and resolved not to be. For both their sakes. He wanted someone to lean on, and Lane was sitting here asking to be his support. Rowan could take this step even if it wasn’t easy.
He closed his eyes. He wasn’t pretending to be strong when he didn’t feel it. “I’m falling apart. It’s the hunger and feeling useless. Not being able to hunt the ferals’ sire or beat the curse. But it’s also the dreams.”
Lane swallowed, barely audible to Rowan’s enhanced hearing. “Why do you think dreams of your past are surfacing now?”
He opened his eyes. “I don’t know. You mentioned killing my sire, and now he’s lurking in my mind.”
Lane flinched. “I’m sorry, I—”
“I’m not blaming you. That came out wrong. If my past…issues were resolved, I wouldn’t fixate on them. Killing Cris doesn’t bother me. You bringing it up isn’t the problem.”
Rowan had considered his trauma dealt with when it had only been avoided. He had to do the unthinkable and talk about it.
“It must be a combination of everything. The curse. Feeling responsible for the feral vampires…” Being tempted by you to have things I learned not to want because they scare me. Instead, he said, “Stress is getting to me, and it’s triggering old feelings.”
“It’s okay to admit that,” Lane said, nothing but soft in his acceptance.
Rowan almost snapped, yes, obviously I know, but did he? “I suppose you understand not wanting to admit your shortcomings.”
Lane smiled, a little sad. “I do, but at the same time, they aren’t actually my shortcomings, they’re my father’s. His judgments. Stress is human, Rowan. Having a difficult past and feeling whatever way about it is human. Not failure.”
“I’m a vampire,” Rowan couldn’t help pointing out. “Not a human.”
Lane rolled his eyes. “I meant it as in the human condition—humanity. I’m a witch. Would you say I can’t relate?”
“No,” Rowan grumbled, feeling chastised even though he didn’t think Lane meant it as a rebuke.
Lane flashed another tiny smile. “Then give yourself the same grace you give everyone else.”
Rowan had never considered it in those terms. It was frighteningly simple. He helped people, but if they never asked, afraid—as he was—of being let down, where would he be? If Lane were the one fighting tooth and nail against leaning on him, he’d want to shake him until he saw sense.
Lane stared at Rowan with unwavering determination, the picture of someone he could trust and depend on. The picture of everything Rowan longed for.
He gave in.
Rowan shifted, melting against Lane’s side like Lane had been offering him a hug this entire time. Maybe he had been because his arm came off the couch to hold Rowan without hesitation.
Rowan’s heart sang. “Don’t hurt me,” he whispered, face angled up, commanding Lane’s attention. The request must’ve seemed out of nowhere, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain.
Lane brushed a thumb over Rowan’s lower lip. “I won’t. Never on purpose.”
Butterflies swarmed Rowan’s chest, his sire’s presence fading from his mind, and he let his deepest desire break free. “Take care of me?” It was as needy as it sounded, and fear roared back with a vengeance. “For now,” he amended, losing his nerve.
Before he could go further and recant completely, Lane brushed his thumb over his lips once more. “I’ve got you.” His soft smile shone with confidence, maybe even pride. Like he wanted this and wasn’t scared to go for it.
At least one of them wasn’t a nervous wreck.
“Why don’t you let me help you relax?” Lane stroked Rowan’s lips a third time, a fourth. “See if we can get your mind to quiet while your coven takes care of the rest?”
No, I need to… Rowan pushed away the impulse.
Cecile was capable of handling anything in his place. Felix and Emile, too. Not to mention the nearly two dozen other Valeros, all vampires he’d chosen carefully and looked out for. They’d gladly return the favor.