27. Cato
Cato
My mouth is dry, and the faint taste of smoke lingers on my tongue as I shove my face deeper into the pillow. For a few blissful seconds, I don’t remember anything. Then it all crashes back in vivid, humiliating color.
The bonfire. Flirting with Lirien because I knew Aryn was watching.
Egging him on, waiting until Aryn snapped, then climbing into his lap like a desperate animal and grinding on him in front of everyone.
Whispering filthy things against his neck while begging him to be mine. Letting him undress me, and…
Oh gods.
My stomach crashes to my feet then flies back into my throat so fast I gag, and heat floods my entire body.
The room spins as I sit up too quickly, swinging my legs off the edge of the bed and staring down at my bare thighs.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth when I swallow, like some sort of evolutionary response telling me to keep fucking quiet. I risk a glance behind me.
Aryn is awake, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching me with calm, careful eyes. “Cato…” he starts, voice soft.
My eyes snap back to the floor. I can’t possibly look at him right now. Overheated, boiling blood crawls up my neck and ears as my stomach clenches, and I wobble when I stand.
“I need a minute,” I rasp.
“Cato, wait—”
I ignore him and hurry into the washroom, slamming the door behind me. I lean back against it, eyes squeezed shut.
Fuck.
I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my hips, the heat of his breath when his mouth got so close to mine.
The vindication of making him jealous and how fast I fell apart as he watched.
How I begged him to kiss me, then to touch me, then to stay with me afterward.
I was every bit as needy as he accused me of being.
Kitten.
Every word I said replays like a broken record. Even now, mortified as hell, they sit right on the tip of my tongue. I don’t even know if I meant them, but I wanted to.
I want to.
Golden light flares through my eyelids, and I drag my hands down my face to stare at the mark on my arm. It feels like a taunt, and I don’t know whether I love it or hate it. My eyes shift to the sunrise outside the window. I can’t stay locked in this bathroom forever.
After a minute, I force myself to move. I strip and step into the shower, cranking the water as hot as it will go. The heat helps a little, but it doesn’t wash away how good it felt to let him take control. It doesn’t change how safe I felt curled up against his chest.
When I finally step out and wrap a towel around my hips, I feel slightly more human.
I begrudgingly wash my clothes from last night and wring them out.
I guzzle a glass of water from the sink, brush my teeth, then stare at my reflection, knowing I can’t hide in here any longer.
Eventually, I brace myself and open the bathroom door.
Aryn waits exactly where I left him. His expression is cautious as he looks at me, but I can tell he’s not going to let me get away with this shit.
He nods toward the table. “Sit.”
Something in me reacts to the calm command in his voice. I hesitate for half a second, but instead of fighting it, I cross the room and drop into the chair.
Aryn doesn’t speak right away. It’s just us and this fucking quiet, and I’m no better than an addict, twitching and jonsing for some noise to fill these empty spaces.
When it starts to be too much and I’m about to break this silent standoff, he slips into the bathroom and comes back with a clean towel.
He steps behind me, the heat of his body nearly overwhelming as I brace for whatever he’s about to say.
But he doesn’t talk yet.
He dries my hair, movements slow and so fucking careful. The quiet intimacy of it makes my chest feel tight. He rakes through the damp strands with his fingers, then uses my comb to work out every tangle without pulling.
I stare at the floor, cheeks burning.
“You’re embarrassed,” he says, focused on my hair.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “No shit.”
He’s quiet for another moment, carefully combing through the tangles. “Thraeva affects people differently. Some don’t always remember things clearly.”
I swallow hard, recognizing the out he’s offering. If I said I didn’t remember, he’d let it go and never bring it up again.
But I remember all of it.
Every needy sound I made. Every desperate roll of my hips. Every whispered plea against his neck.
Every fucking word.
Aryn sets the comb down and runs his fingers through my hair one last time, smoothing it back from my face. His touch is so gentle, and I realize, with a strange mix of panic and relief, how much I like this—sitting here letting him take care of me. Letting him lead.
His chest fills my line of sight as he steps around to stand in front of me. He picks up the grooming kit he bought yesterday and tilts my chin up with gentle fingers. My eyes meet his, searching for the anger he has every right to feel, but there’s only patience.
“Hold still,” he murmurs.
I obey without thinking.
He works on my beard with quiet focus, carefully shaping it with the comb before trimming the stray hairs. Every soft scrape of the scissors and brush of his fingers against my jaw feels far too intimate for how raw I am right now.
“You always take such good care of this,” Aryn says quietly. “I noticed it even before we got here. No matter how rough things get or what you’re doing, you manage it.”
I swallow, throat tight. “Yeah, I… it…”
He nods like he already understands my fumbling. “I know. You don’t like people seeing what’s underneath.”
My stomach twists. He’s always been too damn observant.
His fingers tighten around my chin as he guides my eyes to his. “How long has it been since anyone has seen beyond your surface?”
“A really long time,” I admit in a whisper.
Aryn sets the scissors down and picks up the straight razor.
He lathers a bit of soap along my neck and jawline, then begins shaving me.
The blade glides over my skin in slow, deliberate passes.
He wipes it clean after every stroke, tilting my head exactly how he needs it.
The whole process feels almost reverent.
I stay perfectly still, barely breathing.
After a long silence, I blurt, “It’s because of the scars.”
Aryn pauses, razor hovering just above my skin as his eyes flick up to meet mine.
“You heard the story,” I continue, voice rough. “All they are is a reminder of what I lost. When people see those scars, they want to know what happened. They want me to exchange my grief for their curiosity, and the beard hides it so they can’t fucking ask.”
“It helps you forget what you lost.”
“Yeah,” I rasp.
He’s quiet for a moment, then continues shaving with the same gentle care. “You don’t need to hide them from me, but I understand why it matters to you. I can help you keep it neat, if you want.”
The tenderness in his voice hurts, and I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know how to do any of this. So instead of answering, I just nod.
Aryn finishes the last pass along my neck, wipes the remaining soap away with the towel, and runs his fingers over my jaw to check his work.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t step away, just stands between my knees, staring down at me with that patient, knowing look that always makes me feel exposed.
“Do you want to talk about last night?” he asks softly.
My heart riots against my ribs, and panic surges through me so fast my hands start to shake. “No,” I say, too quickly. “I don’t.”
Aryn’s ears flick back. Something pained flashes across his face, gone almost as fast as it appeared, but I still catch it. The hurt in his eyes makes my chest ache like someone punched me.
I hate it.
I hate that I’m the one who put it there.
“I just—” I start, then stop, unsure how to explain what’s happening inside my head.
I want you.
I’m terrified of you.
I don’t know if I can be what you need.
I don’t know if I’m even capable.
I don’t know if I have that much inside me.
Aryn stays quiet, waiting. He always waits for me, and that patience only makes the guilt worse.
I drag a hand through my hair, eyes fixed on the floor.
Part of me wants to bolt. The other part—the louder part right now—wants to crawl back into his lap and let him take care of it.
It wants to pour every decision into his hands and have him just tell me what to do.
The contradiction is exhausting.
Aryn deserves someone steady, not someone still figuring out how not to run when things get real. He isn’t casual. He’s all or nothing, and I’ve spent a lifetime making sure I never have to be anyone’s all.
But when I think about walking away from him, something inside me recoils so violently it scares me.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say, voice rough. “I just… I can’t talk about it right now. I’m not ready.”
He nods once, but the hurt look in his eyes stays with me after he turns away. “We need to pack,” he says, voice so fucking clinical as he turns his head just enough for me to see his profile, then nods toward my nearly naked body. “Get dressed. Our clothes should be dry.”
I climb out of the chair to chase after him. “Aryn…”
“We’ll eat in the pub downstairs before we go,” he continues. “Get one last hot meal before we’re on the road again.”
I shove my legs into a pair of boxer briefs and step closer. “Aryn, come on.”
He whirls around to face me, his composure cracking. “What, Cato? What more could you possibly demand from me right now?”
My eyes go wide and my mouth drops open, but I can’t find anything to say.
“I haven’t pushed you,” he continues, tail snapping behind him. “I’ve given you all the space you’ve asked for, and I only ask for one thing in return. Over and over again, I’ve told you I won’t take you in fractions, but you keep trying to give them to me.”
My temper flares as my defensive walls slam back up. “You said we didn’t have to talk unless I was ready.”
He goes so quiet for a moment that I think he won’t answer. “So you remember what you said?” he finally asks. “Everything you said?”
“My head wasn’t clear, and you know that.”
He shakes his head, more agitated than I’ve ever seen him, as he shoves a hand through his hair. “You keep doing this. You give me these pieces of yourself, then take them back, and that isn’t fair. Not to either of us.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose,” I snap, but as soon as the argument leaves my mouth, I realize how weak it sounds.
“What if I’d said yes last night?” he demands.
Shame closes my throat and makes my eyes burn as they drop to the floor, but Aryn isn’t done.
“What if I’d fallen into that bed with you and given you everything you wanted, then stood here this morning as you told me it was a mistake?
Did you even think about what that might do to me? ”
“No,” I mumble.
“Selfish human,” he hisses, taking a long stride closer and gripping my chin, so much rougher than the way he held me just minutes ago.
“You might be used to taking whatever you want in life and discarding it when you’re done, but not with me.
I said I wouldn’t be your regret, but that doesn’t mean I’m yours to throw away when things get too complicated.
I am patient, but I am not your toy to play with when you see fit. ”
“Aryn—that’s not… I—”
“When is the last time you thought about anyone but yourself?”
It would’ve hurt less if he’d stabbed me right through the heart.
After a lifetime of telling myself I’m the selfless one, that I’m the one giving up everything for the people around me, the realization that I’ve done nothing but take from him nearly drops me to my knees.
I stagger backward until my legs hit the edge of the mattress and sink down, face dropping into my palms.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, but it’s barely a whisper this time.
A shadow falls over me, followed by a long sigh, then his hand is back in my hair. He brushes it with cautious fingers like he just can’t stay away. “We need to go, Cato.”
Not rha khor. Not wildfire.
Certainly not kitten.
Just Cato.
“Yeah, okay,” I agree as I stand, refusing to meet his eyes.
We finish dressing and pack in silence, but it’s no longer comfortable.
It’s loaded with everything I need to say and don’t know how, and filled with every old wound I’ve ripped open on us both.
Once our bags are full, we step out of the room.
He holds the door open for me.
Despite the mess I’ve made of everything, he’s still putting me first.
I never cry, but right now I want to. Instead, I push the urge down deep and only give him a tense nod. Downstairs, the pub is quiet. Aryn returns our key to the innkeeper, and I spot the others at the same table we used for dinner last night.
“You doing alright this morning?” Cameron asks as I sit across from him. “Eyes look a little red.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
A plate of food drops in front of me—a large, steaming chunk of meat, a block of deep yellow hard cheese, and a vine of deep magenta fruit the size of large grapes. I glance up to find Aryn standing there, carrying his own breakfast.
“Thanks,” I offer softly. He nods, then walks to the other side of the table and sits beside Ronan.
My heart sinks a little further.
Cameron whistles quietly, eyes bouncing between me and Aryn. “What’d you do to get the cold shoulder?”
“Nothing,” I grunt as my eyes drift over to Aryn. His are fixed on me, but I can’t hold them for long. I stare at my plate, appetite suddenly gone.
“Yeah, that’s believable,” Cameron snorts through a bite. “He still got you that good breakfast, though.”
“I… what?” I ask, fork hovering in front of my mouth. I glance around the table to see everyone else eating bowls of oats.
Cameron must sense my confusion, because his snark drops a notch, and his voice gentles. “He wants to take care of you. I don’t know if it’s the mark or just their instinct, but even when he’s mad, he’s going to do it. He can’t help himself.”
I look across the table at Aryn. He’s quietly eating his bowl of oats, but I can tell he’s paying attention. Even now, after everything I said—and didn’t say—upstairs, he made sure I had something better than the rest of them.
The guilt gets heavier.
I want to tell him I’m sorry again, but the words stick in my throat like broken glass. So instead I just eat the breakfast he brought me, tasting nothing. Every bite feels like another debt I don’t know how to repay.
When we finally stand to leave, Aryn falls into step beside me without a word.
His shoulder brushes mine once, deliberately, in what feels like an apology for something he didn’t do.
We walk out of River’s Rest and back into the cold morning air of Thralune, then pass through the gates to face the long road ahead.
I don’t want to lose this.
I don’t want to lose him.
But I’m not sure I know how to keep him, either.