Chapter 12
ROWAN
"Hold the fuck on," Ciaran bites out, reaching back to catch my wrist and drag my arm tight around him. "Around me."
The city drops and my stomach lurches with it, the ground falling away beneath us for half a second before the grav-field kicks in with a sharp electric hum and slams us forward again so hard it rips the breath from my lungs.
Wind tears past my face, cold and fast enough to sting, dragging a startled sound out of me.
We're flying.
"Good—"
The rest of it gets ripped out of my mouth as he cuts hard left, too fast, too tight, the bike tilting beneath us in a way that feels impossible, like we should be skidding, crashing—
Instead, the city blurs around us in streaks of light and wet pavement, and for one insane second all I can think is that I've never moved this fast in my life.
I can't believe he was there, like he knew where to find me, like none of this was chance.
The thought crawls under my skin, because there's a difference between finding someone and already knowing where they'll be.
Wet light streaks past in broken lines, neon smearing across my vision as he cuts straight through an intersection that definitely wasn't ours to cross. Engines whine too close, and horns blare behind us.
"Are you insane?" I choke out.
He doesn't answer. Just pushes the throttle harder.
My stomach flips, and it's not just from the speed. I swallow hard and press closer, feeling the solid line of him beneath the leather, the heat of his body bleeding through it, every shift of his weight dragging mine with it, his effortless control somehow making everything worse.
Another turn throws us sideways before the stabilizers catch. The bike snaps back into line with a violent jolt that sends a fresh rush of adrenaline straight through me. My breath breaks against his shoulder as the city blurs into light and motion and noise around us.
For one disorienting second, everything else drops away.
The alley, the shadows, the trap—all of it is swallowed by this.
By the wind in my face, the city streaking past below, and the dizzying realization that I've never been on a hoverbike before.
I've definitely never been on one like this, and I'm not in control of any of it.
Ciaran's body is rigid under my hands, shoulders tight, every movement controlled and aggressive as he forces the machine through the city by sheer will.
He's furious. I can feel it in the way he drives.
The alley keeps surfacing behind my eyes, not the details, just the sound of footsteps and the certainty that if Ciaran had been a second slower, those men would've gotten their hands on me.
I swallow, trying not to think about it, and let my gaze drift to the line of his jaw, to the tension in his shoulders. He doesn't look back, doesn't say a word, doesn't slow. And I don't know which part of this is worse, the men in the alley or the one I'm holding onto now.
The bike doesn't slow until the gates of Caervast rise in front of us, tall and black against the night, ironwork gleaming under the security lights as the guards at either side straighten the second they recognize him.
He doesn't even acknowledge them, just cuts straight through like nothing in this place is allowed to stop him.
The engine drops into a low growl as he pushes past. When the bike finally jerks to a stop, it sends me forward into his back, my hands still tangled in his coat, my pulse too fast to settle.
His hair is still damp. The same water that ran down his neck not that long ago.
The pool flashes through my head, followed by memories of his mouth, his hands…
Heat hits me again, fast and unwelcome.
Ciaran swings off the bike in one smooth movement and turns back toward me, eyes dark and burning. "What the hell were you doing out there?" he snaps.
My hackles rise instantly. I slide off the other side, trying to put space between us before I do something stupid again.
I don't get far. His hand closes around my arm, dragging me back before I can step away.
"I said"—he grabs a fistful of my shirt and hauls me closer—"what the hell were you doing out there?"
My pulse spikes, anger snapping up fast enough to cover everything else. I wrench against his grip. "Looking for something that's none of your business."
Ciaran doesn't let go. His fingers tighten just enough to make the point, his gaze dropping over my face like he's taking inventory of something I didn't agree to give him.
"You nearly got yourself taken," he growls. He says it like the danger wasn't a shock to him, like the only surprise was that I walked into it anyway.
I'm not sure whether I should feel relieved he came for me or terrified by how quickly he knew where to look.
I yank my arm free anyway with a snarl. "I didn't need you."
We both hear the lie.
His lips twitch, not quite becoming a smile. "Yeah. You did."
I hate that he's right. And I hate even more that part of me is still thinking about the pool.
I don't give him time to say anything else. I turn and head for the dorm before he can stop me again, my pulse still running too fast, my skin still too tight.
I make it halfway down the corridor before he catches me.
"Let go—"
My back slams into the wall. The impact knocks the breath out of me as he crowds in close, one hand braced beside my head, his presence filling the space until there's nowhere left for me to go.
"What were you doing out there, little mouse?"
"That's none of your business."
He smirks. "I already told you. Everything about you is my business. Now talk to me."
But I won't. I can't. So I keep my lips pressed tight and my gaze fixed somewhere past his shoulder, refusing to give him anything.
His hand closes around my wrists and pins them against the wall above my head.
"Funny," I say, a little breathless. "You just happened to be out there tonight."
Something dark and unmistakably pleased crosses his face. "Oh, I do enjoy it when you bite back."
"Yeah?" I bare my teeth, but wheeze when my heart starts beating frantically, my medical band buzzing against my wrist.
I can't breathe.
The world wavers, and I can see myself running again, a twelve-year-old fleeing, horns screaming in the background as shadows close in.
The alley crashes into the memory, footsteps and wet stone, and my breath catches, my chest tightening as old fear and fresh adrenaline twist together, dragging buried memories dangerously close to the surface.
Wake up.
But this is no dream. This is real.
I'm still staring at those stupid dark eyes. For one impossible second, I wonder what would happen if I stopped fighting him, if I just leaned into his touch. Would he let go, or would he pull me closer?
Ciaran's mouth drifts nearer, his jaw brushing mine, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, not quite touching, just waiting there like he's giving me time to react. Or fail to.
The memory pushes in again. The blurred lettering flashes through my head, the same fragment that's been sitting under my skin since the library. My fingers curl.
Good Light. I should have left it alone.
He sees it too, tilting his head with an intensity that has my reality blurring at the edges. "You want to breathe?" he murmurs, voice low. "Is that what you need?"
His grip eases on my wrists, just slightly, but my burning lungs still won't fill.
His gaze dips when I swallow, and he traces my bobbing Adam's apple with his other hand, then lets his palm settle loosely around my throat.
The ghost of a touch has my insides tingling and screaming for air at the same time.
I want to kick him. Hurt him. Wipe that smirk from his face.
And yet, I can't help but imagine what would have happened had he not come out to…what, save my life? Prevent me from meeting people who might know Sola?
What the hell was I thinking, going out there?
Maybe he saved me, but that doesn't mean I trust him.
"So many thoughts," Ciaran mutters as he watches my face. "I can practically see them."
I jerk when he blows a stray lock out of my face, and the hint of a smile deepens. "And you're going to share them with me. Whatever dragged you out there, whatever you thought you were going to do, I want to know."
"F-fuck. Off," I wheeze.
His hands stay where they are, steady, like he doesn't need to use force to keep me here. "Talk to me."
I shake my head. "Not happening."
Something shifts in his expression, and I think he's going to push harder.
But instead, he leans in just enough that I feel it again, the same proximity, the same heat, the same dangerous edge that makes something in me go tight and unsteady in the space of a heartbeat.
"You're going to tell me, and you're going to tell me now. "
I don't answer, but this time it's not just anger holding my silence.
The photograph. The half-hidden street sign.
The hours I spent trying to identify it, chasing blurred lettering and half-formed clues until they dragged me into that alley.
I still don't know whether the trap started there, the night someone photographed me in the library.
Or if I walked into something a lot bigger the second I started pulling at a door that was never meant to be opened.
"Try again," Ciaran murmurs, his grip tightening as his eyes close. "Fuck, little mouse. I like the way you fight it when I've got you."
Something hot and vicious snaps through me at that.
"Fuck you," I choke out, the words breaking as I jerk against him, wrenching my wrists against his hold, my knee coming up between us in a sharp, clumsy shove meant to throw him off balance, to get space, to get air.
He chuckles and barely moves. My heel catches his shin instead, useless, and he only shifts closer, absorbing the movement like he expected it, like he wanted it.