Chapter 25 #2
Footsteps retreated down the hallway, followed by silence. “Okay,” his voice echoed from what had to be the kitchen. “Try again.”
I dropped my voice to barely a breath. “You can’t possibly hear this.”
“You cannot possibly hear this.” His response came back without hesitation, and I heard amusement coloring his tone even from that distance.
My heart kicked up, pulse jumping in my throat. No. There has to be an explanation. He’s bugged his room. That was it. Hidden microphones somewhere near me, and he was wearing wireless earbuds.
Except I was only in a bodysuit, which couldn’t hide any device. And from my position facing the door, I saw his discarded shirt on the floor, his jeans folded over the chair. No pockets to hide electronics. No earbuds were visible when he’d been standing in front of me moments ago.
“Close the door,” I called out. “Go into the hallway and close that door too.”
“Violet, I am in nothing but sweatpants.”
“So? This will only take a second.”
“As you wish, volchok.”
He came back to close the bedroom door, then I heard his muffled footsteps retreating. I felt more than heard the front door close. I sat in silence for a moment. My pulse hammered loud in my ears, my breathing shallow and quick. The rope pressed into my ribs with each inhale, grounding me.
This is insane. This is absolutely fucking insane. But a part of me—the part that had already accepted my own impossible rebirth—whispered that maybe, just maybe, the world was stranger than I’d allowed myself to believe.
I licked my lips. Dropped my voice to the barest whisper, so quiet I could barely hear myself. “Rowan. . . I want you to fuck my slutty mouth and choke me with your thick cock.”
Silence.
My heart raced, heat flooding my face despite being alone. The words hung there, filthy and desperate and true. I waited, counting my own panicked heartbeats.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Nothing.
Finally. Finally, I stumped him.
Relief and disappointment warred in my chest. Relief that he wasn’t actually some superhuman freak. Disappointment that—
The bedroom door opened.
Rowan stepped through, his pale eyes locked on mine with an intensity that stole my breath. He crossed to me in three strides, each step deliberate and predatory. When he reached the bed, he bent down, bringing his face level with mine.
“I will not shout that for the neighbors to hear.” His voice had gone rough, gravelly with want. “But I would be happy to oblige your request, volchok.”
The bottom dropped out of my stomach.
“You—” I started, my voice strangled. “You heard that?”
“Every word.” He straightened, and I tracked the movement with wide eyes. “Every filthy, desperate word.”
“That’s not possible.” But even as I said it, I knew I was lying to myself. “You bugged the room. You have—I don’t know, hidden microphones or—”
“Where would I have hidden them on you, Violet?” He gestured at my bound form. “You are wearing practically nothing. I am wearing practically nothing. No earbuds. No phone. No device to hear you with except my own two ears.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. My mind raced through possibilities, desperate for a rational explanation that would let me cling to the world I understood.
There wasn’t one.
“You really heard me,” I said finally, the words coming out smaller than intended. “From the hallway. Through two closed doors.”
“Yes.”
“That’s. . .” I struggled to process it, this fundamental shift in what I thought was possible. “That’s not normal, Rowan.”
“I know.” He moved behind me, and I felt his fingers resume their work on the rope. “But it is real. And it is how I knew that woman in class was not human. How I know when you are nervous, or angry, or,” his voice dropped lower, intimate, “when you want me.”
Heat flooded through me despite the creeping unease. “What do you mean?”
“Your heart.” His hand pressed against my back, right over where my heart hammered against my ribs.
“Right now, it is beating at approximately one hundred beats per minute. When you are calm, it runs closer to fifty. When you are nervous, around seventy. When you are angry with me—which is often—it spikes to one hundred and ten.”
His fingers trailed up my spine, following the rope’s path. “And when I touch you like this, when you want me, it races. One hundred and twenty, perhaps one hundred and thirty. I can hear the exact moment desire takes over.”
I shivered, goosebumps racing across my skin. He could hear all of that. Could track my body’s responses in real-time, could know what I felt before I even admitted it to myself.
“That’s. . .” I searched for words, my thoughts tangling. “You can hear everything.”
“Not everything.” His hand settled on my shoulder, warm and steady. “But enough. Heartbeats. Breathing patterns. The rush of blood through veins if I am close enough.”
“So you’ve just been. . . listening to me? This whole time?”
“Not deliberately invading your privacy, if that is what you are asking.” He came back around to face me, kneeling so we were eye level.
“I cannot turn it off, Violet. My enhanced hearing is always there. But I can choose what I focus on, what I pay attention to. I have taught myself how to lower or increase the sensitivity of my hearing. Otherwise? I would go crazy.”
“And you pay attention to me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” No hesitation. No shame. “I pay attention to you because I care whether you are safe, whether you are afraid, whether you are in pain.” His hand cupped my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone. “And because when your heart races like it is now, I know you want me as much as I want you.”
My breath caught. Because he was right—my heart was racing, my pulse thundering in my throat, my body responding to his proximity and his words and the knowledge that he could hear every single physical tell I had.
It should have felt invasive. Violating. Like he’d been spying on me without permission.
But instead, it felt. . . intimate. Known. Like he saw parts of me I’d been hiding and didn’t flinch away.
“You really can hear my heartbeat right now,” I said softly.
“One hundred and twenty-four beats per minute and climbing.” A smile tugged at his lips. “You are aroused, Violet. Your body gives you away.”
“That’s. . .” I shook my head, trying to organize my thoughts. “That’s creepy, Rowan.”
“You are not the first person to tell me that,” he said with a small laugh, the sound warm despite the heavy conversation. “Well, you wanted to know how I identified the shifter. This is how.”
I swallowed hard, acutely aware of my naked vulnerability in front of him. The rope held me but didn’t hide me, and knowing he could literally hear my body’s responses to him left me feeling exposed in ways that had nothing to do with nudity.
“So the girl. . .” I forced myself back to the original topic. “You think she killed that student?”
“I think she might have been involved, yes.” His expression turned grim. “She smelled of blood, Violet. Fresh blood. Not her own—too much of it, too strong and it was within the last twelve hours.”
The implication settled over me like a shroud. “And you were going to. . . what? Confront her?”
“Identify her. Follow her if possible. Gather information.” He shrugged. “But you pulled me away before I could get close enough to see her face clearly.”
Guilt pricked at me. “I thought you were flirting with her.”
“I know.” He smiled, no trace of recrimination. “Your jealousy was apparent.”
“I wasn’t jealous.”
“In the classroom, your heart rate spiked from seventy to one hundred and twenty in a few seconds. You were very much jealous, princess.”
I wanted to argue, but he’d literally monitored my cardiovascular response in real-time. There was no point in lying.
“Fine. I was jealous.” The admission tasted bitter. “Happy now?”
“Oddly, yes.” He returned to his rope work, and I felt him making final adjustments. “Though I would prefer you simply ask me questions rather than assume the worst.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” I couldn’t help the edge in my voice. “You assume the worst about everything.”
“Because I have learned that assuming the worst keeps you alive.” He tied off what felt like a final knot, then stepped back to assess his work. “But I am trying to be better. With you.”
The vulnerability in those last two words tightened my chest.
“Have you had any luck at the club?” He changed subjects with the smoothness of someone deliberately redirecting. “Finding information about your target?”
I considered lying, keeping my cards close. But he’d been honest with me about his hearing. The least I could do was return the favor.
“I’ve heard whispers about something called the Second Circle.” I watched his face carefully. “Dancers talk about it like it’s some kind of exclusive club within the club. But nobody will give me details.”
Every muscle in Rowan’s body went rigid. His eyes—previously warm with affection and desire—went cold and hard as winter ice.
“Second Circle.” He repeated the words like they tasted foul. “You need to stay away from that place, Violet.”
“Why? What is it?”
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” His tone had gone flat, final. “If dancers are mentioning it, they are either trying to recruit you or warn you away. Either way, you do not go there. Ever. Are we clear?”
I bristled at the command in his voice. “You can’t just tell me to avoid something without explaining why.”
“I can, and I am.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The Second Circle is not a place for mortals who value their sanity and souls. That is all you need to know.”
“But—”
“No.” The word came out sharp enough to cut. “This is not a negotiation, Violet. You do not go near the Second Circle. You do not ask about it. You do not accept any invitations if they are extended. Promise me.”
“I am not a child, nor do I need protecting.” I yanked away from him, my breathing shallow.
“Violet, you need to—”