Chapter 39
Rowan couldn’t open her eyes.
Darkness surrounded her, pressing against her. She strained her eyes, turning her head, searching for even a shade of paler gray in the blackness.
There was none.
She dragged in a rough breath, but the air was foul and damp, rot and animal musk and blood. So much blood. The breath turned into a sob and she lurched forward onto her hands and knees. There was nothing but grit beneath her fingertips. The floor was cold and uneven.
She had to get out of here.
She had to get out before the witch recovered.
Asher was gone. He’d left her behind. And Casrian… She choked on another sob. Casrian wasn’t coming. He’d only ever been worried about saving his men. He wasn’t going to come for her now that he had Asher safe.
The chains on her wrists scraped across the stone.
Her searching fingertips grazed against cold metal.
She closed her shaking hands around the rusty bars and hauled herself up, every muscle in her body protesting the movement. Her burned hand screamed in pain where it was pressed against the flaking iron.
The door was closed. Locked tight.
No.
Why had Asher left her behind? She’d trusted him. Why had he locked her in here with this thing?
The witch had stopped burning. She could still smell the smoke, but she couldn’t see even an ember. It was still. Dark. Quiet. But she knew she wasn’t alone in the cell. She knew the witch wasn’t dead.
Something moved behind her. A thread of soft laughter twisted through the darkness.
She spun around. “Stay back. Get away from me.”
A whisper of sound like dry skin rubbing together.
“Don’t.”
Another soft laugh. “Little witch, why do you run from me? I am not your enemy.”
That voice wasn’t real. It hadn’t happened this way. Asher hadn’t left her behind. She’d escaped this cell. She’d gotten out.
Casrian killed the witch. He wouldn’t lie about that.
“You’re dead.”
“Your little soldier couldn’t kill me. He’s ruined my doll, yes. But I remain. I can always find another doll to play with. There are so many of the broken things scattered about.”
A finger stroked down her cheek. Burning. Cold. So cold.
“This isn’t real.” She pinched her eyes closed until sparks lit behind her eyelids. “Not real. It’s not—”
Arms closed around her and she fought back. Hard hands grabbed her wrists, pinned them to the bars.
“I’m real,” the witch said. “No matter what your witch hunter tells you. You know the truth.”
She tried to twist away. A heavy weight fell on her, holding her immobile.
“Get away from me.”
“No, little sapling. I’m not going anywhere.” A breath of soft laughter danced across her lips. Foul breath. It tasted like rot. Like death. She tried not to draw it into her lungs, but it was no use. It filled her anyway, sank deep. “I’m coming for you. You and your witch hunter.”
“No.”
“Oh, yes. Keep him close. Close as a secret. Close as a heartbeat. I’ll reach right through you and claim him too.”
The witch loomed closer and Rowan screamed. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t see anything. She struggled to break free.
There was a grunt.
A voice.
Light.
It was the light that made her hesitate. There was a shadow above her. Her wrists were pinned to a mattress, not metal bars. The room was very dark, but a wash of moonlight spilled through the windows. It was a man holding her down, not the witch. Firelight outlined the shape of his body.
“Rowan,” Casrian said, his voice firm, hoarse. “You’re all right. It’s a dream. You’re safe.”
A shudder ran through her, and she stilled. Her breath came in harsh pants. She was in Casrian’s room, on his estate. Not in a cell. Not in the woods. She was lying on the softest bed she’d ever slept in.
Safe.
She was safe here.
Casrian stared down at her, breathing heavily. His eyes glittered in the darkness. “Are you awake?”
“Yes.” Though a part of her felt like she was still back in that place. Like she would always be back in that place.
Slowly, he released her wrists and pushed himself off her. He ran a hand through his hair as he sat back on the bed. His thigh pressed against her hip, warm and solid and real. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. You were thrashing around. I didn’t want you to hurt your hand.”
“I’m fine. I was having a nightmare about…” She shook her head. Just thinking about that place brought it closer. She wanted to forget it. “I’m all right. What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”
It was late. She could feel that. The house was quiet. She remembered her mother bringing her tea for the pain. She’d fallen asleep with her mother still in the room speaking quietly with Asher. They’d probably drugged her even though she’d asked them not to.
“Everything is fine. I came to check on you and drifted off in the chair. You cried out in your sleep.” He started to get up. “I can leave—”
“No,” she said quickly, reaching out to grab his hand, fumbling it because of the stupid bandage. “Don’t go.”
She saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he hesitated. “I shouldn’t be in here with you alone at night.”
She dropped her head back on the pillows. “Haven’t we already settled this? Your rules don’t apply to me.”
He didn’t smile. “Those rules are meant to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection from you.”
She felt that with a certainty that was unshakeable, which was funny. He’d probably hurt her more than anyone else in her life. And he had the power to hurt her again, badly if she let him.
But she didn’t want him to go.
That dream clung to her. She could feel it hiding in the shadows of the room just waiting for her to close her eyes again.
He settled back on the mattress. His hand fell to her arm, his thumb tracing little circles on the skin above her wrist. “You wouldn’t be lying here wounded if it wasn’t for me.”
She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t put me here, Casrian. Is that what you were doing tonight? Sitting in the dark and feeling guilty?”
It seemed like something he might do.
His thumb stopped moving. “I needed to know you were all right. I thought I lost you out there. When they told me the witch had taken you, I…” A shadow crossed his face and he looked down at her bandaged hand.
“I couldn’t sleep tonight anyway. I lay down in one of the guest rooms for a while and I just stared at the ceiling. ”
She remembered him saying he’d never slept in a room by himself before. “Too quiet for you?”
“Something like that.”
“Stay here then,” she said. “You don’t have to sleep in the chair. It’s a big bed.”
“Rowan…”
“I promise I won’t sully your virtue.”
Some of the tension eased out of him and he seemed to come to a decision. He stood up and crossed to the door, which he locked before moving to the fireplace. He placed another piece of wood on the dull embers. The firelight lit his outline as he turned around.
He wore breeches and an untucked shirt. His feet were bare. He looked strangely vulnerable without the uniform. Less like a hero, more like a man.
When he returned to the bed, he gingerly crawled over her, careful to avoid her bandaged hand. He stretched out beside her on top of the covers.
“Did you lock the door to protect my reputation or yours?” she asked as she curled on her side to face him.
“My reputation is already tarnished,” he said with a grimace. “I tried to storm the fort when I heard you’d been taken. I attacked Emrys for putting you in irons.”
“You did not!”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Daris helped stop me. They held me down until there was a plan in place. We intended to distract the witch, attempt to lure her out. I wasn’t supposed to go inside. We were waiting until morning to attack.”
“I’m glad you came when you did.” They would have been dead by morning.
His smile faded and he lifted a hand to cup her cheek. His brow furrowed as his thumb slid along the curve of her cheekbone.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
He huffed a laugh. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It was my fault you were out there in the first place.”
“It was my choice to go into the woods. It was a job. I knew the risks. You owe me money, by the way.”
“I’m good for it.”
She knew he was. She also knew he was going to keep feeling guilty that she’d gotten hurt until long after her wounds had healed. It was one of the things she liked about him—that protective, honorable streak. But she didn’t want him to feel guilty about things he couldn’t have done anything about.
“You should try to sleep,” he said, curling an arm around her waist and pulling her in close. His warmth seeped through the blankets. His scent was a familiar comfort. She nestled up against him and felt something settle inside her. But she wasn’t quite ready to go back to sleep.
“Why did you ask if you could call on me tomorrow?”
It had been bothering her all day, wondering what he wanted to talk about.
He hesitated a beat and sighed. His breath stirred her hair. “We need to talk about what happened between us in the woods.”
“Do we?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Then let’s talk.”
They were both here, awake, and she’d rather just get it over with.
She was glad she couldn’t see his face right now.
She could just hear the steady beat of his heart and feel the stroke of his hand down her back.
They lay like that for several moments, her cheek pressed against his chest. His chin on her hair.
When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly.
“When we were in the woods, I told you about how witches can distort your perception of reality. I told you that being inside the circle of their influence can make you feel things you wouldn’t otherwise feel. Do things you wouldn’t otherwise do. Convince you that something is real when it isn’t.”
“I remember.”
“Sometimes you don’t know until you’re out of the influence what was real and what wasn’t. The witch is dead. We’re out of the woods now and I need to know: do you regret what happened?”
“No.”