Chapter 30 Water from Mnemosyne
Morning light filtered through the curtains. For half a second suspended in that drowsy space between sleep and consciousness, I thought Kian was still beside me. My hand drifted across the bed, brushing against nothing but cool linen that had already forgotten his warmth.
The emptiness hit harder than I expected.
A ridiculous sting, even though I had no right to expect him to stay.
No claim on his time, his bed, or his morning.
Of course, he wouldn’t still be here. He had other things to do.
A whole world on his shoulders. Why would he spend his morning watching me sleep like some lovesick—
I turned my head, and my breath caught.
On the bedside table sat a small vase I hadn’t noticed last night. Simple glass, nothing fancy, but what it held made my chest tighten with tears.
I reached for the flowers without thinking, my hand trembling as my fingers found the narcissus blossoms first. The white petals were so pristine they seemed to glow.
The asphodel came next, pale and ghostly. My fingers brushed the blooms and a familiar ache lit up inside me. Images played in the back of my mind of watching shades move through the meadows, and lying with him among the blooms.
And there, tucked between them, deep red pomegranate flowers, with petals like crushed velvet and blood. The moment I saw them, my heart stuttered in my chest and my eyes burned.
He couldn’t grow these. Kian couldn’t even keep a houseplant alive—I’d seen the evidence of his botanical failures scattered around his flat.
But where had he gotten them? I glanced at my phone.
7:30 AM. Too early for most flower shops to be open, and it was late fall in Pennsylvania. Nothing was blooming outside.
Did he go to the Underworld?
The thought made my heart quicken. The door creaked open, cutting through my spiraling thoughts.
“Good, you’re up,” Kian said, poking his head into the room.
I sat up just as he nudged the door wider with his hip. He was balancing a tray in his arms. He’d changed into a fresh shirt, sleeves already rolled to his elbows. His hair was mussed in a way that suggested he’d run his hands through it while cooking.
And that smile—crooked, warm, making the corners of his gray-blue eyes crinkle—was almost more intoxicating than whatever was making my stomach growl.
“Good morning,” he said. Gods, he looked pleased with himself.
On the tray sat a perfectly cooked omelette. Golden and fluffy, with fresh herbs sprinkled on top. Beside it, a mug of chai latte, foam dusted with cinnamon. Three strips of bacon balanced along the edge, crispy and perfect.
“You made breakfast?” I asked, a little dazed, my eyes darting between him and the flowers. “And the flowers… where did you get them?”
He set the tray on the bedside table and settled onto the edge of the bed beside me, his expression soft, almost vulnerable.
“I went home,” he explained. “After you fell asleep. Time moves differently there; I was gone maybe three or four hours here.” His hand found mine, fingers lacing together.
“I’ve waited millennia to bring you flowers again, Mel.
” His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand.
“I wanted you to wake up to something beautiful. Something that reminded you of who you are. Who we were.”
My heart swelled, butterflies filling my stomach.
“No one’s ever…” I had to stop, swallow hard. “No one’s ever made me breakfast in bed before. Or gotten me flowers.”
Something fierce and tender crossed his face. “Then I’m glad I get to be the first.” He squeezed my hand. “What kind of monster lets Persephone face Hecate on an empty stomach?”
The casual use of my goddess name made my heart flutter in my chest—an acknowledgment of both parts of me, seeing me whole.
“Kian—” My throat tightened, my chest doing something traitorous and melty.
He waved me off, moving to examine my injuries. “It was nothing.”
He examined the wound on my arm first, then my calf, humming thoughtfully.
I watched him, marveling a bit at how quickly the injuries had closed and scabbed over.
He smiled up at me, his thumb brushing along my skin in ways that sent tingles up my spine.
“Hecate’s magic is helping. You should be fully healed soon. ”
He straightened, settling the tray over my lap. My cheeks felt warmer as his fingers brushed mine again.
“You didn’t need to—”
“I wanted to,” he said, settling onto the bed beside me. “And anyway, cooking keeps me from pacing holes in the floor. So really, you did me a favor.”
I bit back a laugh, heat rising to my cheeks as I took my first bite. The omelette was seasoned to perfection—exactly how I liked it, because of course he’d been paying attention. “This is really good.”
He puffed up with mock pride. “I have hidden talents. Many, actually. Legendary, some would say.”
“Mm, humble too,” I said around my mouthful.
“Humble is boring. Boring is for people who can’t make omelettes.”
I rolled my eyes, but before I could form a retort, he leaned over and, quick as a thief, stole a strip of bacon right off my plate.
“Hey!” I swatted at his hand, but he was already pulling back, bacon between his teeth, grinning like he’d won a prize.
Kian had the audacity to take a bite while maintaining eye contact, dimples flashing with that insufferable smugness. “You weren’t guarding it properly. Rookie mistake, Tealeaf.”
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, but I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Unbelievably charming, you mean.”
I sipped the chai, the warmth sliding through me like comfort itself, and had to fight the urge to laugh at how he was still watching me with that grin. “You’re impossible.”
“Probably,” he said, leaning back against the headboard, one arm brushing mine. “But I’ll happily keep playing the fool if it makes you smile like that.”
My cheeks filled with heat. I looked away, fighting the urge to grin like an idiot.
“And besides,” he shifted closer on the bed, his shoulder brushing mine until I felt every bit of energy sparking in the small space between us.
He leaned in, close enough that I caught the faint scent of coffee and cedar wood clinging to his skin, close enough that I could see the exact color of his eyes—gray-blue like storm clouds over the ocean, shot through with silver in the morning light. “You like impossible.”
His eyes dipped to my lips and stayed there, long enough that the room felt smaller, charged with something that hadn’t yet tipped over but desperately wanted to.
For a second, I thought he might kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me, despite the bacon breath and morning hair. But instead, his smile softened, and he reached out, thumb brushing my bottom lip with impossible gentleness.
“You have a—” His thumb lingered, the touch featherlight but burning. “Crumb.”
He pulled back, showing me the evidence on his thumb, but his eyes were still dark, promising things we weren’t quite ready for yet. The gesture was so gentle that I melted all over again. My cheeks burned hot enough to fry another omelette.
“Eat up,” he said lightly, breaking the spell. “Hecate’s not exactly known for her patience.”
I turned back to my meal while he stayed close, stealing sips of my chai as though it was his by right. I could tell he was trying to distract me, to make me laugh, especially after the events of yesterday.
I stole glances at him while pretending to focus on my food. The shadows under his eyes were darker than yesterday. A yawn caught him mid-sip of chai, and he covered it with the back of his hand, the gesture almost embarrassed. He leaned back against the headboard, eyelids drooping.
He’d stayed up all night, by the looks of it. Burning through divine reserves to keep watch over me while I slept, making sure nothing could reach me. My hand touched his cheek, my thumb brushing along the bag under his eye. He leaned into my touch with a soft sigh.
“Did you sleep at all?” I asked.
He shrugged it off with that sheepish grin that didn’t hide anything. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“I do worry about it,” I responded. I took his hand in mine, fingers lacing together again.
“Your well-being is more important than rest I don’t technically need,” he deflected, tilting his head to look at me. His curls fell across his forehead in a way that would have been charming if I wasn’t so worried.
“You do need it,” I argued. “You’re not just a god. You’re also… you. And you look—” I paused, searching for the right word. “You look exhausted.”
“I promise I’m okay, Mel,” Kian assured me, keeping his smile warm. “I can rest later.”
I didn’t push him further, though I wanted to.
Instead, I held his hand tighter, and he squeezed back like he required the contact as much as I did.
He lifted our joined hands and held them up, side by side, comparing.
His palm dwarfed mine, fingers so much longer they made my hand look almost like a child’s.
A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. “Wow. You really are tiny, aren’t you, Tealeaf?”
I gasped in mock offense, snatching my hand back even as my cheeks flushed. “Or maybe you’re just a giant. Ever think of that?”
“Mm, no. Pretty sure you’re just tiny.” His grin widened. “Like a little angry teacup.”
I tried to glare at him, but the smile tugging at my lips ruined the effect. “A teacup? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”
“An angry teacup,” he corrected, eyes dancing with warmth. “There’s a difference. Very important distinction.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I said, but I was laughing now.
“And you’re adorable when you pretend to be offended.” He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering.
For a heartbeat that stretched too long and not long enough, I wanted to forget about everything. I wanted to stay in this quiet bubble where Kian looked at me like I was the all that mattered, and his hand in mine was the only anchor I needed.
But the knock on the front door downstairs shattered the moment like glass.