Chapter 19
The wind pulled at Riven’s coat as he sat on the crumbling edge of the rooftop.
The night haze wrapped the city in that strange, sickly orange glow—the color of rusted dreams and broken promises.
This rooftop used to be his, once. When he was running jobs for petty crews and sleeping under the stars, telling himself that freedom was worth the cold.
Now it felt like a museum exhibit behind glass.
Cassian stood a few feet away, arms folded, his eyes flicking between the skyline and Riven’s back. Luca was pacing behind them, quiet for once, his usual humor dimmed by the heaviness in the air.
“I need,” Riven said, voice tight, “a place to get fucked up.”
Cassian raised a brow. “You mean drunk?”
“I mean whatever you’ve got,” Riven muttered. “Booze. Noise. Strangers. I need to forget for a few hours. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before your leash tugs.”
“You’re not on a leash,” Luca said, though it sounded more like a warning than comfort.
Cassian, after a long moment, gave a small nod. “We know a place.”
They led him down the fire escape, through alleys that still reeked of piss and city grime, until the lights got uglier and the sidewalks more cracked. The bar was barely marked—just a flickering sign above a warped door that read “NO GODS ALLOWED.”
Riven smirked. “Charming.”
Inside, the place stank of sweat and whiskey. The lighting was dim, the music low-end techno vibrating the floors, and the crowd was the perfect blend of dangerous and desperate. Bodies packed the booths and bars, and the moment the three of them walked in, heads turned.
The bar was a hole in the wall—low ceilings, smoke-stained walls, and music that rattled the teeth in your skull. The booths were cracked leather patched with duct tape, and the tables were scarred with years of carved initials and spilled drinks.
The crowd here was rough—dockworkers, off-duty mercs, washed-up mages who smelled of sour spells and old regrets.
No one wore colors. No one carried the gleam of House magic or privilege.
It struck Riven, how free this place felt—no one here had marks burned into their skin, no invisible tether yanking them back to some ancient family’s boot.
That thought made his fingers twitch unconsciously toward the small of his back.
He could almost feel the Virellien mark pulsing, reminding him he didn’t belong here anymore.
Cassian and Luca probably always drew attention, and certainly did tonight. One man leaned in toward Luca immediately, murmuring something with a lewd grin. Luca just laughed, drank what was handed to him, and disappeared into the crush of bodies already dancing.
Cassian stuck close to Riven. “Don’t wander far.”
“I’m not a fucking child,” Riven snapped, ordering a drink from the bartender—something blue and burning.
They settled at the bar, and Riven tossed back the first drink like it owed him money. By the second, his edges had started to blur, and by the third, he was warm enough to smile again. It was easier to pretend for a moment that the weight of House Virellien wasn’t pressing into his spine.
Cassian didn’t drink much. He leaned against the bar, expression unreadable, letting a few interested partygoers hover near. He was beautiful in a cruel, sleek way—like something forged instead of born. His braids glinted in the light, catching eyes even when he didn’t return their attention.
Riven noticed people watching them, and he liked it. For a while.
A tall guy with sharp cheekbones and an easy grin sidled up next to Riven. “Haven’t seen you around before,” he said, voice smooth. “You with them, or…free agent?”
Riven let his eyes wander, let himself feel something as his gaze traced the line of the man’s jaw. “What if I’m a free agent?”
The guy’s grin deepened. “Then maybe I buy you a drink and see where the night goes.”
Cassian was suddenly there, hand on Riven’s shoulder, voice flat. “He’s not available.”
Riven blinked. “Excuse me?”
The guy looked between them, confused. “Is he your—?”
“No,” Riven cut in sharply. “He’s not. I can speak for myself.”
Cassian didn’t flinch. “It’s for his own good.”
The guy hesitated, reading something in Cassian’s tone, and then backed off with both hands raised. “No offense meant.”
He vanished into the crowd, and Riven spun on Cassian, half-drunk and fully pissed. “What the fuck was that?”
Cassian’s gaze didn’t budge. “You think Thane would let him live if he touched you?”
Riven’s throat tightened. The truth in that hit like a punch. “So I’m not a prisoner, just property. Got it.”
Cassian’s voice softened just a hair. “That man wouldn’t have walked out of here. You know it. I’m not doing this for him. I’m doing it for you.”
That made it worse somehow, and Riven had to turn away, heart thudding too loud for the music to cover.
He ordered another drink.
Cassian didn’t push him after that, just stood watch while Riven let himself sink further into the rhythm of the music, the burn of alcohol.
He tried dancing for a bit—badly, but it was the first time he’d laughed in days.
Luca found him there, grinning like a demon, and pulled him into a spinning mess of movement and sweat and close bodies.
For a while, Riven forgot.
But it didn’t last.
Even drunk, even in the middle of a crowd, he felt the collar tightening—not physical, but no less real. Thane’s presence haunted him like a second heartbeat. He caught himself scanning the room once, stupidly wondering if the Beast had followed, if that intense stare would find him in the dark.
He told himself it would be a relief if Thane never showed up again. That the silence was a gift.
And yet, every time the door creaked open, every time a shadow moved past the edge of his vision, his breath caught.
It was pathetic.
He told himself he was just being cautious. Watching for enemies.
But the truth tasted bitter—some part of him was hoping it would be Thane who stepped through the door. Thane with that cruel mouth, that brutal gaze, those impossible hands. The Beast who’d carved his way under Riven’s skin.
Riven stared into the swirl of his drink, his throat tight. He was already lost, and he knew it.