11. Chapter 11 #3
“You shouldn’t feel responsible for me. You don’t even know me.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wondered if I was being fair. He was a Nocthel. What I was suggesting went against everything he was, down to the blood running in his veins.
He inclined his head, every inch the polite noble. “I could say the same about you. But I’m alive.”
That landed harder than any other argument would have. I wrapped my arms around myself. “I’ve dealt with worse. Always do.”
At that, Rowan’s face dropped into an expression so blank it could only have been forced. I could practically feel the fury radiating off his skin—directed straight at Selmont.
This care… It was too much. So I made an excuse and fled the cabin, letting him clean himself and change while I took care of a few things outside, regret churning in my belly the whole time.
I’d pushed him away, and he’d actually listened, even though it had clearly hurt him. I wasn’t used to people respecting my feelings anymore. Hadn’t realized how much that mattered until now.
I knocked to ensure he was ready for my return.
A tendril of shadow opened the door for me.
Muffin had clearly decided he was ready to forgive Rowan for the snub earlier because he scampered up onto the bed again to be close to him.
Rowan had the trousers on, but he was struggling to pull my father’s old shirt over his injured side.
I teased, “Can’t use conjurations for that?”
An embarrassed frown crossed Rowan’s face, but the glimmer that had been missing from his eyes reappeared.
My heart lifted at the chance to help. I shooed Muffin away from sniffing at Rowan’s injury, and he scrambled up the series of little perches I’d nailed high on the wall for him to reach the rafters from.
I scooted close to Rowan on the bed, enjoying the simple joy of being so close.
He held his arm out, and I threaded the sleeve over it.
The small contact as he moved sent tiny frissons down my arms. I’d pretended it was nothing for so long, but after another little zap, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I had to ask. “Are those shocks coming from your magic?”
He pulled his head through the neck opening, and his eyes met mine. Brow scrunched, lips canted to one side, he said, “I thought that was your magic…”
I shook my head. For a long moment, we were frozen, eyes locked, the only sound the soft hush of our breaths and Muffin scrambling across one rafter. Rowan’s gaze drifted, lingered on my lips, held there for three heartbeats too long before moving away.
We apologized at the same time.
“I overstepped—”
“I’m sorry—”
One side of my mouth quirked up as his did the same.
“You’ve done so much. At least allow me to help with preparing dinner tonight,” he said. “I’m good with a knife.”
He’d walked on his own—a good sign. Nevertheless, a sense of melancholy washed over me. He’d be well enough to depart soon.
I slid a cutting board and a few potatoes toward him as he braced himself against the counter. “Try to keep the pieces even. They’ll cook better that way.”
“Is it that obvious I’ve never cooked?”
“A guess.” My eyes drifted over his armor. “I’ll get you a knife.”
“No need.” An obsidian blade appeared in his hand before I could take a step.
“Whoa,” I breathed, still amazed at the careful display of such intricate magic.
Brilliant, Luna. Truly eloquent.
But he smiled, and we fell into an easy rhythm. He worked quickly and did a better job of it than I’d expected. I hadn’t even managed to form a proper dough for tonight’s bread.
I didn’t realize I’d started humming until he asked, “Is that your trade? Healing for coin?”
“Goods, mainly.”
His expression shifted, voice quieter now, eyes steady, he said, “In that case, I deeply apologize for my behavior. Damaging your business was not befitting a…me.”
That hesitation again. Whatever he was, the word mattered.
The only question was whether he did it to deceive me or protect me. At least he hadn’t accused me of being his jailer again. Small victories.
“I want to heal you more tonight,” I said. “Get you moving faster.”
His attention sharpened instantly, settling on me with a heavy, physical pressure like two strong hands on my shoulders, ensuring I held myself upright. “On one condition.”
A nobleman—gods, a man—offering terms instead of issuing orders? A miracle.
“And that is?” I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.
“You sleep in your own bed tonight. You need rest if you’re going to recover properly.”
“But you’re—”
He shook his head, messy brown hair shifting with the movement. “I can sleep on the floor. And I’m no threat to your virtue, Lunette.” His eyes were still on me, assessing in a way that made my heart beat faster.
Wish you were. The thought came unbidden. But it was true.
My cheeks heated. “Oh, my virtue is long gone.”
The wicked smile he hid—badly—was worth the emotional ups and downs of the day. And, gods help me, being seen had never felt dangerous in a good way before.
Having him here was becoming more and more risky for my heart.