Chapter 18 #3
Ciaran steps forward the second she reaches the edge of the stage, offering his arm as she moves beside him with a slim black cane tapping lightly against the stone floor.
“Saints,” Damaris mutters beside me, sounding a little overwhelmed now. “Nobody warned me this was the kind of event.”
I barely hear him. I can’t stop staring at Ciaran’s hands. At those long ink-stained fingers resting against his mother’s back so carefully, so possessively. And a horrible aching thought slips through me anyway.
What would it feel like to have him guide me like that? To have those hands settle against my back and know exactly where to put me.
Safe.
The thought lands so hard I have to look away.
Ciaran guides his mother toward the Noctis. Once she’s standing in position, he lifts his champagne glass toward the crowd, grinning when people around the hall raise theirs in return.
“To yet another event here at Caervast,” he drawls, his gaze sliding to meet mine. “May this one be full of surprises.”
Then the music starts, and the sound steals the breath from my lungs. I’ve never heard anyone play like this before. It’s a sad, aching melody that makes something inside me twist painfully.
My vision fractures. As I stare at the stage, a horrible feeling crawls up the back of my neck. It’s a prickling tension that spreads across my skin hard enough that my medical band buzzes beneath my sleeve.
Finally dragging away my gaze, I search the crowd, but nothing seems out of place.
Yet everything is out of place.
There.
By the entrance, I spot a man standing near the far archway beside another guest. He’s deep in conversation, but his eyes are fixed directly on me. Even from here, the black gloves stand out against the stem of his champagne glass.
Rowan.
The long, tragic sound of the Noctis plays through my head, but my eyes see a younger version of myself.
Wake up.
But I can’t. I’m running through crowded market streets while rain slicks the stone beneath my shoes. Footsteps somewhere behind me. Someone grabs my wrist too hard.
Rowan!
I know that man. I know him.
“Rowan?” A hand clamps around my shoulder and I jump before slumping. “Whoa, I know you’re happy to see me, but you don’t have to faint.”
Ciaran’s hand slides against the small of my back while the music swells softly through the hall behind us.
“H-hi,” I manage.
“What’s up, little mouse? Why are you breathing fast like that?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. Though you definitely look fine in those clothes.”
“Shut up.” I press a hand against my forehead and take in a few deep breaths. “Just…I’m all right.”
His eyes hold mine. “You always lie so confidently.”
“I’m not lying.”
“No?” His thumb presses lightly against my back. “Then why are you leaning into my hand like you forgot you’re supposed to hate me, but you left my bed this morning before I could get my hands on you again?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I manage, but when his grip on my shoulder intensifies, I need to swallow a groan. Because he’s hurting me, is all.
But I can’t fool my body, apparently, because my cock stirs in my pants.
“No, I’d rather flatter you. And don’t you just look perfect wearing my clothes? Fucking delicious.”
His eyes roam slowly over my body, and I squeeze my eyes shut as heat curls low in my stomach, remembering exactly what that mouth can do.
Why do I crave his touch so much? I don’t get it. The guy’s a bully and a dangerous mafia prince. I should know better than this.
A server passes between us carrying champagne and Ciaran reaches out, plucks a glass from the tray, and puts it to my lips. “Drink.”
I jerk my head away and glare at him. “You are unbelievably controlling.”
“And you still came back to my room.” His grin widens when I don’t say something back. “You see? Come on. Don’t tell me you didn’t like my mouth on your cock.”
“Quiet,” I hiss, face burning hot.
“On the contrary. I could shout it off the rooftops. Would that make you sleep in my bed again tonight?”
“No. And you know it.”
“Was it that bad?” He pouts.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to think of something to say. “I’m not your type,” I finally come up with.
“Not my type?” He snorts. “And you’re saying that after you snuck out of my bed?”
A burst of applause cuts through the hall as his mother finishes the piece.
“I didn’t sneak out.”
“You left before I woke up.” His gaze drags slowly over me. “That usually means something.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Liar.”
Heat rushes into my face.
Ciaran smirks, clearly enjoying himself, but then movement across the hall catches my attention.
The dark-haired man is still watching me. Only this time, when our eyes meet, he doesn’t look away.
Something cold twists in my stomach.
I know him.
“Rowan.”
I blink and look back at Ciaran too fast.
His expression shifts. “There you are.”
A woman in diamonds touches his arm lightly as she passes. “Your father’s looking for you.”
“He can wait.”
“Ciaran. Now, please.”
He looks visibly annoyed before finally stepping back. “Don’t disappear again,” he murmurs.
Then he’s gone.
I look back toward the entrance.
The man is still there, watching me.
And somehow, horribly, I know he recognizes me too.