Chapter 11
Violet
Ifound Rowan half-asleep on the floor, his arms hooked over his head, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that contradicted the coiled restraint I’d seen at Oubliette.
He looked. . . vulnerable. The warrior, the shadow, the walking storm who’d stalked me all evening was sprawled like some fallen angel, all that lethal intention suspended in sleep.
Water trickled down my shirt, the damp fabric clinging to my skin in cold patches that should have sent me scurrying back to my room and leaving him behind.
But I couldn’t tear myself away from staring at him.
I devoured him with my eyes, if I was being brutally honest with myself.
His body was sculpted into perfection, all hard lines and symmetry that artists would murder to capture.
After I’d showered, I’d overheard two other girls in the bathroom whispering about him; about the “snowy white god” who’d taken up post outside the showers.
They’d giggled behind their hands, eyes bright with interest. One of them had said he looked like a statue, carved and waiting for his lover to wake him with a kiss.
Fairy tale bullshit.
I scoffed, though the sound stuck in my throat. Lover, my ass. Rowan was stubborn, infuriating, and absurdly overprotective; a new attitude I hadn’t witnessed before tonight.
Honestly? It reeked of obsession.
He’d hovered over me like I was some delicate virgin walking to a sacrificial altar, his eyes hunting every shadow, his body positioning itself between me and anything that breathed.
As if he had any clue what I already knew about Oubliette.
What I’d already seen. What had been done to me in my previous life, what had been done to that other body.
. . the body that sometimes felt more real than the privileged skin I’d been reborn in.
My shower had been long and deliberate as I scrubbed until my skin felt flayed, shaved until nothing remained to fuss over. The hot water had turned my flesh pink and tender, steam filling my lungs until I felt purged inside and out. I hadn’t thought for a second he’d wait for me. But there he was.
I crouched down next to him. His brow pinched, a small line creasing between his eyes, and for a split second he looked like he was scowling even in his sleep. That face. Gods, I knew it better than my own reflection at this point.
“Why can’t you just be nicer to me?” I whispered, a question I hadn’t meant to voice aloud.
My fingers turned traitor, reaching forward before I could stop them, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead.
The contact barely existed, almost reverent, and I hated the way my chest constricted with the act.
Like my body remembered what it felt like to touch someone who mattered.
The moment was shattered by noise, a slammed door followed by loud laughter in the hallway, and I yanked back as if I’d touched a live wire.
Rowan’s eyes snapped open in that exact moment, a predator roused from hibernation, pupils blown wide and searching.
His gaze locked on my face, then dropped, lower, lingering between my legs with an intensity that scorched.
Heat rushed to my skin as his eyes widened, consuming more of me than I should have permitted.
Loose shorts. No underwear. The cool air whispered against places I knew he could see.
I didn’t flinch or try to cover myself. I should have been mortified, an echo of modesty railing somewhere within me, yet the other side of me wished for more.
Don’t be an idiot, I told myself. He’s already watched us strip with those murdery eyes of his.
Still, the way his breath caught—for a fraction of a second—sent a jolt coursing through my veins before pooling hot and wet between my legs. Then just as quickly, the fortress walls slammed back into place. His face turned to stone, unreadable as an ancient text.
The mask of Rowan was firmly back in position.
“You took awhile,” he said flatly.
“I masturbated and thought of everything except you while you slept.”
He cursed, the word sharp as a blade. “Fuck, Violet. Can you ever not be a brat?”
I laughed, bitter and sweet all at once.
My thighs burned from crouching, already sore from the night’s performance, but I didn’t move.
The cold tile of the hallway bit into my feet, sending jagged pulses of discomfort up my legs.
I should have put my sandals back on. “If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t know what to do with me. ”
“But why, Violet?” Exasperation bled through his voice. I had half a mind to argue, to frustrate him more just because I could. But he’d waited for me. That counted for something. So I told him the truth.
“Because I know exactly what I want, Rowan.” And it’s you. The words nearly escaped before I caught them. “It’s a game to me.”
“A game?” He seemed genuinely confused.
“Wrong word.” I shifted, spread my legs wider, daring him to see exactly what I wasn’t wearing beneath these shorts. “This is my ritual, Rowan. A game of cat and mouse for my affections.”
His breath caught as his gaze slowly moved down my body. I saw it then, briefly, his pupils darkening. His whole body went still, the way a snake freezes before it strikes.
So even he can break, I thought triumphantly.
He didn’t move, eyes once again staring at me with a burning intensity. Then, slowly, he turned away. His jaw was tight, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. “The one who earns the most sacred parts of you is a lucky man.”
The unspoken words hung between us, heavy as stone: It will never be me.
He stretched then, long legs extending until his back gave a satisfying pop.
The sound cracked through the quiet hallway like a gunshot.
It slapped me with awareness of how solid he was, how much space he claimed without trying.
The scent of him—pine and something darker, earthier—invaded my nostrils with each breath.
“Don’t have a place to stay?” I taunted, arms crossing over my damp shirt, chin tilting high. The fabric stuck to my skin, cold and clammy, and my nipples ached underneath them. I kept myself haughty. Anything to mask how rattled I still felt from the way his eyes had roamed over me.
“I have an apartment nearby,” he replied, voice low and even, like my jab bounced off titanium. His words vibrated through the air between us, deep enough that I could almost feel them against my skin.
I let out a low whistle, mock-impressed. The sound pinballed off the narrow walls of the hallway. “Damn, Rowan. Charlie’s really splurging on his adoptee.”
That got me what I thought I wanted: pain.
His gaze bore into me and I felt it then, a heat in my chest that assured me I had struck something deep in his soul and the fire that raged behind his eyes flickered out until only an ember remained.
My mouth itched to keep pushing, to smother it until no light existed, a cruel instinct from a past life.
I hesitated, a pang reverberating in my heart, unwanted, but existing nonetheless.
It surprised me when my mouth snapped shut.
I guess an old dog can learn new tricks.
The silence stretched between us until the creak of a door broke it.
The sound grated against my ears like nails on a chalkboard.
A bleary-eyed girl poked her head out into the hall, her room reeking of stale coffee and all-nighter desperation.
“Hey, you two. It’s nearly one a.m. Can you keep it down, please?
Also, no visitors after ten p.m.” She eyed Rowan, as if assuming he had been someone’s booty call and not a student.
“Sorry,” I said while still looking at Rowan. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I stood quickly, my bathroom caddy clattering against the wall, plastic bottles knocking together. Embarrassment burned across my face.
Rowan rose more slowly, unhurried, unfolding from the floor with the kind of effortless grace that made him look even more out of place in the dormitory hallway.
The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the planes of his face.
“Ready?” His gaze lingered on me a fraction longer than it should have, unreadable, before he turned towards my room.
The walk back was quiet, heavy with everything unsaid.
His footsteps matched mine, steady, a shadow by my side.
At my door, he paused with his hand braced on the frame.
The wood creaked under his touch and I craved—in a momentary lapse of judgement—that it was me instead.
He looked as if debating whether to speak.
His voice, when it came, was soft but it cut clean. “You act like claws make you a volchok, Violet. But all I see is a kitten hissing at shadows.”
My breath stuttered, words failing me for once. The air tasted bitter in my mouth.
He dipped his head, something close to a smirk tugging his mouth, then turned and walked away, leaving me seething in his wake.
I shut the door behind me, leaning against it with my pulse still hammering against my ribs, the metal handle cold against my palm.
Rowan didn’t fight fair. He never had, which is why I was loath to accept he might be right when the next morning, the school had sent the entire campus an urgent email.
Student found dead in common area. Starting immediately, a curfew will be in effect.