Chapter 33 Rowan
?ROWAN
The rain began to fall harder, clashing against the roof of the castle. His fingers hovered over the piano keys, the sky darkening. He’d shift soon, turn into who he truly was at heart. “I am a beast,” he grunted to himself.
He wasn’t sorry for kidnapping Barth. Wasn’t sorry for what he was going to do to him. And he sure wasn’t sorry for pleasuring Paeonia when no other man ever had.
He should be, though. He should feel guilt and shame. She was so innocent, so inexperienced and shy, and yet, he did something like hike her skirts up in front of a man she almost married.
And he’d do it again.
He slammed his hands down on the keys, the shrill cacophony echoing throughout the room. She had looked at him with such disgust, such disdain, that he feared he might never break this curse. He’d torn his one chance to shreds. Why did he torture himself so?
He stood from the bench and strolled over to the window, studying the way the murky clouds made the sky turn a dusky navy, thunder rolling in the distance.
He wished for snow, wished to be trapped within these walls, nowhere else to go.
But of course, the harsh winter winds had subsided momentarily, letting a rainstorm come in its stead.
Loud stone footsteps rose in volume until they landed in the foyer. Rowan didn’t have to turn his head to know it was Castor. He kept his swears to himself, wishing Castor would go away for once without Rowan having to curse him out.
“It’s Paeonia,” he panted as if he had been running.
Droplets danced along the window pane. He didn’t want to talk about her. Not right now.
“Did you hear me?” Castor repeated
“Unfortunately, I always hear you.”
Castor strangled a noise of annoyance. “She’s run away.”
Rowan’s hand clenched briefly before relaxing again, his gaze now turning to face Castor. “And?”
Castor looked taken aback, like he couldn’t believe the cursed and evil fae wouldn’t care where his pretty little captive was. “This time she wasn’t taken by the Eldritch. She left of her own accord.”
Something primal flexed in Rowan’s chest. Something that told him to chase after her and claim her. To make it so she’d never think she could leave his side again. But that was the beast talking.
“Rowan,” Castor said with pure exhaustion, “you only get one mate! If you lose her, you’ll never break this curse.”
The fireplace flamed to life. “Then, I suppose I’ll stay here forever!” he shouted.
Castor let out a sickening scoff. “You’re a terribly selfish bastard. You know that?” He shook his head, disapproving of his friend.
Rowan sat against his desk, arms crossed. “I’ve dragged her back here before. I’ve given her what she’s wanted—made these tedious bargains. And she still left. That makes me selfish, because I’m letting her go? If she wants to leave so badly, who am I to stop her?”
Castor must have expected more rage from Rowan because he almost sounded disappointed. “You were so close,” he gritted out.
Rowan raised his brows condescendingly. “Yeah? Perhaps I could get her body to want me. But never her heart. She’s made that much clear. If she wants to be rid of me so desperately, I’m going to let her.”
Castor mirthlessly laughed, turning to leave the room. “Laurus was on to something when he said you were a narcissistic, self-sabotaging prick.”
He left the doorway, leaving Rowan to sulk.
Rage coursed through him. Clacks sounded against the window, and Rowan moved to look.
The rain had begun to turn to ice, to hail.
He knew Paeonia would be freezing out there, but even that wouldn’t draw her back.
How pathetic he would be if he begged her to return—forced her to stay with him within the castle.
No amount of forced servitude would make his mate fall for him.
He’d stay cursed forever. And he had accepted that long ago.
When he first smelt Paeonia’s skin, when it registered within him that he found his mate, that she was staring wide-eyed back at him, he felt no excitement.
He didn’t fill with hope or see his future where he was freed from Lyth.
What good would that do him? What would he do if he was free to leave this human-filled realm?
Go back to the Alder Court? There was no other place for him.
If he didn’t belong here, he certainly didn’t belong anywhere else.
Rowan climbed the stairs, his horns having sprouted, nightfall engulfing the castle. He strolled aimlessly, ready to lay awake all night.
When he turned a bend in the corridor, he was faced with Paeonia’s guest chambers, and a deep growl rolled through his chest. “Why have you taken me here?” he snarled at the castle.
Silence.
He rolled his neck, knowing the castle guided him to her room for a reason, and it wouldn’t direct him to his own chambers until it got what it wanted. He grumbled to himself before shoving her door open and entering her bedroom.
He was immediately swathed in her scent, his chest tightening in pain.
The longer he was away from her, the more his body ached and fought to find her.
He gripped her bureau, sighing. He quickly glanced about the room, nothing out of the ordinary, ready to storm back into the hallway, when a small book caught his attention.
He reached for it, removing the earrings that sat atop. A tiny ribbon wrapped it, a card with his name attached.
To Rowan
Love Pae
A gift…for him. He swallowed, anger fluttering inside his chest. “Pae,” he repeated aloud. The name she claimed to hate. Yet, that is how she signed the card.
He shifted the ribbon so he could read the title of the book, and he swore under his breath. His claws dug into the leathered cover. His teeth made an appearance as he snarled.
Maybe she had fallen for him after all.
How to Be Charming: A Mortal's Guide to Courtship and Etiquette