Chapter 59 – Rowan
ROWAN
Iwake to a familiar scent: a thick musk of leather and citrus.
The memories flood in.
The forest. Ayer dying. Healing him. The dark, intoxicating rush of power. A starless night. Gray eyes seeing everything… seeing me.
I bolt upright, my breath catching in a sharp gasp when pain sears at my side, protesting the sudden movement. I whimper softly, my fingers finding my bandaged ribs. Light, how long have I been out? The last thing I remember, I was in the forest.
I scan the room, panic threatening to rise when all I find is darkness. Then I spot the candle burning in the corner, its tiny flame keeping the shadows at bay. My lungs remember how to breathe as my eyes slowly adjust.
As the room sharpens into focus, the relief is short-lived. I go utterly still, dread tightening in my chest when I see him.
Ayer sits across the room, silent and still—as still as fae. With his elbows braced on his knees, he fixes his gaze on me. When our eyes meet, he leans slightly forward. His usual cold, hard expression is missing; instead, it’s replaced by something else—something unfamiliar.
Is that concern I see in his eyes?
We stare at each other in silence for a few more long beats before I clear my throat, working up the nerve to speak.
“Where are my clothes?”
The clothes I’m wearing aren’t mine. Beneath the blankets, my bare legs brush against the sheets; the only thing covering me is a long, dark tunic that hangs to the middle of my thighs. The scent of leather and citrus clings to the fabric. Ayer’s, I’m certain.
I throw the blanket aside and force myself upright, unable to hide the wince that flashes across my face. Pain protests as I twist toward the edge of the bed. I need to get out of it. I hate lying here—vulnerable—while he’s over there watching me in all his menacing glory.
I shift my weight toward the edge of the bed, ready to stand, but I hesitate. Exhaling a shaky breath, I lift the oversized shirt to inspect the clean white cloth wound snugly around my waist.
“Hayes stitched it up.”
My eyes snap to his; the unexpected softness in his voice caught me off guard. His scent is everywhere—overwhelming me.
“Take it easy,” he murmurs when I shift a little more weight to the floor, then he rises to his feet and steps closer. He’s careful to keep his hands where I can see them.
My eyes drop instinctively to his side, to where his wound should be—the mirror of mine.
“I’m fine,” he says, following my gaze and my thoughts.
It’s only then that I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I nod, exhaling shakily while shifting uncomfortably on the bed and dropping my gaze.
“I shouldn’t be.” His eyes lift. “I should be dead.”
I feel the intensity of his gaze on my cheek, though I refuse to meet his eyes. He knows. My stomach turns, and a wave of dizziness swims through my head at the revelation. My secret. I swallow hard, schooling my face before lifting my eyes to his.
“What a shame,” I say lightly, looking up at him between my lashes, testing the waters, though my words land heavier than they should.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I live to disappoint,” he says as he steps closer, and my heartbeat quickens, my breath catching as he lightly grazes a finger along the thick bandage at my waist, tilting his head to the side as he peers down at me.
“Unfortunately, it looks like I’m stuck with you too. ”
His touch is featherlight, but every muscle tenses beneath it. He pulls them away too soon. A small smile tugs at my lips despite myself, and we stare at each other for far too long.
Clearing my throat, I break our shared gaze to scan the room again, not recognizing it. “Where are we?”
“Still in the village.” Ayer drags a tired hand through his hair. My gaze travels over him, taking in the dirt ground into his skin and the dried blood still marking his clothes. “My men are tending to the wounded and helping the remaining villagers with whatever else they need.”
His men. Not him. I take in his strong scent. It fills the room, lingering on my skin and hair. He hasn’t left this room.
“A few raiders escaped into the woods; I sent some men out to hunt them down. I want to make sure the village is safe before we pull out,” he continues, oblivious to how I’m only half listening.
“How long was I out?” I rub my eyes, fighting the overwhelming urge to lie back down and sleep for days.
“About a day.” Ayer studies me, noticing the way I waver slightly where I sit. “You should get some more sleep.”
Tempting, but I shake my head, inching further to the edge of the bed while bracing myself for the pain I know getting up is going to earn me. “No, I want to help.”
Ayer places a hand on my shoulder before I can stand. Gentle—but firm. “It’s the middle of the night. There’s nothing you can do right now except rest.”
Irritation flames through me, and the urge to fight him rises for half a beat before exhaustion shoots it back down. I release a heavy sigh before sinking back into the bed.
“Fine.”
Ayer nods once, satisfied, before turning back toward the door.
Panic whirls. “Are you leaving?” The words spill out before I can stop them.
He freezes, looking back over his shoulder at me. “I thought you might like some privacy…” He trails off, gesturing with a hand toward the door.
I look around the little room again. The dark shadows in the corners seem to grow darker, looming ominously. “You can’t…” I don’t even know what I’m asking him. “I…” I drop my gaze. “I don’t want to be alone,” I whisper. My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment.
Ayer stands frozen, silent as stone. My heart sinks as he moves toward the door. For one horrible second, I think he’s leaving anyway, but he doesn’t. He stops in front of the door instead. The lock clicks as he slowly slides it into place.
Ayer undoes the leather strap of his sword belt, removing the weapon from his body and leaning it carefully against the wall.
I just sit there, watching in rapt silence as he strips off his leathers piece by piece, laying everything neatly across the table.
When he’s down to only his blood-soaked tunic, he pauses. His fingers curl around the hem, hesitating for the briefest moment before he pulls it over his head, leaving him in nothing but his breeches.
My breath stutters, and something deep within me twists.
His tanned skin is golden in the dim candlelight. The dark ink of his rune tattoos ripple over the defined muscles of his arm and chest, and my fingers twitch with the sudden urge to trace them.
I don’t dare breathe as he comes back toward me, moving to the other side of the bed, carefully pulling back the blankets before slipping in beside me. I lie back, keeping my eyes firmly on the ceiling when the mattress dips with his weight as he makes himself comfortable beside me.
When he’s finally still, I exhale slowly, releasing the breath I’ve been holding until I’ve mustered up enough courage to glance beside me, finding Ayer on his side. He’s got one arm slung over his head, eyes closed.
I roll slowly to my side, giving him my back and a few more inches of space. My eyes stay open, my throat tight, and I’m far too aware of every breath we both take as I try to lie as still as possible.
Several minutes pass with neither of us moving.
A deep sigh, laced with frustration, is my only warning before the bed shifts and Ayer’s arm snakes around my middle, carefully avoiding the bandaged area, before dragging me backward against his chest.
I gasp, attempting to scoot away, only for him to pull me right back.
My body fits perfectly against his, and I feel him curl protectively around me.
His arm relaxes, draping over me casually while keeping me pressed firmly against him.
Warm breath brushes lightly against my ear, and I think I stop breathing entirely when he whispers, “Stay, Rowan.”
The way he says my name, in that deep, lilting accent of his, is dangerous. Something heats low in my abdomen. Ayer’s hand moves to mine, his fingers tracing over my knuckles far more gently than I would have ever thought him capable.
I have half a mind to shove him away, but instead of pushing his hand off mine, I curl my fingers around it instead.
His body is warm and familiar, and I feel safe—protected. The dark room with its shadowy corners is barely a thought with his arm holding me.
Sleep beckons, and I concede, giving into it, giving into… him. And somewhere between one breath and the next, I fall asleep.