The Minor Fall

CHAPTER 48 A Case of You

CHAPTER 48

A Case of You

I t was the antiseptic I smelled first, like a sharp vinegar in the nose. The light was too bright, and harsher than the fluorescent sconces in An Béal Bocht. Starched cotton brushed my fingers, and a very angry man cursed in Norwegian.

I opened my eyes. And recognized Abby immediately.

She swam before me, her hair delicately styled up, slouching puffy-eyed and red-nosed in the hospital’s guest chair. She’d exchanged the pastel blazer for a lilac blouse and the suit pants for a high-waisted skirt. Stray hairs hung in ringlets around her trembling chin, but they seemed a fashion statement rather than the distress of a weeping woman.

Behind the dividing sheet, a man’s rambling in Norwegian drowned out the regular beeps of machines. He wasn’t going to wait any longer! Three hours he’d been here and still no doctor, and what the hell was that on the TV? Bryn tuned him out.

A piece of red tape overlapped a tattoo on the inside of his elbow. An IV snaked up the dark vein in his arm. A hardened cast covered his left leg, from ankle to knee to thigh. He would never walk on his own again. Never.

The thought banged in his mind, as painful as the tears spilling copiously down Abby’s swollen lips. Even flushed and wet, her face was heartbreaking, with fat teardrops that decorated the corners of her eyes before puddling on her glossy bottom lip.

Bryn curled his fingers in the starched cotton sheet. This was his punishment. He knew it. After years of searching for Nereida, he’d been too late. Then, instead of finding what killed her, he’d tried to take his own life at the Gate. Worse, unforgivably, he’d been wrong, had acted so foolishly when Nereida was still alive.

Then, when James saved him, instead of seeking some redemption, he’d sunk lower and broken the only oath Ruhaven had ever asked of him. Because he’d been selfish, desperate, lost, he’d agreed to marry Abby despite James’s warnings. He had broken every rule Ruhaven had ever blessed him with. Spat on the Gate herself.

Maybe the Inquitate came to claim your soul.

He’d never found a link between the attacks, but perhaps those who’d been killed had committed an unforgivable sin. James believed in that, as did the church he attended every Sunday in Capolinn—a church that would have condemned what Bryn had done. James had been right to exile him.

What if the Inquitate were not an enemy but a guardian against Ruhavens, like him, who would attempt the Fall when they hadn’t deserved to? That made sense in an odd, twisted way.

Especially the timing.

Rowan had been Nereida; he’d known it as clearly as his own heartbeat. He’d planned to make the Fall with her, and the Inquitate—knowing this—had tried to stop him.

So as he lay there, propped at an awkward angle on a bed that was too small for him, he reminded himself that he deserved each and every thing that would be denied to him now. He would never sail again, never dance at night, never run in the streets of Odda, never feel the glaciers cracking under his boots, never hurry for anything, ever again. His life would be at a snail’s miserable, sneaking pace.

Instead of returning to Rowan, he needed to stay here, rather than risk bringing the Inquitate to her too. She would be safe in L’Ardoise, having never broken any Ruhaven law.

For long moments, the only sound was of the man arguing with the nurse and Abby’s soft tears. Then her voice broke. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me again, Brynjar.”

After everything, his promises had been as worthless as they were the first time. It was just another sin the Inquitate had punished him for. He’d known, as soon as he’d seen Rowan in the Blue Nose, that he’d have to end things with Abby. Even so, the decision had driven him insane in the weeks that followed. He dreaded making it, knew what kind of a man it made him.

“I am sorry.” The words were as hollow as the nurse’s platitudes to the man next door.

When Bryn reached for Abby’s freckled hand, she yanked it back and shoved out of the chair. Pinprick heels clacked on the tile floor as she wiped at a crimson button nose. “If this is about your injury,” she began, tissue shaking in her clenched fist, “it doesn’t matter to me. We’ll work through it. I’ll stay home. We’ll hire help.”

He couldn’t take it. He didn’t deserve Abby or her kindness. This was the fourth time since he’d returned to Oslo that he’d tried to end their relationship. Each time, Abby convinced herself it was the effect of the injury rather than a decision he’d made in L’Ardoise.

“I know, Abby. It is not about my leg,” Bryn said hollowly, a cassette being rewound again and again.

She firmed her coral lips. “Then why, Brynjar? You’re not thinking clearly now. It’s not the time for these decisions.”

He plucked at the thin sheets. “I am, I—” He swallowed against his raw throat but didn’t reach for the water. “I am very sorry. Very sorry, Abby.”

She lowered the tissue. “What will I tell my parents?”

He closed his eyes, wanting to throw up. “I will speak to them. To your father.” At this rate, the Inquitate would likely return to finish him off.

“And what will you say ?” Her voice teetered on a high tightrope. “Why are you doing this to me, Brynjar? Why! You are not thinking right.”

His breath rattled out in a long exhale. “I met someone,” he admitted to the pulsing beeps of the hospital.

Abby’s lips parted, and her eyes grew round, disbelieving. “No,” she breathed, ample chest heaving. “What are you saying? I don’t believe you.”

He swallowed glass, then cobbled together half-lies and truths. “In L’Ardoise, before my accident, I met a woman.”

Abby wilted. “Are you saying—are you saying that you were with her? You?”

In a way , he thought. “Yes,” Bryn whispered, and even the raspy man next door stopped shouting at the nurse.

Slap.

Bryn barely flinched at the blow she’d landed. Didn’t stop the next.

“How dare you, Brynjar,” Abby cursed, fumbling with her velvet clutch.

Her hand shook as she pushed back the curtain. “Don’t talk to my parents. Don’t ever speak to me again.”

As he listened to her heels fade on the tiled floor, he wiped at the tear sliding down his cheek. He would never, he vowed, return to Naruka. Never see Ruhaven again. Never see his mate.

It was no less, and no more, than he deserved.

And in doing so, he’d prevent the Inquitate from finding the other Ruhavens, from finding Rowan.

When I felt the tug at my wrist, I didn’t answer. I floated in the memory, in the grief and regret, in the desolation that had become Bryn’s world. When my heart broke, I didn’t know if it was for him or because I was him, but at last I let go.

And swayed in a dark, silver pool.

At some point in the night, I woke. I drifted between dreams and life, where sleep lapped at me like the gentle waves of a dark lake. I recognized the cool, hard pillow under my head, the patchy quilt tickling my throat, the faint scent of roses.

I was in my bed.

I didn’t remember ever waking long enough to make it here. Had Bryn carried me? I reached for him instinctually, found the quilt smooth and warm beside me. My lips were dry when I whispered his name into the cold, empty room.

When only pittering rain on the window answered, I melted into the sheets.

And dreamed of the woman who’d loved Bryn.

I woke the next morning, certain it’d all been a dream.

In the quiet of my room, I slipped on jeans and a cotton sweater, socks, and another sweater because the hotel was always cold unless I was working. I stood in front of the mirror as I braided my hair into a long tail at my back, then slapped my cheeks for some color.

I needed to talk to Bryn.

And say what, I didn’t know. Something, some measure of understanding of what he’d shown me, and why he’d kept it. To deal with what had scraped me raw last night, what I could forgive but not forget.

I took a breath, then another, and slipped out of my room.

When I stood in front of Bryn’s, I didn’t hesitate this time—I knocked softly, then let myself in.

And just looked at him.

Naked, he slept on his stomach, the sheets bunched at his waist despite the chill, an arm slung over the side of the bed, a hand beneath his cheek on the stark pillow, mouth slightly parted. A breeze stirred his gold eyelashes and mussed hair.

My heart gave a solid thump.

Sunlight peeked through the wispy curtains of his bed, leaving spots of bright yellow against sheets that looked purple in the shadows. A shaft of it struck one side of his face, highlighting the mottled bruise Tye had left.

He breathed in absolute stillness, his back barely rising.

Bryn ?

Eyelashes fluttered, then one wary blue eye peeked through. Rowan . Even his voice was careful, hesitant, probably unsure of whether I was still harboring a grudge from last night.

He shifted slightly, trying to cover himself, but I reached him before he could, laid a hand on his.

His eyes flicked up to me in question.

Saying nothing, I came around the bed. When I passed the desk, I saw his open sketchbook, the pages dotted with different faces—Nereida, James, my own. Then I slid quietly onto the bed, atop the quilt as I had when we’d sat here together drinking tea after An Béal Bocht. The pillow was as crisp as snow against my cheek.

I stroked my hand over his spine, the dip in his lower back, tracing the ridge of his hips. Goosebumps broke out wherever I touched, but after a moment, he relaxed into the pillow with a quiet exhale.

“I wonder, sometimes, what you see when you look at these,” I said, gliding my index finger over a gear at the base of his spine.

“What do you mean?” Bryn asked softly.

“I guess I wonder if you see him. Sahn.”

His throat worked against the pillow. “Yes. O’Sahnazekiel, Ruhaven, my life for too many years here.” What do you see, Rowan?

I paused at his shoulders, then massaged the space where wings once sprouted. He let out a muffled groan.

“I just see you, Bryn. I’ve always seen you. Even after you admitted you were Sahn, it didn’t change anything. I mean, it didn’t make me want you more, or differently. It still doesn’t.” I trailed my fingertips over his ribs now, over the twisted tattoos that must have hurt to have the needle touch bone.

After the memories he’d shared, there was something I needed to tell him. Something I’d put together a while ago. Maybe the only thing I’d gotten right.

Bryn?

Yes, Rowan?

“It’s just—about what you thought, about Ruhaven not accepting you for the Fall,” I said, remembering his guilt. “You should know that even if I hadn’t found the triplet connection, the Gate would have taken you. Ruhaven would take you still.”

His shoulders tightened. “Perhaps.”

I smiled slightly. “Bryn, don’t you know?”

He shifted so we were face to face, and the sheet fell a little further. “Know what, my Rowan?”

I’d thought of this for a while, of the things that slid through the Gate over the years from Ruhaven. Archery that had materialized in the bow and arrow here, the swords, the games they played, the dancing and music, the ring. Little pieces of another world that had traveled through the memories and been reborn again here. In inventions, in life, in culture.

And though Bryn may call himself an Azekiel, I knew what he was. What the legend of his race had come through as in our world.

“You’re not an Azekiel,” I whispered. “You’re an angel.”

T he next day, James made breakfast for everyone for the first time since Essie died. He packed the table with flat pancakes and blueberries, whipped cream and chunks of butter, honey and almonds, sliced pears and shredded coconut.

Naruka had never been fed so well.

As we ate, Kazie updated us on her plans for the next week to get her “affairs in order.” This was said with the casualness of someone happily planning their own funeral, a mother who didn’t want you to have to fuss when she was gone. Since both of Kazie’s parents had died years ago, she was writing to her aunt and five cousins.

What she planned to say, I didn’t know.

Hello, I’m planning on dying in a dream and leaving you my feathered skirt and two budgies.

But without batting an eye, James dutifully mailed her letters the following day. I didn’t know what would happen to her at the Fall, didn’t want to think about what only reminded me of how close Bryn had been to the end.

So I tried to finish the gate lodge, letting the mundane work mellow my worries.

Stroke by stroke, I sawed through marble with the angle grinder, one of the few tools James had agreed to buy.

Wires dangled from the ceiling where light fixtures would eventually be installed. The cupboards were raw wood, simple, except for the antique knobs Kazie had found in a thrift shop. Next to Naruka, the place smelled too clean, lacking the underlying whiff of mold, cellar, and—of course—James’s scones.

The cupboards had been misaligned in a few areas, so I’d worked a few shims in to level them. The grout might have been uneven at the start, but I’d learned quickly, and most of it was passable to the naked eye. My dad, well, he’d have picked out the misalignment by the stove, the sloping end where the tile didn’t quite line up with the old stone wall.

I felt like an artist who’d spent five years on a mural only to realize it wasn’t that good.

I plucked at my loose shirt. It was done. And thankfully, done was better than good. Even if done meant Kazie could now paint the cottage in wildfire pink.

Clunk. Clunk, clunk. Boots that could only belong to one man christened my cemented stairs.

Well, I’d been waiting for this, and he’d dodged me long enough.

I wiped my hands on the rag in my pocket, then groaned as I stood and granted my knees a break. I could all but feel the bruises blossoming on my calves.

Pushing aside the curtains James had hung, I studied Tye as he strutted under my overhang.

He didn’t look like a man who’d been told to pack his things and leave within a week. There was a confident cockiness to his loose stride, like he owned the cottage, Naruka, and the land it sat on.

Was there any irony in him helping James exile Bryn and now finding himself banished? Probably not. Tye didn’t do irony.

Under the woodshed, Bryn paused with the axe midway through the air and glanced over his shoulder, then dropped it with a bang when he spotted Tye. I could all but see him cursing as he swiped his cane and took two strides in my direction.

I waved at him through the window. Bryn, wait there .

I saw the minute he heard me. You wish me to leave you with Tye?

I’ve got it.

Bryn frowned, but didn’t follow as Tye strode through.

He was the only man I knew who could walk around in a short-sleeved shirt in January. His faded jeans hugged toned thighs and swept down to pointed Western boots. His face, I was pleased to see, was still healing from James’s blow.

Spotting me leaning against the windowsill, he nodded and closed the door silently behind him.

“No smoking,” I said sharply when he dragged a cigarette from his back pocket. I didn’t need the place looking like the Ford’s ceiling.

He paused with the smoke a few inches from his lips, lifted a brow. “So that’s how you’re gonna be, then.”

I rolled my neck. Like Nereida, it was important to stay loose, relaxed. “Yeah, that’s how I’m gonna be.”

Tye’s dimple had the nerve to make an appearance as he crossed to me. “Well darlin’, I—”

My fist caught him dead in the gut.

Tye doubled over, air leaving him on a whoosh as I stepped back.

“ That’s for the cane.”

Yeah, that felt good. Maybe Nereida was on to something.

You need not defend me, Rowan.

He had it coming. And mind your own.

Tye coughed. The axe outside paused. Then he grinned under the ball cap. “Damn, Roe,” he wheezed. “You sure pack a punch. Just tell me now how many more of those I got comin’.”

Chin up, I strode to the new cupboards. “How many more times do you want to humiliate Bryn?” The coffee he had brought me earlier had cooled to one degree warmer than outside, but I drank it anyway. “And think about it, because all those memories of Nereida are starting to pay off.”

But Tye just grinned and stretched out his neck. “Glad it was James who clocked me in the face and not you is all I’ll say on that.”

I studied him over the cup. “You must like getting punched.”

“Just by you, hun.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be gone?”

Tye rubbed his beard, amusement dancing on his lips as he patted his pockets and frowned, as if just remembering I didn’t want him smoking. So he cocked a hip on the deep windowsill and dragged off his ball cap. “Look, I wanna apologize for what I said on New Year’s. I can’t say I was myself. Fact is, I had too much to drink, wanted to rile Stornoway, and it all got a bit away from me.”

More like it broke out of a burning barn and galloped across half of Ireland. “You broke his cane, Tye.” The words I could eventually forgive, the truth I’d appreciated, but the cane—never.

Tye’s jaw flexed, a quick up-down that looked like a facial sit-up. “You got me there, Roe. Maybe I let my emotions do a bit more talkin’ than I should have. Didn’t like the look of you when I walked in, didn’t like all the things he’d kept from you either.”

“Fine. When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he said briskly. “That’s what I came to tell ya. I figured my time was about done here anyway. What with Kazie makin’ the Fall and all—I just can’t watch that.” He rose, crossed to the counter, and leaned his rigid forearms on the wood. He smelled like it, too, like fresh-cut pine and leather. “Will ya promise me you won’t do it, Roe?”

I set my coffee down with a soft clink . “What? Make the Fall?”

“Yeah.”

Even if I wanted to, Ruhaven would never accept Willow’s replacement. “I promise.”

Tye frowned, studying me through ivy-green eyes. “Well, I guess this is goodbye then, huh?”

Goodbye. The word settled over me like a stifling blanket. “Are you going back to L’Ardoise?”

He shifted closer. “Don’t see anythin’ else for me to do. I always liked workin’ with horses, the farm. It’s simple work, but simple is easy to understand. This?” He cast his eyes at the Gate hidden behind the looming cliff. “This ain’t natural.”

Well, there was no arguing that, but whether it was natural or not, it was real. “It always surprised me you’d believe in it.”

Tye snorted. “Surprised myself, I suppose. But I know when my time is up, ya know? So tonight, I’m gonna finish packin’, maybe take a last visit.”

“What about Kazie’s Fall?”

“I need a clean break.” He made a cracking motion with his hands, then waved me over. “Look, I don’t wanna make a big fuss out of this. So let me say my goodbyes now, before things get heavy.”

He held his arms wide, waiting.

I met his flickering eyes. How far we’d come from L’Ardoise and the man who’d recruited me, helped me with the shop, given me Ruhaven. And yet, since Bryn, we’d not seen very much of each other.

When I crossed to him, Tye grabbed me in a fierce hug, hands tunneling into my hair. I patted his back, all but feeling Bryn’s annoyance.

“Thanks for bringing me here. I probably should have said that months ago.”

My hair muffled his answering grunt. “No problem, kid.”

I closed my eyes, breathed him in. Leather and horse and farm. Comfort. I fought to hold on to this memory of him. Maybe Tye had been as much of a dream as Ruhaven had, because whoever he’d been in L’Ardoise, it’d been what I needed then—a firm hand, a shoulder to lean on, someone who didn’t judge me. He’d been all of that, hadn’t he? Even after I’d discovered Ruhaven.

When I’d been about to leave, to give it all up, Tye had looked me in the face and told me the truth—that I’d been nothing in L’Ardoise.

It’d hurt. God, it’d hurt. But it was truth.

“Come back with me, Roe,” he whispered against my neck.

I felt Bryn bristle. The connection he’d created for us had to be getting stronger.

“I don’t think so.”

But Tye tightened his grip when I started to pull away. “What? You don’t wanna see your folks? Your old friends? It’d be good for ya, Roe. I’ll even let ya use my truck.”

I huffed a laugh. “Your truck? Now that’s an offer.” But I still had Willow’s.

“Ain’t it?” Tye grinned, rubbing my arms. “C’mon, ya need a little time to clear your head from all this.”

From Ruhaven, the Fall, from Bryn. I probably did.

“I’ll think about it, Tye.”

“Hun, that’s not exactly how plane tickets work. But maybe I’ll get ya one, knowin’ you’ll change your mind.”

“No, Tye, thanks but—”

His hand closed around my wrist, twisting my arm and spinning me around until my spine slapped against his chest.

Whiskey breath tickled my neck. “Let me show ya somethin’, Roe,” he said, clamping an arm around my waist and inching my wrist up my back.

“You really do like getting punched,” I said, fighting his hold.

“You’re just gonna get me excited,” he teased, but wrestled my arm up another few inches. “Hmm…let’s just see if that’s enough.”

Tell him to stop, that I am coming.

This was to get at Bryn again? Why? I stomped my heel on Tye’s toe. “Whatever you’re planning, you’re just going to piss off James.” And Bryn, if the vibrations down the channel were any indication.

“Sorry, darlin’, looks like it’s gotta be a little higher. Deep breath now, there ya go.”

Deep breath ? What the hell was he— oh .

Fury ripped through the channel.

I gasped as pain flickered at the joint. “What are you doing ?”

“One day,” Tye murmured against my throat, “you’re gonna have to make a decision.” A shadow of wings passed behind the window. “‘Cause he’s gonna look you right in your pretty, smoky eyes and say anythin’ to make you take the Fall. And when he does, I want ya to remember somethin’.”

“That you broke my arm?” I gritted between my teeth, struggling to break free.

“That you’re nothin’ to him but a Stornoway-shaped doorbell.”

The door slammed open.

But it wasn’t Bryn who stood in the doorway. It was Sahn.

His eyes burned like an avenging angel—no, a guardian angel. Crackling thunder filled the room, booming as if coming from deep within his chest. And I knew now how Colm had felt, standing before Bryn that evening outside An Béal Bocht.

Terrified. Humbled. In awe.

Tye shoved me.

Tripping on the flooring, I cradled my elbow as I fell. Goddamn it, Tye, goddamn—

Bryn caught me, pulling me tightly against a shirt still damp from cutting wood. Lightning jumped off his skin, buzzing over mine in tiny electrical shocks.

Tye grinned cockily. “Five seconds from the woodshed. Not bad, Stornoway.”

Bryn pried my arm away from me, inspected it with hands that glowed with light, then nudged me toward the door. “Go wait outside, Rowan.”

What? Panic fluttered when I saw the look on his face. “He was only playing,” I said, gripping the doorjamb.

Tye cracked his knuckles. “C’mon, Stornoway, you’ve only got so much time.”

Time? For what ?

Then I saw it in the flash of Bryn’s otherworldly eyes.

Of course—he could walk again, could stand straight, had strength and power and magic bursting from his fingertips. “Don’t—”

He spun back to Tye, moonlight rippling in thick waves over his body, lightning crackling at his feet. I all but saw Bryn’s careful wall come crashing down, the bricks blown apart, crumbling on my floor.

Tye set his jaw, bracing for what he’d brought on himself.

But it was too late.

Lighting speared through the room, blinding me, shrieking with a shocking intensity before slamming into Tye.

Plaster rained down—thick, white chunks that turned his hair a brownish-gray. Oh, for the love of—

Bryn’s fist collided with Tye’s gut.

As he bent over, Bryn grabbed his hair with light-flecked fingers, wrenching his head up so that Tye was forced to look at him. Then Bryn leaned down, close enough that his mouth nearly touched Tye’s ear.

“‘ Fuck my mate ,’ was it?” Bryn’s whisper was like claws dragged over silk, the repeated words so crude it seemed impossible they’d come from his lips.

Tye grunted as his jaw was snapped sideways.

Jesus, Bryn was going to kill him.

I rushed across the room, grabbing Bryn around the waist. Stop! Heat sizzled into my palms.

But the channel was quiet on the other end.

Tye leaned away from the lightning crackling over his skin. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, darlin’.”

Bryn shook me off, shoved his shoulder into Tye, and pinned his left wrist as sweat broke out at Tye’s temples. “I have imagined for quite some time how I would repay you for the tack room,” Bryn said quietly, deadly. “Do you wish to tell me which of these touched her? Or shall I guess?”

Tye grinned a dimple-less smirk. “All of them,” he spat, blood dripping from his newly split lip.

“That will certainly make this easier.”

“Tye, shut up .”

“And she enjoyed each one,” he added. “Ain’t that right?”

I felt the blood drain out of my face.

Bryn snapped at Tye’s throat. “Then I will start here,” he decided, separating Tye’s pinky.

Oh my god. “Bryn, don’t! Don’t!”

“Rowan, look away.”

I grabbed his elbow, tried to wrench it off, but his muscles were like iron.

Snap .

Tye’s face lost all color as his finger went limp. Bryn didn’t even flinch, just grabbed the next—his ring finger this time. My stomach dropped to my feet.

“All of them, I believe you said?”

“Every. Single. One,” Tye gritted between his teeth.

I’d throw up if I saw another finger break, if I had to watch Tye’s pinky dangle like an overcooked noodle any longer.

I shoved at Bryn, wedging myself between his heaving form and Tye’s whistling breath. Lightning nearly blinded me when I faced Bryn, gripping his shoulders. His skin was scorching. “Stop.”

His face hardened. Rowan, Tye has earned this and more.

My shoulders cowed in the face of his fury, but I ordered my spine to straighten, even if my feet urged me to beat a track out the door. He didn’t do anything wrong in the tack room, I said, and let my own annoyance move through the channel. And neither did I.

Bryn’s lips peeled back, revealing two elongated fangs. Tye is aware of the rules. You were not. Veins like forked lightning flickered down his temples.

And if I was? I challenged.

His jaw flexed, but then I caught the light dulling in his eyes and pushed. “We’re not in Ruhaven. We’re here, and we can’t afford to go to the emergency room. Someone will bring the Garda to James if Tye has ten broken fingers.”

“At least.”

I swallowed. “Right.”

But his fangs retracted.

Tye swore as Bryn dropped his arm and stepped back, the light around us beginning to fade, the thunder a quiet rumble now. I moved out of the way of both of them.

Tye took a few breaths, wincing at his broken pinky. When he’d regained some color, some composure, he angled his wrist and tried for a shrug. “So that’s fifteen from the wood lodge, and sixty for your glowy shit. Not bad, Stornoway.” He cradled his finger and winced. “Guess ya don’t remember that I never broke your leg that night, huh? That’s true colors for ya. Don’t ya forget it, Roe.” Tye tapped his hat with his uninjured hand.

“You’re crazy ,” I said when he left.

Bryn turned to face me, lifted a brow. “Do you think? This morning, I was an angel.”

“That was before you threatened to remove all of Tye’s fingers.”

He stalked across the room. “I suppose that is fair. Though I admit, I was hoping to disprove your hypothesis in other ways.”

“What—”

In one quick motion, Bryn had my back against the wall, a knee between my legs. He lowered his mouth to my throat. “ Guess ,” he said, and licked a trail to my collarbone as my breath quickened into a new drumbeat. He inhaled against me. “Do you know what you smell of, my Rowan?”

“ Fear ?”

I felt him grin. “No, you smell of smoked amber and Ruhaven. You smell of dreams.”

To hell with Tye, the lightning, the broken finger. We’d deal with that later.

I snuck my hands under his sweater. “Bryn?”

“Yes?”

“You ruined my wall,” I said, grazing the band of his jeans.

“Indeed.” He nipped my ear. “How shall I make it up to you?”

We could do this here, now, in the gate lodge, away from Naruka—the only reward for months of half-hearted renovations. “You know, the walls are a lot thicker in here.”

He slipped a hand under my shirt, toyed playfully with my bra. “I am lucky to be in the company of a woman who is so educated on such matters.” The clasp snapped, loosening the hold on my suddenly aching breasts. “Now, what was this about O’Sahnazekiel being an angel?”

He cupped me, thumbing my nipples as his tongue slid over my lips, between them.

James burst through the door.

“Oh, me poor suffering eyes,” he cursed, draping a forearm over his glasses. “If yer gonna feel up me sister, can’t ye do in a locked room?”

Bryn coughed a half-laugh, deftly reclasping my bra and straightening my shirt like a teenager caught fondling their sweetheart in the school corridor.

“We are quite decent,” Bryn said, but his voice was still beautifully rough. “What is it?”

James dropped his arm, blew out a relieved breath. “This sure isn’t the best time, but Kazie’s, uh—well, she’s decided to make the Fall sooner.”

Bryn froze. “When?”

“Now like. Now. ”