Chapter 13
CIARAN
We're halfway across the courtyard when Marius says something about a case study I didn't read.
"I told you to look at it," he says. "You're going to get called on one of these days."
"I'll survive."
"You say that every time."
"And I keep surviving."
He huffs a laugh, drawing the attention of a guy leaning against the conservatory wall who tracks him the moment we pass.
Marius notices. He always does. His gaze flicks over, then he lets his lashes dip just enough to suggest interest before looking away again.
The guy straightens instantly, like he's just been handed a personal invitation. Poor bastard thinks he stands a chance.
But no, that can't do. Aunt Elara's still threatening bodily harm over the Adrian situation, and Marius hasn't been allowed near a campus romance without supervision since.
"One of these days, that's going to get you killed."
Marius rolls his eyes. "Please. I know exactly how far to push."
Yeah, he plays it like it's a game, reading people, setting the line, watching who crosses it. It works. It always fucking does.
But I've got something else sitting under my skin this morning, something harder to ignore. The echo of last night is still there, the way Rowan went rigid under my hands before he stopped fighting it altogether, and for once I'm not interested in watching someone else play.
And that's a problem.
I sent one message last night to check if he made it back to his room in one piece after whatever the fuck that alley was, and what did I get? No reply.
Now, that's a fucking problem.
We cut past the conservatory, its doors open while students pour out between classes, filling the courtyard with noise.
I don't slow. I don't need to, because I know exactly where he is. The reason I had a sleepless fucking night.
Rowan stands inside, not tucked away but out in the open.
His music carries cleanly through the room, the low notes pulling at something beneath my ribs.
He's focused on the instrument, head bent, shoulders set while the Noctis rests between his knees, answering the slightest movement of his fingers.
The light catches in his hair where it falls forward, turning some strands almost gold beneath the glass above.
Freckles dust the bridge of his nose, and every now and then his mouth shifts, barely there, like he's reacting to something in the music without meaning to.
Fuck me. No wonder people stare.
Those damn freckles. Those green eyes. That mouth. He's fucking gorgeous and somehow completely unaware of it.
My attention drifts back to his long fingers moving over the strings with a certainty that doesn't match the rest of him. Not after last night, not after the way he felt under me, all tension and resistance and heat he couldn't quite keep contained.
Marius is still talking beside me, something about projections, about case work, but it doesn't land. The words wash over me because I'm already elsewhere.
There's a small change in Rowan before he ever looks up, something in the line of his shoulders, in the way his hands hesitate for half a beat before continuing, like he already knows I'm here.
Then his head lifts. The moment our eyes lock, I catch that same flash of heat again. His mouth parts, color climbing his cheekbones.
He looks away first, giving me all the confirmation I need.
A student carrying a cello case passes us on the way into the conservatory. Marius catches him by the shoulder and presses a quick kiss to the top of his head. "I'd rather talk to you. My cousin never listens to me. Damn nuisance."
The guy laughs, but I flip them both off, already moving toward Rowan.
I barely make it two steps before Halvern appears in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, looking far too glad to see me. "Ciaran. What a surprise. I've been trying to reach your father all morning."
"Anything I can help you with?"
"Well, I wanted to give him the good news that the Imperial Family of Tempest also confirmed their attendance for the Legacy Gala."
"Well, that's one way to start a day." I glance at my multi-slate. "I'll pass it on. I'm having dinner with my parents tomorrow anyway."
Halvern's mouth twitches. "Please do. He doesn't appear to answer when I call."
"He'll answer mine."
"I'm sure he will." Halvern lowers his voice. "And between you and me, this event is becoming rather larger than I originally intended."
"That's generally what happens when half the Reach decides to show up."
"True." He scans the room. "Interesting timing, though."
"How so?"
"Timing has always fascinated me." His eyes settle on Rowan before returning to me. "How fate so often turns out to be pure planning."
"Well, that's cryptic as fuck."
A laugh slips out of him. "Let's just say I haven't seen this much interest in our music department since your mother and Vera Orlov were both students here." His mouth curves. "Neither of them enjoyed losing."
"That was a long time ago."
"It was. Anyway," Halvern says, stepping back, "I won't keep you any longer. Pass the message on to Christian for me." His gaze shifts toward Rowan. "I suppose you were looking for Ashford?"
I glance to where Rowan has continued playing, the long, tragic sounds of the Noctis resonating through the hall. His cheeks have returned to their normal color, pale and gold beneath those damn little stars scattered across his cheekbones.
"Never mind. Tell him I'll text him."
Something suspiciously close to amusement flickers across Halvern's face. "Of course."
I tap the back of Marius's head as I turn toward the door, grinning when he swears at me for interrupting whichever victim he's found for his charms.
"Come on, cous. Let's get the fuck out of here."
So he's a brilliant musician, wears that medical band like something in him can go wrong at any second, clearly has no money, and somehow manages to look fucking gorgeous while sitting alone in a crowded room.
The guys are rowdy around me, but I can't concentrate. I haven't been able to concentrate properly since last night.
Since the alley. Since Rowan wrapped himself around my waist and held on while we cut through the city. Since the pool, and everything he couldn't hide in the water.
Fuck, maybe Halvern's right.
I've told myself Rowan was flagged because of timing, a scholarship student arriving just as the Legacy Gala turned the entire academy into a security headache.
Now I'm starting to wonder if that's the whole story.
But every time I think I've got Rowan figured out, he goes and does something that makes even less sense than the last thing. Ignoring my messages is apparently the latest addition to that list.
The part I can't get past isn't that he left campus.
After I had him shaking in my arms, after he came apart under my hands, after making damn sure I was the only thing in his head for one goddamn second, he still felt the need to go chasing something.
Or someone.
Girl? Nah, not with the way he was kissing me. I mean, it could be, but I don't like the idea, so fuck that.
A guy?
I like that idea even less.
Still, the thought of someone else getting his attention, of someone else making him leave campus in the middle of the night after everything that happened between us, twists something ugly loose in my gut.
Rest assured—if there is someone, they're about to have a very bad day. Or a very bad life.
I pull up my multi-slate and fire off a quick message to Dad.
tempest confirmed. halvern wanted me to tell you personally. says he couldn't get hold of you
Three dots appear.
I know. He talks too much
I snort. That sounds about right.
I look up from the screen and find Rowan exactly where I left him, picking at the cheapest thing the canteen sells like he's trying to stretch every credit he has.
Why did you really come here, little mouse? Why now? And am I the only one noticing?
Because Rowan is more than just prey. I mean, yes, he's prey, because in my world everyone who's not predator is prey.
But fuck me, I'm drawn to that messy hair and those large eyes.
To that small, freckled nose. To the way his hands control the Noctis while the rest of him looks completely lost in his own thoughts.
But, still. Questions, questions, fucking questions.
I bring up our thread and decide I want to rile Rowan up. And myself, perhaps. Fuck, just thinking about what I'm about to propose has my dick hardening. I've never been a patient man, and he's driving me fucking insane.
i've been thinking. i'd like to take you out somewhere romantic. just the two of us
Across the room, Rowan's hand stills mid-motion, fork halfway to his mouth. He glances down at his slate, frowning as he reads it, then looks up again like he can feel it, like he knows exactly where I am without actually checking.
Color creeps up his neck anyway, but he keeps chewing, dragging it out like that'll buy him time. His gaze shifts to the window, lingering there a little too long before dropping back to the screen.
Just say yes, little mouse.
A minute passes, then he finally dips his gaze and types back.
I don't want to go on a date with you.
A grin pulls at my mouth, because it's an actual sentence this time, not just two words telling me to fuck off.
Fuck yes. Giving the air an invisible fist bump, I lean back in my chair. See? A whole sentence. Was that so hard?
Lucan shoulders me. "You all right?"
"Fuck off."
I type back.
yes, you do. you have questions. i've got answers
I watch him read it this time, really watch him. The way his shoulders tighten, the way his thumb presses a little too hard against the edge of the slate.
tonight. black chapel
His head lifts a fraction, just enough to scan the room without committing to it, but he doesn't dare look my way. Our table is the loudest by far, so it wouldn't take him long to find me.
You're crazy.
I shake my head, unable to stop smiling. He's right, the little fucker. He sure as fuck is right.
Crazy as a bat.
wouldn't you like to find out
one drink
Around me, chairs scrape against the floor as the guys start getting up.
"You coming?" Rafe asks.
"On my way," I mumble, already typing.
come on, little mouse
Yeah, that lands. I see it in the way his jaw tightens, in the way he exhales through his nose like he's already annoyed, already getting pulled in deeper than he wants to be. He knows he shouldn't.
I'll think about it.
Fucking fuck, yes.
But my victory is short-lived when I spot that slimy motherfucker Adrian heading toward Rowan with his megawatt smile and empty fucking wallet. His family fortune disappeared years ago, but apparently nobody ever told Adrian he's supposed to stop acting like a prince.
He says something to Rowan that makes his shoulders tense, not in the awkward way people react to flirting, but like they've stepped back into a conversation that already existed before I walked in.
Rowan answers, eyes flicking down for half a second, and something about the exchange sits wrong under my skin because it feels familiar in a way I can't explain.
Then Adrian drops into the seat across from him, his back to me, and Rowan's expression tightens.
My grip tightens around my multi-slate. Always so much fucking tension. Like he's bracing for something.
you do that. make sure you're there by eight and i promise it'll be a show you won't forget
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the understatement of the fucking year.