Chapter 22
Thane’s voice cracked across the infirmary, silencing even the low hum of the medical equipment. His eyes were twin storms locked on Cassian, whose face remained impassive, posture straight even as the air thickened with menace.
Cassian didn’t flinch. “Apologies, Lord Thane.”
That was it. Calm, even. But Riven could feel the tension coil tighter.
“No.” Thane stepped forward, and for a moment, Riven thought he might hit him.
“Apologies don’t bring back the dead. Apologies don’t keep you from dragging someone we marked to a fucking Glint-ridden pit of a bar.
You put him in open territory, and now we’ve got a barely alive sniper mage in Glint clothing, and you’ve got a wounded brother. ”
Riven’s jaw tightened, the remnants of alcohol and adrenaline churning in his gut. “It wasn’t Cassian’s idea,” he said, stepping forward. “It was mine. I asked to go out. They didn’t have a choice.”
Thane turned on him so fast it knocked the air from Riven’s lungs. He expected a slap, a snarl, something to put him in his place. But Thane didn’t raise his voice. He just said, low and deadly, “They always have a choice.”
Riven couldn’t look away from the fire in his eyes. “So blame me.”
“You’re not the one sworn to the House.”
That stung, more than it should’ve. Riven’s hand curled into a fist. “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”
Aeris cut in with surgical precision. “If you’re planning to shed blood, Thane, take it out of my infirmary. I just had the floor cleaned.”
Their voice didn’t rise. They didn’t blink. But it was enough to make Thane stop and redirect the full brunt of his glare toward them.
“This is your fault too,” Thane snapped. “You should’ve had someone ready to take the Glint bastard straight to containment.”
Aeris gave him a cool smile. “I’m a doctor, not a jailer. You want someone on call for prisoner transport, talk to the Matriarch.”
Thane stared them down, jaw clenched, muscle twitching at his temple. Then he turned and stormed out, the doors slamming against the wall on his way.
For a second, no one moved.
Then Riven was after him.
The hallway outside was dim and silent, lit by flickering crystal sconces that cast long, stretched shadows on the walls. Thane’s boots echoed ahead like gunshots, but Riven kept pace, jogging a few steps to catch up.
The tension in the infirmary hadn’t left his body; it had only shifted, knotted lower in his stomach. He jogged into the dim hallway, the cool air hitting his flushed skin, but it didn’t help. Thane’s footsteps were a furious rhythm ahead of him, echoing down the corridor like a drumbeat.
“Thane!” Riven snapped. “Stop walking away from me.”
Thane didn’t stop immediately—but eventually he did. Halfway down the corridor, he halted, spine straight, shoulders like steel rods under his coat. He turned slowly, his expression stormy.
“I said, stay out of it.”
“You don’t get to say that after barging in and tearing Cassian a new one. I was the one who left the estate. I was the one who asked them to take me out.”
“And I was the one who should’ve been with you,” Thane growled. “You think I don’t know that?”
Riven blinked, thrown. “Then why weren’t you?”
The question hung heavy in the air, and Thane’s jaw flexed. He didn’t answer directly. Instead, his gaze swept over Riven, lingering in a way that made something low and hot bloom behind Riven’s navel.
“Did you miss me?” Thane asked softly.
Riven scowled. “No.”
“Liar.”
Thane took a step forward.
“I can smell it on you,” he said, voice rough velvet. “Did you spend all day trying not to think about me? Trying to forget what it felt like to kneel? What I tasted like on your tongue?”
Riven opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Color flushed his face, neck, chest. He couldn’t stop remembering the press of Thane’s palm on his shoulder. The taste of him. The shameful, dizzying want.
“Was the alcohol enough?” Thane asked. Another step. His voice was close now, dangerous and low. “Did it burn the memory out of your mouth, or just make you crave more?”
“Stop,” Riven whispered.
But Thane was already stepping into his space. Riven felt the wall at his back before he realized Thane had moved that fast, crowding him into it. His breath hitched. Thane’s hands braced on either side of his head, boxing him in without touching him. His eyes glittered like sharpened glass.
“Did you wish I’d walk into that bar?” Thane murmured. “Did you spend the whole night looking at the door, hoping the Beast would come collect you?”
Riven said nothing. He didn’t have to. Thane could see the truth of it all over him.
“Thought so,” Thane said, with the barest curve of a smile. His mouth was inches from Riven’s now. “You don’t even know what you want, do you?”
Riven hated the way he shivered at that. Hated how true it felt.
“I think you want someone to tell you what you are,” Thane continued. “What you’re for. But the question is, are you bold enough to take it?”
Riven’s breath came in shallow pulls, chest rising and falling too fast. The scent of Thane—smoke, steel, power—wrapped around him like a chain. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. All that came was hunger.
And inevitability.
“I hate you,” Riven said hoarsely, even as his hand curled in Thane’s shirt.
Thane only smiled, predator-slow. “Then stop thinking about me.”
Riven didn’t. Couldn’t. Instead, he surged forward and crashed his mouth to Thane’s.
The kiss landed like a gunshot in the silence.
And the rest would burn.