Chapter 19 #2
The storm outside rattles the old windows lining the corridor while my breathing turns sharp and uneven.
He’s behind me now, closing in.
Or maybe I’ve finally started imagining footsteps everywhere.
I don’t know anymore.
“What do you want from me?” I shout, eyes catching on another door near the far end of the corridor. Its black wood is worn smooth with age, almost invisible against the dark stone wall.
Behind me, the man laughs, the sound like ice through my veins. “You always did run fast.”
The words hit me like a punch, and without thinking, I grab the handle and yank it open before throwing myself inside.
Darkness swallows me instantly.
If I can just hide, he won’t find me.
The smell of dust and old stone slams into me just as my foot catches empty air where a narrow staircase suddenly disappears into darkness below.
“Shit—”
I fall hard into darkness before I can catch myself, pain exploding through my shoulder as the world turns violently black around me.
Pain drags me awake.
For one awful second, I have no idea where I am. Everything around me is black and cold and smells faintly like dust and wet stone while pain pulses hard behind my eyes every time I breathe too fast.
My shoulder throbs. So do my knees.
I shift slightly against the cold stone floor and suck in a sharp breath as pain shoots through my left ankle, the joint protesting hard enough that my stomach immediately drops.
Well, that’s probably not a good sign.
Good Light, what happened?
I groan and force myself upright, immediately regretting it when dizziness rolls through me hard enough that I nearly fall sideways again.
Then the memory comes rushing back—the staircase, the corridor, the man in the black mask stepping out of the storm with that baton hanging loosely from one gloved hand.
What the hell was he going to do with that?
The horrible flash of recognition.
You always did run fast.
My breathing turns ragged as I fumble blindly through the darkness until my fingers finally close around my multi-slate somewhere beside me.
When the weak screen light flickers on, I freeze.
The room around me swims slowly into view in fractured pieces. The glow slides across black stone and dust-covered shelves while I stare around in growing disbelief, the chamber feeling less like a basement and more like something buried deep inside the old tower itself.
Where the hell am I?
I squint to adjust to the flashlight, taking in my surroundings, then gasp when I stare right at the familiar shape of a Noctis.
The polished black instrument gleams beneath the thin light of my multi-slate, half-swallowed by dust and darkness like something abandoned years ago.
My gaze flicks instinctively toward the staircase disappearing into the darkness above, memory crashing back in uneven fragments as I piece together what happened. I must have fallen all the way to the bottom.
Good Light, how far down am I?
And what is a ceremonial instrument doing here, dusted by years of neglect?
Holding my breath, I listen to the silence pressing against the chamber walls, wondering if the masked man is still out there, waiting by the staircase for me to show myself again.
The thought makes my stomach coil with unease. The darkness presses in around me as panic crawls up my throat.
He spoke to me as if he’d been watching me for years.
The door upstairs creaks open.
Every muscle in my body locks as light spills across the staircase, panic hitting hard enough that I nearly drop the slate.
I drag myself backward toward the shadows beside the wall, ignoring the sharp burst of pain shooting through my shoulder, as my pulse spirals even harder out of control.
Footsteps echo down the staircase, each step measured and deliberate. Then a familiar voice drifts through the darkness. “Rowan? There you are.”
Relief crashes through me so hard it almost pisses me off.
“If you were looking for my bedroom, you seriously took a wrong turn somewhere.”
Of course it’s him.
Ciaran steps into view a second later, still wearing those black leather pants stretched tight across his thighs and a dark shirt with the sleeves shoved to his elbows, his helmet tucked beneath one arm while rainwater glitters along the sharp line of his jaw.
Somehow, my first coherent thought is that he’s unfairly attractive.
A weak groan escapes me as I drag a hand through my hair.
His gaze lands on me instantly and the amusement vanishes from his face. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“I’m fine,” I mumble.
Ciaran glances at the blood smeared across my palm. “Right. You clearly look fine.”
“I fell.” The laugh comes out weak.
“No shit. Then you tried crawling away from me afterward, which is admittedly a little kinky, but probably less sexy in a dusty underground chamber.”
My face heats. “You don’t have to sound so descriptive about it.”
“Rowan.” His voice roughens, sounding far less playful than before. “You ignored my messages. What the fuck were you even doing down here anyway?”
“What do you care?” I mutter.
Ciaran kneels in front of me and catches my chin between his fingers, tilting my face up toward his. “I told you already,” he murmurs, his mouth suddenly close enough that my pulse stumbles again. “You sleep in my bed now. That makes you my problem.”
He’s kidding. He’s got to be.
But my lips part before I can stop them, and when my gaze drops helplessly toward his mouth, I know I’m the one fooling myself. “I’m no one’s problem.”
“No?” He cocks his head. “Then what are you doing lying here in a dark chamber, legs in a heap and head badly hurt? You want me to go instead and let you figure it out yourself?”
“I—” No. The thought of him leaving me here alone is as terrifying as letting him help me.
“That’s what I thought. You’re very bad at asking for help, little mouse.”
Oh.
In his own twisted way, he really did come down here because he was worried. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with that.
Maybe panic turned some of the shadows into threats, but the man at the concert was real. So was the black mask. The baton.
He was chasing me for something. I just don’t know what.
For the first time, I find myself wanting to tell Ciaran everything, but a part of me is still that frightened kid keeping watch over his shoulder and telling himself that if he stays quiet long enough, nobody can hurt him.
The problem is that I still don’t know whether I can trust him.
I try shifting upright, only for pain to slam through the back of my head hard enough that a rough grunt escapes me.
“Easy.” Ciaran’s hand tightens automatically against my jaw before his gaze finally shifts past me toward the Noctis sitting in the darkness. “What the hell is that doing down here?”
“So I’m not hallucinating?”
“No, mouse.” His eyes stay fixed on the instrument. “I’m pretty sure that’s real. Question is, why the hell was it hidden down here?”
“I don’t know.” Unease curls in my stomach as I stare back at the Noctis half-hidden in the darkness, but before I can say anything else, Ciaran wraps one arm firmly around my waist and hauls me upright.
Pain flares through my ankle and I grunt against his throat as I unwillingly wrap my arms around him for balance, hard muscle shifting beneath my hands even through the leather jacket.
“Easy,” he rumbles. “I guess we’re solving the mystery of the haunted underground Noctis another time. Come on; let’s get you out of here.”
I barely manage one limping step before my ankle buckles completely beneath me.
Before I can protest again, Ciaran hooks one arm beneath my knees and lifts me clean off the floor.
“What the hell—” I gasp, clutching instinctively at his shoulders. “Did you just pick me up?”
Ciaran chuckles against my hair. “Yeah, you’re my bride now, baby mouse. Now shut up so I can drag you back to my evil lair.”
Heat rushes instantly into my face, but despite everything, relief slowly loosens the tight knot in my chest as he carries me up the staircase and out of the dark chamber behind us.
At the top of the stairs, he finally sets me on my feet, keeping one arm firmly wrapped around my waist. “Try not to die before I get you back to bed. It’d ruin my evening.”
As we step back out into the cold night air together, my chin tucked near his throat while warm leather presses against my cheek and his body shields me from the storm, my gaze immediately searches the rooftop corridor for the masked man.
But the terrace is empty. No footsteps. No trace of him anywhere.
Instead of reassuring me, the sight only makes my stomach tighten.
“How did you even find me?”
Ciaran snorts. “Little mouse, after your little adventure in the city, did you honestly think I wasn’t tracking your multi-slate?”
My head jerks up. “You what?”
“Relax. You’re welcome.”
The idea should probably bother me more than it does. It certainly reminds me that whatever is happening between us, Ciaran still has his own agenda.
Don’t trust him.
But it’s hard to hold on to that thought when he came looking for me. When he found me. When he got me out of there.
Ciaran’s skin feels unbearably warm beneath my hands, hard muscle shifting beneath the black jacket every time he moves, and I hate myself for noticing any of it right now.
Above us, storm clouds still hang low above Caervast while distant planets glow faintly beyond them in the dark sky overhead.
For a second, I tilt my head back and just stare at them.
“Tomorrow,” Ciaran murmurs as we cross the rooftop terrace, “you’re going to tell me what the hell you were doing down there.”
I let out a tired sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “No, I won’t.”
“Oh yes.” His arm tightens around my waist. “You absolutely will, baby mouse.”