Chapter 12 Kiren
KIREN
The quiet inside the apartment feels different from any quiet I’ve known tonight.
At the warehouse, silence meant danger was gathering just beyond sight.
Here, the quiet is ordinary. Warm air circulates through the vents.
The faint scent of clean linen hangs in the space, untouched by gunpowder, cold metal, or blood.
Rowan exhales slowly beside me. The sound is quiet, but it feels like the final release of tension her body has been holding since the warehouse.
I turn my head and look at her. She stands just inside the entryway where she stopped when we came in, her shoulders slightly slumped beneath her coat.
Damp strands of hair cling to her temples and the back of her neck.
The bruises along her arms have darkened into deep shades, and the faint scrape along her cheekbone stands out more clearly now under the warm light.
She looks smaller than she did in the warehouse. Not fragile, just tired in the way that lingers deep in the bones after too much fear and too much adrenaline.
For a long moment, I simply look at her. Confirming what my eyes already know. She’s here, alive, and close enough that if I reach out my hand, I can touch her.
Rowan rubs her palm slowly across her face, dragging it down over her mouth and chin before letting it fall to her side again.
“I think my body is finally realizing it’s over,” she murmurs.
Her voice has that rough edge people get when exhaustion finally catches up with them.
My eyes move over her again, slower this time, studying the way she holds her shoulders and the way she moves her weight slightly from one foot to the other.
“You’re still standing,” I tell her.
“That feels like a small miracle right now.”
Her mouth lifts faintly at the corner, though the expression fades almost as soon as it appears.
I step closer. The floor barely makes a sound beneath my boots.
When I reach her, I stop a step away and lift my hand.
My fingers brush the sleeve of her coat before sliding upward until they rest lightly against her upper arm.
The warmth of her skin beneath the fabric sends a quiet pulse of relief through my chest.
“Come on,” I murmur.
Rowan studies my face, her eyes searching mine as if she’s trying to read the next few minutes before they happen.
“Where?” she asks curiously.
“Bathroom.”
One eyebrow rises. “I’m capable of finding that on my own.”
“I’m aware.”
I guide her down the hallway anyway. The apartment remains quiet around us.
The men stationed outside already confirmed the perimeter twice before we came in, and I checked the security feed myself before unlocking the door.
Nothing moves within twenty feet of this building without my knowing about it.
Rowan walks slowly beside me, her steps careful but sure.
When we reach the bathroom, she pauses in the doorway and glances around.
The room is bright and clean, the marble absorbing the overhead light.
Thick towels hang neatly beside the sink, and the deep tub along the far wall waits empty and cold.
Rowan turns toward me. “Kiren,” she begins, lifting one hand slightly, “I can take a shower—”
“No.” The word leaves my mouth before she finishes the sentence.
She blinks once.
“You’re not showering,” I continue, stepping past her and reaching for the faucet. “You’re sitting.”
Water begins filling the tub in a low rush that echoes softly off the marble. Behind me, Rowan exhales slowly through her nose.
“You do realize I’m not a wounded soldier,” she remarks.
I test the water temperature with my fingers, letting it run over my skin briefly before adjusting it. “You were dragged across a warehouse floor,” I say, my back teeth clenching.
“That’s not exactly the same thing.”
My head turns just enough to look back at her. “Sit.”
Rowan continues to watch me. Then she shakes her head faintly, a tired sort of amusement slipping into her expression. “You’re impossible.”
“Probably.”
She moves toward the tub and lowers herself carefully onto the edge. I open the cabinet beside the sink, take out a clean towel, and set it within reach.
The tub continues filling. Steam begins to curl faintly above the rising water. Rowan glances down at the bruises along her arms, touching one lightly before looking back at me.
“You know the doctor already checked everything,” she points out.
“I know.”
“And they confirmed I’m fine,” she adds, lifting one shoulder in a tired shrug.
“They did.”
“So, this is unnecessary.”
I shut off the faucet and turn toward her again. “It’s not.”
She adjusts on the edge of the tub as the water finishes filling.
I reach for the small glass jar on the shelf beside the tub, unscrew the lid, and pour a measured handful of bath salts into the water. The crystals dissolve slowly, releasing a faint scent of eucalyptus and lavender that rises with the steam.
Rowan watches me quietly.
I step closer and reach for the belt of the coat she’s still wearing. My fingers work the knot loose before sliding it from her shoulders. The coat falls away easily, leaving her standing there while I carefully remove the rest of the clothing from her arms.
Her breathing slows as the rising steam begins to fill the room with warmth. When the last piece of clothing drops to the floor, I take her hand and help her step over the edge of the tub.
The water ripples softly as she lowers herself into it. A quiet breath escapes her as the heat reaches her skin.
“Okay,” she murmurs.
I straighten as she sinks deeper into the water, the steam curling around her shoulders while the scent of the bath salts fills the room. Her eyes close, and the tension in her shoulders finally begins to loosen as the warmth sinks into her muscles.
I kneel beside the tub and dip a washcloth into the water. Rowan opens her eyes and watches me carefully.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says softly.
My hand lifts the cloth and moves to her arm, wiping away the dried blood that the hospital staff missed.
“I know.”
Her fingers rest lightly along the edge of the tub. “You’re being very calm about everything,” she observes.
“Am I?”
“You are.”
I rinse the cloth again and move to the bruise forming along her shoulder. “I expected more yelling,” she adds.
“Later.”
That earns a faint laugh from her. The sound loosens the tension in my chest.
Steam thickens slowly around us, fogging the mirror above the sink. Rowan sinks deeper into the water, letting the warmth ease the stiffness from her muscles.
My hand stills briefly before continuing its slow movement along her arm.
The silence that follows stretches comfortably between us. I rinse the cloth again and check the scrape along her collarbone.
Her breathing slows as the heat relaxes her body. “You’re watching me like you expect me to disappear,” she breathes.
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I set the cloth aside and reach for a towel.
“I almost didn’t get there in time,” I tell her quietly.
Rowan’s face softens. “But you did.”
My hand slides up to brush damp hair away from the side of her neck. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Her hand slips from the edge of the tub and rests on my wrist. “I’m still here.”
Steam curls around us. My gaze drops to the faint curve of her stomach beneath the surface of the water.
Rowan follows the direction of my eyes. “You’re still processing that part,” she smiles.
“I am,” I admit quietly. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”
I move my hand to her stomach just beneath the water’s surface. The warmth of the bath ripples around my fingers as my palm rests there for a moment.
“You’re the strongest, most beautiful woman I have ever known.”
Her eyes lift to mine, searching my face as if considering the truth of the words.
I lean forward slowly. My other hand slides lightly along the side of her neck, brushing her cheek before my fingers stop at the base of her jaw. Then my lips meet hers.
The kiss begins softly, almost cautiously, as if I’m still confirming she’s really here. The warmth of the room, the faint scent of the bath salts, the quiet sound of the water moving around her all blur together as she leans into me.
When I finally pull back, my forehead rests briefly against hers. The warm water laps softly against the sides of the tub, the scent of the bath salts hanging in the steam between us.
Then I reach for the cloth again. I finish rinsing the last of the grime from her arms and stand. “Done.”
Rowan glances down at the water and then back at me. “That was oddly comforting.”
“I’m glad.”
She rises carefully from the tub. Water runs across the marble as I wrap the towel around her. Before she can protest, I slide one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back. Her arms automatically wrap around my neck.
“You’re taking this protector thing very seriously tonight,” she murmurs.
“I always do.”
I carry her down the hallway toward the bedroom. The lights remain dim inside the room. When I lower her onto the mattress, she studies my face again.
“You’re still not relaxed,” she notes.
“No.”
Her fingers brush lightly across my cheek. “You can stop guarding me now.”
I don’t answer right away. My hand rests against her back as I slide in beside her and pull the blanket over both of us.
Rowan moves closer, fitting naturally against my chest, her head tucked beneath my chin. The warmth of her body seeps through the thin fabric of the shirt I’m still wearing, and for the first time since the warehouse, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Within minutes, her breathing slows. The tension leaves her body in small stages, her shoulders relaxing, her grip on the blanket easing as sleep finally claims her.
She falls asleep quickly. I remain awake longer.