A Foregone Conclusion
When we step back into the hallway, Rowan confidently sets his hand to the small of my back, leading me away from the dining room. His touch makes my skin buzz with building need, and my thoughts scatter.
He guides me further down the hall, past a door marked ‘Employees Only’. It swings open before we even reach it. I hesitate for half a second.
Rowan doesn’t.
The kitchen hits all at once. Heat. Noise. Bright white light. The warm scent of grease and coffee. The sheer activity feels overwhelming. I definitely don’t belong in here. I try to fall back toward the door, but that firm hand guides me forward.
“Rowan,” I start, my voice low. The fear of being caught somewhere I’m not supposed to be makes it hard to breathe properly.
“Keep moving,” he murmurs, close enough that I feel the words more than hear them.
There’s something in his tone that makes it easy to listen. Not a single head turns as we pass through the narrow space, and my mind starts to reel. Can they see us? The stark white of the commercial kitchen doesn’t lend itself to the cover of shadow as Hill House did.
Then I notice it, the shadows are wrong. Where they should be, under the hood fan or the dish pit filled with stainless steel pans, any hint of dimension is absent. They can’t see us. My lungs fill with air again.
We reach the far end of the kitchen faster than we should. Another door. Metal this time. Unmarked.
He pushes it open.
The noise cuts off immediately, and the air changes as the frantic energy gives way to the sound of midnight in a sleepy town outside the service entrance of a diner. The sound of stillness.
Then the chill starts to bite into my skin. I curse under my breath. My jacket. It takes less than a second for me to abandon the notion of going back for it. It will be easy enough to come back tomorrow when there isn’t the chance of running into Elias again.
It only takes another second for the notion of needing it to be rendered entirely unnecessary.
Warmth envelopes me as Rowan moves into my space, the hunger in his eyes driving the persistent need that has been building between my thighs up in intensity.
It’s as if his proximity redirects all of my senses.
“Rowan.” I don’t know if I’m asking him for more or less.
“Two words, Burn.” But he forces me to be the one to choose. “Six letters.”
“Kiss me,” the thought crosses my mind that I might be losing my only bargaining chip, then all thought ceases as his mouth crashes against mine.
The kiss is magical. His lips are soft and inviting, and a white-hot current runs through me as we meld together. My arms automatically wrap around his neck, and his fingertips flex and dig into my hips as he pulls me closer to him.
I’m kissing Rowan Downs. I could lie to myself and say that my desire for this has been mild at best, but there is no point. More importantly, I could have never in my wildest dreams imagined it being so good.
This is bad for me. I barely register the thought before his tongue presses against mine, making my legs tremble.
It feels like the world is falling away beneath us, and my skin tingles everywhere he’s making contact with me.
I’m hyper-aware of his hands pulling my lush body tight against him and the cool feel of a brick wall behind me as he cages me in with his powerful frame.
His tongue commands my mouth, seeming intent on shorting out my thoughts, making me roll my hips against him and drawing out a low growl from his throat.
At this moment, I can’t imagine why I would have ever thought it was a good idea to deny myself something so decadent.
As my hips roll again of their own volition, he wedges his knee between my legs, giving me some much-needed friction.
I want so much more, but the distant sounds of life around us force me to remember a level of decency.
Still, my body responds to him with a deep hunger, and I let out a soft moan as our kiss intensifies. I feel like I could stay in this moment forever, lost in the heat and passion between us.
Eventually, we break the kiss, both of us a little breathless. Rowan’s eyes lock onto mine, and I can see consuming, carnal need burning within them. I know that he wants me just as much as I want him.
“Auburn, I’m fighting for my life here. We need to stop.”
That certainly does not feel like a possibility. Especially with the desperation that clings to his tone, making my brain stutter. If that wasn’t enough, the rigid outline of his seemingly giant cock against his trousers is.
“I’m assuming you can make it so nobody sees us?”
I can’t not be touching him, and he doesn’t resist when I pull him closer to me by the waistband of his trousers. He lets himself lean forward, his forehead resting against mine.
“I can.” He grits out the words like he’s in pain.
If I can’t shoot my shot now, there is literally no possible right moment.
“Then maybe you should pin me back against the wall and do everything you’re fighting against.”
“I can’t.” My stomach tightens uncomfortably as I brace for rejection.
“Oh-” I let the word trail off.
“I won’t pretend like I can’t stop thinking about how good those pants of yours would look on the ground with me between your thighs, Auburn. Gods, I’ve been thinking of that for the last year.”
My heart lifts, and I allow myself a glimmer of hope.
“You saw me at Hill House,” he says the sentence as though it’s an answer.
“Yes, I did,” I respond cautiously.
“In my true form.” I nod, recalling the vague shape of a humanoid void, like negative space in 3D.
“I wasn’t afraid of you.” I’m surprised at how honest that feels to say. I hadn’t actually thought about it, but fear didn’t cross my mind.
“I know.” He lets out a shaky sigh.
“But you saw me, and you’ve been drawn to Hill House. The same way I’ve been drawn to you.”
I nod.
“If I claim you, you’ll belong to me.” I laugh at the silliness of the sentiment.
“Yes, that’s usually how that works, Rowan.”
He laughs too, but it’s bitter.
“There’s a reason I’ve kept myself at arm’s length, Auburn, and a reason people have tried to keep you away from Hill House.”
“I don’t understand.”
His jaw sets, but his eyes soften as he pulls back to see me properly.
“I can’t maintain this form indefinitely.”
The implication is chilling. I can’t help but search his face for a sign of the being from Hill House, the absence of light. He just looks like Rowan, not a single trace of inhumanity trying to break through.
“Then don’t,” It comes out more forcefully than I mean it to. If I need to put aside a shallow notion of human beauty to get the answer and the boy, I’m happy to do it. I certainly don’t fit the common beauty standard myself.
A quiet, humourless huff of laughter escapes his lips. “That’s not how this works.”
“Then explain it to me,” I press him. “You said you would.”
Rowan’s expression tightens. Then his hand comes up, slower this time, brushing along my cheek before settling at the side of my neck as tentative fingertips ghost over my skin.
I feel my cheeks heat before I can calm myself.
I wonder if he knows how many times I’ve fantasized about wearing his hand as a necklace.
He freezes as he searches my face intently.
“If I lose control,” he says quietly, “This doesn’t stay… this.”
He gestures to himself vaguely with his free hand.
“I’ve already seen Rowan. What I need to know is what it means. Maybe you could start with what you are?”
His thumb presses lightly against my pulse point, as though he’s measuring something.
After a few seconds, he lets his hand drop to my waist, apparently satisfied.
I notice he seems to need to be touching me at all times, like now that we’ve finally broken that thin veil of friendship and civility, he’s making up for lost time.
I feel the same.
I shake my head slightly, trying to keep the lust at bay just long enough to get at least one straight answer out of him.
“You’re right, but it’s not so cut and dried. I’m more night than human. It’s a family trait,” he replies with a shrug.
That almost makes me laugh.
“Rowan,” I sigh, reaching out to rest my hand on his chest. “You’re not giving me a lot to work with, and yet I still want you.” His eyes darken, and I can tell he believes me. I feel it in the way his control slips for just a second and the way the air around us shifts.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“Then make me understand.”
There’s too long of a pause as his gaze searches mine, sharp and assessing, cataloguing my reactions for hesitation. Fear. Anything he can use to justify walking away.
He doesn’t find it.
“Not here,” he says finally, the words rougher now, strained at the edges. “Once you know everything… just, not here.”
A slow, steady heat curls low in my stomach.
“Take me where you want to go.”
His hand slides from my waist back up my body, then more focused as he traces the long line of my neck to my chin, his thumb brushing languorously across my bottom lip like he’s memorizing it.
“You have no idea what you’re agreeing to,” he murmurs.
“Probably not.”
I don’t look away.
“Still, yes.”