Chapter 15
CIARAN
"You almost killed him."
The private booth sits tucked into the far corner of the lounge, hidden behind smoked glass and dark wood panels. The noise from downstairs reaches us only in distant bursts now, softened by the heavy walls around us.
Across from me, Rowan looks up from the drink the server placed in front of him.
He still looks tense from downstairs, shoulders tight beneath his button-down while his fingers stay curled too firmly around the glass.
His cheeks are still flushed from the heat of the pit, freckles scattered beneath the low gold light.
Soft golden hair falls into his eyes every time he looks down, and fuck, those eyes are impossible to read when he's trying this hard to hide what he's feeling.
Cute.
"Nah." I lean back into the booth. "Voss bruises easy."
"Ciaran."
"What?" I grin. "He pissed me off."
Rowan's eyes narrow. "Because of what he said?"
"Partly."
"What's the other part?"
I let my gaze drag across his face, then lower to the way he shifts against the booth.
His shoulder rolls beneath the fabric of his shirt, and I'm back at the pool, watching water slide down his chest. The way he went tense the second he realized I was looking, those huge eyes still too wide from downstairs.
"He was paying too much attention to my date."
Rowan blinks at me. "Your date?"
The words come out quieter the second time, like he's testing them in his mouth, and the flush creeping into his cheeks deepens almost instantly when he realizes I've been serious this whole time.
I lean closer and brush a loose strand of golden hair behind his ear, enjoying the way he freezes beneath my hand. "What? You are my date tonight, aren't you? I bled for you out there."
Rowan snorts, disbelieving, finally looking away from me long enough to shake his head. "You're unbelievable."
"Mm. And yet you're still here."
A waitress appears beside the booth and places fresh drinks onto the table. Rowan reaches for his too quickly, fingers brushing the glass before pulling back again like he remembered I'm watching everything he does.
Neither of us speaks. Somewhere below us, the crowd erupts again.
"Tell me something about Düren."
"Düren?"
"That's where you're from, right? I read it's a dust planet." I lean back against the booth and stretch one arm along the seat behind me.
He blinks again, and I wonder what surprises him most. My question or the fact that I know where he's from. "You read about Düren?"
"Why, yes. I did some research on you, little mouse." I grin and tap open my multi-slate, turning the screen toward him. "That where you're from?"
A satellite image fills the display. Endless rust-colored land stretches across the screen, broken up by old industrial sectors, tightly packed residential blocks, and massive walls cutting through the city like borders. Even from above, the place looks worn down by dust and time.
Rowan nods, still staring at the image on my multi-slate.
"Nice place." If you like half-dead.
Rowan scoffs as if he's heard my thoughts. "It's not that bad if you live in it."
"No?" I point at the huge wall. "What am I looking at exactly?"
His fingers tighten around the glass, long and elegant in a way that makes it far too easy to imagine them wrapped around the neck of a Noctis. Or around my cock.
"That's the Ward," he murmurs, and I watch his throat bob when he swallows, slender and vulnerable enough that all I can think about is what sound he'd make if I pressed my mouth against it.
"The Ward?"
He nods again. "We… protect ourselves from what's on the other side."
"What's on the other side?" Now that's interesting. I like a bit of mystery, and Rowan's giving me plenty with the way his lashes flutter as he stares at the screen.
He shrugs and looks away, but I recognize fear when I see it. And I don't like seeing it in his eyes.
"From the things outside the walls," he murmurs.
"Monsters?" I chuckle softly at my own joke.
Rowan doesn't laugh. He just stares at his glass, then moves his finger back to the photo. I follow the trail it makes and picture it once again on my dick. I'm such a heartless man, I love it.
"We don't know," he says, then points at the tall buildings sitting at the edge of the city. "Those are the factories. Most people work there processing salvage, running refinery lines, or loading freight shipments moving off-planet." His grip tightens on the glass. "My pa works there too."
I study him while he talks. I didn't understand why Dad wanted me watching Rowan before, and now that I understand where he's from, I understand it even less.
The guy's from a working-class family. From Düren. Of all the places Dad could have pointed me toward, he picked the kid from the worst dust hole in the Reach.
"Did you already work in the refinery with your dad?
" I hear myself ask, because fuck it, why not ask some more?
After all, I'm the one who initiated this date.
And color me blind, but Rowan truly fascinates me.
And I'm not just talking about his delicious, plush lips or that permanent innocent wonder in those large eyes.
There's something else there, something I haven't quite unwrapped.
Like a gift. Rowan's my gift to myself. Before Dad rips him away.
Unless he's truly innocent, of course, caught in a game where he shouldn't be.
"…Ciaran?"
I blink, then realize that Rowan was talking to me. "What?"
He smiles, and his face flushes adorably. "I was asking if you have national service here on Sero."
I shake my head. "Not anymore. I mean, not for some of us. Dad managed to convince the Imperial that he needed me and my cousins in the business. Some other families managed the same result."
He cocks his head. "But for the others?"
"The local population? Yeah, they have a two-year service."
"I should have known. The Virel family basically rules half of Sero, right?" He huffs. "Every club, company, and even factories are all in your name. Of course you wouldn't go into service like everyone else."
"Hey, can't risk losing my life and our business," I joke lightly, but my mind is spinning.
Because little Rowan here has been digging around.
Sure, there are rumors, but unless Adrian has been blabbing his big mouth, he shouldn't know this much.
Then again, maybe he's simply been doing exactly what I've been doing, looking, paying attention, and trying to figure out who he's dealing with ever since Dad asked me to keep an eye on him.
"People on Sero know who the Virels are," I say. "That part isn't a secret."
His gaze flicks toward the image still glowing faintly on the slate. "So I was told."
I study him. "And who exactly was doing the telling?"
Rowan hesitates. "Adrian, mostly."
My gaze drifts toward the floor beneath us, where the distant roar of the pit still rises every now and then. I should've hit that motherfucker harder.
"Damaris found a newspaper clipping about the event."
"The one you're performing at?"
"Yeah. There was something in it about the Orlovs, and about how Adrian's family was one of the families that lost everything."
"That part is true." I lift one shoulder. "The Orlovs were one of the old ruling families here. When they fell, they took a lot of other people's fortunes down with them."
My gaze drops to my drink. "Vera Orlov most of all. My mother's old rival from the academy. When the family got banned from Sero, she lost everything she'd ever been."
His brow furrows. "So the Voss family really lost everything?"
"Most of it," I murmur, drumming my fingers against the bench. "Wrong investments. Wrong alliances. Wrong time."
Something that looks suspiciously like sympathy crosses his face. "That's awful."
"Hmm, it is."
"Then why did you beat the shit out of him?"
A laugh escapes me, and I lean closer. "That wasn't about his family's fortune, little mouse."
"Then what was it about?"
"You."
Heat flashes across his face. "You can't just say things like that."
"Oh, I can." I grin. "I'd hate to damage my reputation."
Before he can roll his eyes at me, I reach for his hand, my fingers circling the medical band around his wrist. The second I touch it, the tendons in his wrist tighten against my fingertips in a way I find far too interesting.
"Besides, you've been telling me all about Sero politics. It looks like someone did their homework for tonight."
Rowan glances down at our joined hands. "Just like you did, apparently."
Every reaction shows on his face before he can stop it, a hesitation pulling at his mouth whenever eye contact lingers a second too long.
Fuck.
He has absolutely no idea what he looks like right now.
A quick shake of his head answers me before he looks back down at the image again, warm skin pressing against mine while he still doesn't pull away, and I like the way he reacts every time I touch him far too much.
A grin pulls at my mouth. "So my little mouse fought off monsters in the Ward and played the Noctis on the side?" I drag my thumb along the edge of his medical band before finally letting go of his wrist. "Since when have you been playing?"
Rowan shrugs like he doesn't really want to answer, which of course only makes me more interested. "Since I was six, technically, but only the cello at first. Nobody on Düren owns a Noctis. They're too expensive. Mostly wealthy families use them during ceremonies."
"Hmm." I let my thumb drag once more across the inside of his wrist, feeling the way he tries not to react to it. I like making him squirm. "So how'd you end up obsessed with one?"
A faint flush creeps back into his cheeks.
"I saw one once." His voice softens around the memory, and fuck, I don't think I've heard him sound this unguarded before.
"An Imperial prince died when I was eight, and they broadcast the burial ceremony across the Reach.
" He glances at his drink before continuing.
"There was this musician standing beside the procession playing the Noctis, and I remember thinking I'd never heard anything so beautiful. "