Chapter 12
The morning came too fast.
Riven woke to the taste of copper and sweat in his mouth, muscles stiff from yesterday’s mission—and maybe from the other thing he wasn’t thinking about.
He dressed in silence, jaw tight, refusing to let his mind wander.
Refusing to see the flash of heat in Thane’s eyes.
The curl of his fingers around that glass wall.
The estate was quieter than he expected for mid-morning. There were people moving about the place occasionally, but they moved with a quiet efficiency, focused on their tasks.
He was halfway to nowhere in particular when a sharp whistle sliced the silence. He turned to find one of the twins leaning against a doorframe like he’d been waiting for him.
“Thane says I’m to break you in,” the twin said.
Riven blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
The twin grinned, showing sharp canines. “Training. What did you think I meant?” He straightened and stepped forward, offering a casual hand. “Cassian.”
He was hard to miss—tall and lean, all lithe muscle under a loose black tank and low-slung combat pants.
His skin was a deep, glossy black, sweat already beading along his collarbone from whatever warmup he’d been doing.
His golden eyes caught the light, eerie and striking against the darkness of his complexion.
His hair was tightly braided back from his face in intricate rows, neat and clean and functional.
Effortlessly predatory, like he moved through the world already knowing he was faster, better, deadlier.
Riven didn’t take the hand.
Cassian didn’t seem to mind. “Suit yourself.”
He turned without waiting and tossed a towel over his shoulder. “Gym’s this way.”
They moved through winding halls and down a flight of stairs until they reached a lower level that felt older—less showy.
The gym was spartan and enormous, with reinforced flooring and high ceilings.
Steel racks lined the walls, packed with weapons in every shape and form.
One end was ringed for sparring. The other had enough open space to stage a small war.
Cassian kicked off his boots at the edge of the mat. “You warm up, or am I starting you cold?”
“I’m not delicate,” Riven said.
Cassian grinned like he hoped that was true.
The first hit came too fast.
Riven barely ducked in time, and even then, Cassian’s palm skimmed the edge of his jaw. Riven struck back, but Cassian moved with a speed that made it pointless—twisting, ducking, rolling his shoulder out of the way like he’d already seen the blow coming a mile off.
Every move was clean, controlled and efficient. And somehow, every hit Cassian threw stopped just short of landing.
The sparring dragged on, a slow dismantling of Riven’s pride.
Cassian never hit him full-on, but he didn’t have to.
He circled, teasing at weak points, forcing Riven to defend rather than attack.
Riven swung wide. Cassian caught his wrist, twisted, and dropped him to one knee without so much as breaking a sweat.
“Is this what passes for training in the Seam?” Cassian asked, not cruelly, but with a tilt of curiosity that made Riven’s blood boil.
“Fuck you,” Riven panted, driving back up with a punch that Cassian sidestepped like it was nothing.
They went again. And again. Every time, Riven was outmatched. And every time, Cassian pulled back at the last second, leaving just enough space for Riven to wonder what would happen if he didn’t.
By the end of it, Riven was soaked through, shirt clinging to him, chest heaving. His hair stuck to his temples, and sweat dripped down his spine.
Cassian stood across from him like he’d barely broken a sweat, arms crossed, golden eyes glinting.
“You’re fast,” he said. “But you burn too hot. You don’t think ahead. You move like a man who doesn’t care what happens to him.”
Riven straightened, unsteady. “Maybe I don’t.” It would explain why he’d offered himself up to this house of horrors.
Cassian nodded slowly, then tossed him the towel. “Then you’ll fit in just fine.”
Cassian turned away to grab a water bottle, his movements still lazy and precise, like he hadn’t just put Riven through a private hell. Riven followed slower, every step aching.
“How long’ve you been doing this?” Riven asked, toweling off the worst of the sweat.
Cassian didn’t look over. “Since before I knew what it meant to kill someone.”
Riven blinked. “So…a while, then.”
That earned a quiet laugh. “Depends who you ask.”
Riven leaned against the nearest wall, letting the cool stone soak into his overheated spine. “What about this place? The Virellien compound. You and your brother, you live here full-time?”
Cassian finally glanced at him. “This is our home.”
“You were born here?”
“No,” Cassian said, not unkindly, but with a tone that made it clear he was choosing his words. “We were taken in. Years ago.”
Riven frowned. “By Thane?”
Cassian nodded.
That needled at something in Riven. “Why?”
Cassian studied him for a long beat, as if weighing how much to share. “Because he saw us bleeding in an alley and didn’t look away.”
Riven’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
Cassian shrugged. “You don’t know him.”
“He doesn’t strike me as the ‘rescue stray kids’ type,” Riven said. “More like the ‘spot a weapon in the wild and bring it home to polish’ type.”
That, surprisingly, made Cassian smile. “Maybe. Maybe he saw what we could become. But he’s never tried to own us. Never judged us, either.”
“For what?”
Cassian’s silver gaze flicked sideways. “For what we are. Half-breeds.”
Riven’s stomach tightened. It wasn’t an uncommon slur. Not in the Seam. Not in the Houses. Some bloodlines were considered purer than others. More elven, less human. Riven had never given a shit, but he’d seen how brutal the world could be to anyone who didn’t fit neatly into a box.
“I didn’t know,” Riven said quietly. The twins looked full elven, unlike Riven, who looked wholly human, the magic that coursed through him the only evidence of his heritage.
Cassian shrugged again, more careful this time. “Most don’t, until they do. And when they do, they treat us different. But Thane never has. Not once.”
That silenced Riven for a long moment. He stared down at his boots, sweat dripping from his jaw, breath starting to even out.
“I thought people like him only cared about strength.”
“Oh, he does,” Cassian said, walking past him toward the door. “But he doesn’t think blood defines it.”
Riven didn’t follow right away. He stayed leaning against the wall, trying to reconcile that image of Thane—cold and brutal, with blood on his hands—with the one Cassian had just handed him. A younger Thane, kneeling in a gutter, offering two kids a way out.
It didn’t make sense. And yet, that was Cassian’s reality.
The worst part? He wanted to know more, about Thane. He wanted to ask Cassian a dozen questions about who Thane had been back then. Who he was now. But that was dangerous, because every piece of Thane he uncovered made it harder to hold onto the hatred that kept him sane.
Riven shoved off the wall, grabbed the towel, and followed Cassian out.
He wasn’t done bleeding for answers.
Together they walked into the locker room. The room was sleek and utilitarian—industrial stone walls, matte black lockers, and ambient lighting low enough to feel like a den. The showers lined the far wall behind frosted glass dividers, steam curling in lazy tendrils over the tops.
Riven’s heartrate picked up, because this room was very similar to the shower the night before.
Cassian peeled off his damp shirt without ceremony, revealing a sculpted torso—long lines of sinew and lean muscle. His back bore old scars, thin and silvery, barely visible under the sheen of sweat. Riven tried not to look.
Failed.
Cassian was stunning in a way that made Riven’s chest tighten—angular features, high cheekbones, full lips, and a body that walked the line between dancer and predator. Wet strands of dark hair clung to his neck as he tossed the shirt aside and unfastened the ties of his training pants.
Riven swallowed and forced himself to look away, but not before getting an eyeful of a thick cock and heavy balls hanging between Cassian’s legs.
He yanked off his own shirt with a little too much aggression.
His skin was flushed and overheated, muscles twitching from exertion.
He shoved his clothes into a locker and stepped into the nearest empty shower stall.
Water blasted from the ceiling like rain as the motion sensors triggered. The temperature was perfect. Riven braced his hands against the wall and let it pound down on the back of his neck, trying to clear his head.
He could hear Cassian under the spray a few stalls down, humming softly—something low and old and strangely calming.
It should have been easy to focus on the gorgeous man showering nearby. Should have been easy to let his eyes drift over slick skin and strong shoulders if Cassian stepped into view. But all Riven could picture—like a fucking infection spreading through his mind—was Thane.
Thane’s mouth curled in a smirk.
Thane’s voice, rough and low, saying, “I already know you won’t.”
Thane’s eyes locked on him like they owned him.
Riven swore under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. Water streamed down his chest, but it didn’t cool him. His cock was already half-hard, like it remembered what he’d done the night before—and who had been watching.
Gods, what’s wrong with me?
There was a perfect man within reach—naked, wet—and Riven’s body still pulsed with the memory of another man’s gaze. The power in it. The restraint.
The way Thane hadn’t touched him, and it still felt like possession.
He gritted his teeth and turned his face into the spray.
Cassian’s humming stopped.
“You good?” the twin called out casually, voice echoing off the tiled walls.
“Fine,” Riven said quickly.
Cassian didn’t press. Just turned the water off with a hiss and padded back to the lockers. Riven stayed under the spray a little longer, letting it scald him, trying to drown the heat under his skin.
But the truth was simple and maddening. It didn’t matter how gorgeous Cassian was, Riven didn’t want him.
He wanted Thane.