Chapter 28 Crossroads
The smell hit me first. Risotto and salmon sat cooling on Kian’s counter, a warm and rich aroma emanating from the kitchen.
My stomach felt twisted from the journey, that sensation of falling through something endless. The world felt slightly off, like I was watching it through glass that wasn’t quite clean.
But Kian didn’t spare the dinner a glance.
He carried me to the couch like I might crack, every movement careful and urgent.
My ribs still ached with the aftermath of asthma, a scraped feeling in my lungs.
My palms stung where pavement had shredded them.
My forearm and calf throbbed where the knife had cut through, leaving angry spots on his rug as he set me down with infinite gentleness.
He stopped, turned back, crouched beside my bag, and his hands moved through the front pocket where I always kept my inhaler.
He pressed it to my lips. “Breathe, Mel.”
I took two puffs, fingers cold as ice where they wrapped around his hand for support, and my chest loosened just enough to reduce the ringing in my ears.
He vanished into the bedroom and reappeared with a battered first aid kit, snapping it open with more urgency than I’d ever seen in him outside of actual combat.
“Kian—” I croaked. “I’m okay. Really. You don’t have to fuss…”
His hands didn’t stop. He examined my forearm first, cleaning it with antiseptic. The burn made me suck in a sharp breath through my teeth. His brow creased deeper than I’d ever seen.
“I do need to fuss,” he said quietly. “I do.”
I started to reach for the bandages. “Here, let me—”
He stopped me with a touch, his fingers closing gently around my wrist before I could grab anything.
“Don’t,” he said, and the single word carried iron beneath velvet. He pulled my hand back, held it in both of his with such careful tenderness it made my throat tight. “Not this time. Let me take care of you.”
I blinked. My rehearsed mask suddenly felt useless. “I was just trying to—”
“To take care of it yourself?” He stated, raising a brow. “I know. You’ve always been like this, in every life. You hide bruises with smiles. Pretend pain doesn’t touch you. Wear humor like armor so no one else has to carry the weight of what you’re really feeling.”
Heat rose up my neck. I opened my mouth to argue, to mutter that this was nothing, that I could handle it.
Instead, he turned his attention to my other palm, pressing a gentle kiss to my torn knuckles like it would take the pain away.
He cleaned the wounds carefully and began wrapping them in gauze.
“You don’t have to be brave for me,” he murmured. “You can be afraid. Be loud. Be messy and angry. Be whole.”
My throat tightened in a way that had nothing to do with asthma or injury. Watching him, seeing that raw edge in his eyes, the way his hands trembled despite their gentleness, I realized he was as unsteady as I was.
“You were scared,” I whispered.
He huffed as he moved to my calf. “Terrified. When you screamed my name, when I felt that summons—” He stopped, throat bobbing. “I thought I’d arrive to find you already gone. That I’d failed you one more time.”
The weight of those failures pressed against him like stones.
“You didn’t fail me. I was brave. I fought.” My fingers stroked through his hair, and he turned his eyes back up to look at me. “You saved me.”
“You shouldn’t have had to fight at all.” His voice cracked. He pulled me into his arms, crushing me against his chest. My shaking broke free, and I let myself sink into him, let his heartbeat anchor me.
We sat like that for a long while. Kian, enormous in his vulnerability, and me, small, scorched and trying to breathe.
The risotto cooled on the counter. The city hummed beyond the windows.
Inside the cocoon of his arms, the world simplified to heartbeats, bandages, and the faint tang of antiseptic.
Kian finally pulled back after a long moment, his hands still braced on my arms as though I might dissolve if he let go. His gaze softened, but the fear hadn’t left. He straightened, forcing himself back toward something like control.
“Come,” he said. “You should eat.”
The smell of salmon and risotto made my stomach twist with hunger.
He guided me to the table, pulled out a chair with old-fashioned courtesy. The ordinary clatter of silverware was jarring in its normalcy, but comforting too. Proof that the world could still be simple sometimes.
We sat, the silence between us thick but no longer suffocating. I poked at the food, my appetite fighting the nerves still coiled in my stomach.
“That nurse you mentioned before,” he said. “What exactly did she say to you?”
I set my fork down. “She… said cryptic things. About me. About who I am.” My fingers twisted in my lap. “I think—” I hesitated, feeling the weight of the words. “I think she knows where my mother is.”
Kian’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. His brow furrowed in thought as he leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose.
“Hecate.” My head spun. Luz was right. He paused, studying my expression. “You want to summon her.”
It wasn’t a question. My cheeks warmed under his gaze, a sheepish smile tugging at my lips. Was I really that transparent?
“Could we?” I asked. “You know how, don’t you?”
“Of course,” He nudged my plate closer to me. “But first, eat.”
I huffed out a shaky laugh. “You didn’t have to make me dinner.”
He shrugged. “You’re a college student. Of course, I had to. I’m pretty sure ramen noodles don’t count as a food group.”
“I’ll have you know I make a mean ramen noodle soup,” I shot back, giving him a look of mock indignation. “And Luz and I have a system. We even have a window box garden.”
“Very practical.” His mouth curved. “Still, eat first, summon gods second.”
“Is that an official rule?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“Absolutely. Divine diplomacy is smoother when no one’s hangry.”
I chuckled at that. Then I took my first bite of salmon and nearly groaned. The buttery richness was comforting in a way I didn’t expect, drawing a sigh of contentment from my chest. The risotto was perfectly creamy, the salmon tender and flaky. Every bite settled me a little more.
Kian ate slowly, his gaze flicking to me more often than his plate, like he was still taking my pulse just by looking. I hated how his shoulders stayed tight, the faint pinch of worry still caught between his brows. I set my fork down with a little clatter and tilted my head at him.
“Okay,” I said, trying for lightness even though my voice came out rougher than intended. “What lifetime did you decide to become a Michelin Star chef? Because this—” I gestured at my plate with my bandaged hand. “—is ridiculous. Like, criminally good.”
That startled a flicker of something across his face. Not quite amusement, but close. The tension in his shoulders eased fractionally.
“I’ve always enjoyed cooking.”
“Always as in… ?” I prompted, managing a small smile.
“As in for a millennium,” he admitted. His mouth quirked. “Especially for you. In the lives where we had time together, before—” He stopped himself, but I knew what he meant.
Something in my chest tightened, but I pushed past it. “Well, if the whole King of the Underworld gig doesn’t pan out, you should probably open a restaurant. People would line up around the block.”
That earned me a quiet huff of laughter. “Yes, I can see it now. ‘Dinner in the Dark: Recipes of the Dead.’ I’m sure it would be wildly popular.”
I snorted into my wine glass, nearly choking. “You’re right. Gimmicks sell. I’d eat there every night just to keep you in business.”
The faint shadow of a real smile finally settled on his face. He shook his head, softer this time. “You’re impossible.”
“And you like it.” I pointed my fork triumphantly at him.
His eyes warmed, the lingering edge of fear finally ebbing. “Far too much.”
I laughed, a little breathless, and tucked back into my food. My pulse was still unsteady, the aftershocks of adrenaline rattling in my veins, but between his teasing smile and the taste of his cooking, I felt like maybe we could steal a piece of normal back from the madness.
I scooped another forkful of risotto, savoring the flavors. “Seriously, though,” I said between bites, “this is amazing. I mean, my idea of dinner is usually instant ramen, boxed mac and cheese, or whatever takeout Luz and I can scrounge up.”
“Exactly why I cooked for you,” he said without missing a beat.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re implying my diet is terrible.”
His lips curved, eyes sparking with a glimmer of the Kian I enjoyed coaxing out of hiding. “I’m not implying anything. I’m stating a fact.”
I gasped in mock offense, though it came out weaker than intended. “Wow. Harsh. And here I thought you were only feeding me because you couldn’t resist showing off.”
He laughed under his breath as he set his fork down. “No. That’s not it.”
I paused, fork halfway to my mouth. “Then why?”
His gaze caught mine, steady with a quiet vulnerability in it that made my stomach flip.
“Because it’s one of the simplest ways I know to take care of you.
Food is… grounding. Comforting. You’ve been through more than anyone should have to endure.
If I can give you even one small thing that makes you feel safe—” He released a quiet breath, “—then it’s worth it. ”
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with the food. My fork clinked against the plate as I set it down.
“Kian…” My voice cracked around his name.
He shrugged a little, like he hadn’t just peeled himself open and handed me a piece of his heart across the dinner table. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”
I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “It’s everything. You know that, right?”
The tension he’d carried since the alley finally broke, replaced by something warmer. His hand found mine on the table, strong fingers curling over my bandaged knuckles with infinite care.
“I hope so,” he said.