10. Rowan
TEN
ROWAN
Rowan found Nicole in the witch room, sitting at a table covered in books alongside Vera, a white, redheaded witch who also consulted for the Valeros. Lane, who’d been silent since they’d left Cecile, hovered conspicuously by the door as Rowan told Nicole what happened in the café.
“Your hunger makes sense,” she said once Rowan finished explaining. “With the curse feeding off your magic and lifeforce, your body is working harder than usual. Especially to counter the deadly effects. I’m sorry, I should have realized this would happen and warned you.”
“I suspected as much. Don’t worry about it.” Rowan could feed himself without being told. “I only wanted to update you, in case it helped with the solution. Have you made any progress?”
Nicole’s apologetic look said it all.
“Then I won’t disturb you further.” He turned to go.
“Take care of yourself in the meantime, Rowan,” she called after him.
It was as if she’d been talking to Cecile. Rowan ground his teeth. He looked after himself perfectly fine and didn’t need anyone else taking up the charge.
He returned to his office, with Lane trailing along, and poured another glass of blood. On second thought, he brought the entire bag to his desk.
The formality of drinking from crystal failed to add its usual refinement.
Rowan felt beastly, his skin itchy as hot need thrummed through his cursed veins.
He steadily drained the bag’s contents, transferring portion after portion into the damned glass.
Gradually, his hot hunger faded, the itch in his skin and ache in his fangs slowly subsiding, but his thoughts were no less agitated.
How long would this last? Losing control in the café haunted him as much as last night’s dream. Was the curse responsible for both? Wearing on his mind as well as his body?
He’d neglected to mention the dream to Nicole.
When Rowan was finished, Lane approached and leaned casually against the edge of the desk. “What do you usually do to relax?”
“Nothing I’d do with you.” It was unnecessarily bitchy, but Rowan felt caged. Exposed. He’d warmed considerably to Lane, but rather than finding comfort in his growing trust, it made him want to run. Hide. Push Lane away and retreat to the safety of solitude.
Unfortunately, Lane didn’t take the snarky bait and responded without anger. “You’re stuck with me, so you’re going to have to make do. Come on, I’m sure we can find something.”
Rowan’s pulse spiked, his skin flashing hot. “Just because I’m stuck with you doesn’t mean I’m having sex with you.” His insides twisted. Damnation, why had he said that?
Before humiliation could threaten Rowan’s immortal life, color bloomed across Lane’s cheeks. Good. Hopefully, the shock of his remark would push Lane away.
Even though what Rowan really wanted was the opposite.
Caution entered Lane’s tone. “I wasn’t suggesting you have sex with me.” He paused, brow furrowed. “Is sex the only time you relax?”
Fuck, Rowan was giving everything away. He told himself not to answer, especially given Lane’s inquisitive stare. He wasn’t teasing or poking fun. He was trying to understand, and what was worse, a growing part of Rowan wanted to be figured out.
He shifted in his seat. Against his better judgment and all his usual safeguards, he admitted, “Sex is my main outlet.”
Lane nodded. “Surely we can find you some privacy. I could hang out in the hall and spell the room into silence.”
Rowan’s skin tingled hot with embarrassment, and he refused to find it pleasurable. He was not touched by Lane’s offer. It wasn’t sweet. There was no way in Hell he was asking one of his regular partners to play while Lane stood outside. “I don’t need that kind of relaxation. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” Lane’s voice was stern, his expression daring Rowan to argue.
Rowan never liked being a brat, so he kept quiet.
“There must be something else that helps you switch off?” Lane tried.
Rowan enjoyed dancing. It brought him into a near euphoric state of dissociation.
He loved performing for the right crowd, showing off on the pole, and knowing he was desired, but he’d never planned to tell Lane that his love of erotic dance was the reason he owned a strip club.
It would be a mistake to share such a real piece of himself. He was sure of it.
What would Lane think?
Rowan was different on stage, and only select friends had the privilege of witnessing him unguarded.
The crowds at the club didn’t count. Humans who saw Rowan as another in a line of dancers were safe.
Rowan liked humans. He was heavily involved in the magic world, but staffing the club with unaware mortals was deliberate.
It gave him space to be a person, not a vampire.
Maybe that was what he needed. Not a fuck. Not a dance. A break from this tangled magical mess.
“We could go to the club.”
“The strip club? Okay, yeah.” Lane sounded pleasantly surprised, which was promising. “I didn’t know it’d be open yet.”
“Don’t knock the dayshift,” Rowan said coolly.
“I wasn’t.” Lane held up his hands, adorably worried he’d caused offense.
“Good. The men’s stage won’t open until tonight, though.” Other than designated queer club nights where everyone danced on the downstairs stage, Arcadia operated as two separate clubs, and the men’s stage wasn’t open as often.
“No problem.” Lane frowned anyway, and Rowan wondered if he disliked the idea of seeing women perform. “I, um, don’t have any money.”
Ah, that could be a problem. “You lost your wallet along with your phone?”
Lane rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
“At least you aren’t the kind of guy who’d go to the club not planning to spend.” Rowan rose and opened a safe tucked behind his desk. “I’ll give you a loan.”
Lane laughed. “What’re the terms?”
Rowan’s lips twitched. He liked this. Fuck, whatever he was doing, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Putting up with me. No interest, and no need for repayment.”
Lane stepped closer. “I’m not putting up with anything. The curse isn’t ideal, but being around you isn’t so bad when you don’t think I’m a terrible liar.”
Rowan had no idea what to say. Lane didn’t mind his grouchy presence? Honestly? “Yesterday you were convinced I’d kill you.”
Lane shrugged, as if it were forgotten. “You didn’t want Caden killed, and Felix seems determined to save him even if it means looking after him.”
“Of course none of us want to kill Caden. We might have to look after him indefinitely if his feral side can’t be tamed, but that’s no reason to hurt him.
Ferals are usually killed for mercy. Their condition deteriorates no matter how much blood they drink, and they die in mindless agony, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake.
Caden is a miracle, not a problem, but what’s it got to do with you? ”
Lane gave him a look like he couldn’t believe he had to spell it out. “You and your coven are good people, Rowan. You do the right thing, and now you know I’m not an enemy, what’s there to be afraid of?”
All of the tension leaked out of Rowan, catching him off guard. He wasn’t screwing up everything after all.
You’re going to a strip club while your coven does all the work, you lazy shit, Cris’s unwelcome voice sneered in Rowan’s mind, and his muscles locked with a renewed vengeance.
To hide his sudden shame, he busied himself pulling money from the safe.
He had to ignore these intrusive thoughts.
Memories. Whatever they were, bringing long-dead opinions to life.
But, in this case, the Cris in Rowan’s head wasn’t wrong.
Rowan hated being told to relax when another feral vampire could be set loose to kill in his name at any moment.
They arrived at the club. Without windows, it was as dark as night, colorful lights flashing to the music. A group of men sat along the tip rail as a woman performed on stage. A few others hovered around, talking to more dancers. It was an okay showing for the time of day.
Rowan handed Lane his money. “Go nuts.”
Lane seemed unsure what to do. “Would you believe I’ve never been to a strip club?”
“Yes.” Something else occurred to Rowan. “The dancers don’t know about the magic world. Only the club managers are aware. We usually explain the rules to any witches at the door.”
“The bouncers were a bit distracted when I arrived. Must have slipped their minds.”
Rowan wasn’t fond of the reminder, or Lane’s forced lightness. He might feel safe with Rowan now, but there was no ignoring how dire his situation remained.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or is Rowan among us?” Charity, one of the floor managers, called as she sauntered over.
Rowan exchanged air kisses with her. “Darling. How are you?”
“Good. Good. It’s so nice to see you. Are you performing tonight?”
Dammit.
Lane’s eyes went comically wide before he got himself under control. He cleared his throat. “You dance?”
“Not tonight.”
Lane’s face fell, and Rowan couldn’t help a flush of excitement. Lane liked the idea of watching him perform. Maybe…
Rowan got an iron grip on himself. He didn’t want Lane to appreciate this side of him.
Nothing too real or vulnerable. Rowan already craved Lane’s favorable attention far too much, the desire mixing with his physical attraction, spawning fantasies of Lane’s hands not only pleasuring him, but holding his fragile heart.
Needy, that evil voice reminded him. Clingy.
Rowan had no desire to embody those unattractive qualities.
They pushed love away, and the speed with which he went from Lane might like to see me take my clothes off, to Lane might love me, alarmed him.
He hadn’t changed at all in the last hundred years, no matter how much he tried to shove his neediness into a dark corner where it couldn’t hurt him.
It was usually easier to ignore his soft side. Why was it surfacing so relentlessly? What was it about Lane that brought out every single one of his hidden desires?