Chapter 18
ROWAN
Iwake slowly, warm before I’m awake enough to understand why.
For one disoriented second, I think I’m back in Düren, waking in the tiny bedroom I used to share with Sola before everything fell apart. I expect to hear her moving around beside me, hear music playing softly somewhere in the apartment, smell coffee drifting through the kitchen.
Instead there’s only the feeling of heavy blankets tangled around my legs, cold air brushing my face, and a warm arm wrapped tightly around my waist.
Okay, definitely not home.
Someone’s breathing ghosts softly against the back of my neck, slow and deep enough that my entire body relaxes toward it before my brain finally catches up.
The memory slams back into place. Moonlight spills pale and silver through the half-open curtains as I suck in a sharp breath through my nose, catching the scent of another person surrounding me.
I’m not alone.
Somewhere far below the tower, a distant howl echoes through the sleeping city before disappearing again into the dark.
Careful not to disturb the arm, I turn my head over my shoulder.
Ciaran sleeps on his stomach beside me, dark hair mussed across his forehead, one arm trapped beneath the pillow while the other stays locked around me like even asleep he refuses to let me go. The sheets sit low against his hips, warm skin disappearing into shadow beneath the blankets.
I just stare at him.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
I remember Ciaran nearly killing Adrian in the fight pit. Our self-proclaimed date that somehow ended with him between my thighs while I choked around his gorgeous cock and swallowed every drop he gave me…
I untangle the sheets and look down at my very naked frame.
Good Light. I sucked his dick.
Heat floods my face so fast it hurts as the memories crash into me—Ciaran’s mouth wrapped around me, my hands in his hair, the taste of him still lingering at the back of my throat while he groaned around my cock like he enjoyed it.
And yet, my own cock throbs painfully at the thought.
This is a disaster.
Worse, he came for me last night.
Out of everyone in Caervast, I called him.
The shame.
I scan the massive room and exhale in relief when I see the neat pile of what are hopefully my clothes lying on an armchair.
I’ll just quickly get dressed, leave, and we’ll never mention this again.
My focus sharpens on the room around me.
Dark wallpaper patterned with curling leaves wraps the walls while a lamp in the corner spills soft orange light across the wooden floor.
The whole place feels restrained and elegant in a way that’s painfully Ciaran.
Nothing like the disaster zone I share with Damaris.
I should go. But moonlight catches the sharp line of Ciaran’s jaw and swollen lips in a way that’s weirdly mesmerizing, his inked arm still slung around my naked waist, his long fingers resting dangerously close to my erection.
And before I can stop myself, my fingertips brush lightly along the bare curve of his shoulder beneath the sheets, tracing warm skin and the faint edge of black ink there while he keeps sleeping beside me like he has no idea what he’s done to my head.
My body clearly doesn’t get the memo that we’re leaving, but my brain does. I can already picture Ciaran waking up, finding me still in his bed, and telling me to get the hell out.
Careful not to wake him, I try to lift Ciaran’s arm from around my waist, but it doesn’t work.
Even asleep, the bastard only tightens his grip and drags me closer against him with a low sound somewhere between a breath and a sigh, burying his face deeper against the back of my neck like this is the most natural thing in the world.
“Are you serious?” I whisper, but Ciaran sleeps on peacefully, because of course he does.
Finally, I manage to untangle myself, wincing as my feet touch the cold floor beside the bed while the memory of Ciaran’s mouth threatens to drag me right back under again.
That’s not happening. Not with the Legacy Gala tonight.
I dress quickly, fingers clumsy against buttons while flashes of last night keep replaying in humiliating detail.
By the time I pull my shirt back on, moonlight has softened silver-blue across the tangled bed behind me. Ciaran sleeps on, one arm stretched across the empty space I left behind, and before I can think too hard about the tight feeling in my chest, I turn and slip out of the bedroom.
A guard waits near the doors, his gaze following me across the black stone floor before he unlocks the exit without a word.
The mansion feels different in the pale light of dawn, stripped of Lucan’s laughter and Rafe’s commentary, leaving only guards and silence behind.
Cold night air hits my face the second I step outside. A shaky breath finally leaves my lungs as dawn bleeds silver across Caervast on the walk back to the dorm.
I can’t believe I did that.
But Light, last night was nothing like I expected. I get it now—the fuss. Watching Ciaran suck me to climax was the single hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
It’s probably already over before whatever this is even had the chance to start. A guy like Ciaran only ever wants one thing. And now that he’s had it, he’ll move on to the next one.
The thought shouldn’t bother me, but I find myself grumbling as I keep walking.
By the time I slip back into the dorm building, students are already drifting sleepily through the halls toward the canteen beneath the pale gray light of morning while I keep my head down and head for our floor.
Our dorm door is unlocked. When I slip inside, Damaris is already awake in the tiny kitchen corner, standing over a pan in an oversized academy sweater with messy hair and sleep still clinging to his expression.
He sets the pan down the second he sees me, concern flashing hard across his face. “Lucan said you stayed at the mansion last night, but holy shit, Rowan, you look wrecked. What happened? Why didn’t you text me?”
Guilt tightens in my stomach. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was that late. So Lucan, huh? What are you now, a couple?”
Damaris bristles. “What are you talking about? Of course not. Though at least he had the decency to inform me.”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter again, grabbing a coffee mug and filling it. My throat still feels dry from the alcohol last night, which is exactly why I don’t usually drink.
“Yeah, well.” Damaris leans back against the kitchen island and studies me with that typical I’m-used-to-watching-over-you look. “You scared the shit out of me, you know that?”
“Yeah.”
I actually did sleep great. And here we go again, my face heating at the memory of Ciaran making me cum so hard my brain temporarily stopped functioning. Of me sucking him off. Of drinking his cum down.
Damaris narrows his eyes. “Why are you blushing?”
“Nothing. He was actually…” I stare into my coffee. “Nice?”
“Nice,” Damaris repeats like the word alone qualifies as a medical emergency. “There are many things I could call Ciaran Virel, Ro. Nice is not one of them.”
“No, really, he actually—”
Damaris folds his arms, studying me. “Did you even sleep?”
I hesitate.
His eyes widen. “Rowan.”
“What?”
“You spent the night at Ciaran Virel’s mansion and now you’re blushing at a simple question.”
I groan and look away, nearly jumping out of my skin at the sudden knock against the door.
My first, ridiculous thought is that Ciaran noticed I left and has come to…what, collect me?
“Are you expecting someone?” Damaris frowns suspiciously.
I hold up my hands. “No?”
I yank open the door, and we both stare in surprise at what very clearly looks like a guard. The man, dressed in a black suit and wearing a permanent scowl, glares at Damaris before shifting his attention to me. “Rowan Ashford?”
“Yes?”
“For tonight.” He dumps a bag into my hands before turning and striding away.
Tonight?
Oh, no. The Legacy Gala. I completely forgot about it. How the hell did I forget about it?
“Good Light, Rowan, check this out.” Damaris has already unzipped the garment bag, pulling out a forest green suit with a crisp white shirt and silver cuffs.
I drag my gaze over the clothes and shake my head. “I’m not going to wear that.”
“Of course you are. It’s gorgeous. Oh, look at that, there’s a note.” He hands me a small black card.
Wear it tonight.
I want to see you in it.
— C.
“Good Light.” Damaris’s jaw drops. “You are catastrophically into this.”
“I am not—”
“Ro.”
“I’m literally not.”
He rolls his eyes and points at the suit. “He sent you clothes for this concert. Through a fucking guard. I mean, what’s cooler than being cool?”
I stare back down at the note. “I’m not wearing that.”
Damaris huffs a short laugh, but it fades. “Yeah, except this stops being funny if Ciaran Virel actually decides he wants you.”
My stomach tightens. “Dama—”
“No, seriously.” He drags a hand through his messy hair. “You know what people say about him. About that family. Rich people don’t flirt like normal people, Rowan. They fixate.”
I look back down at the expensive suit still draped across the couch. “Well,” I mutter, “I refuse to be fixated on.”
“Boo.” Damaris slams the mug into the sink. “I know you do. But I don’t think that’s really an option anymore.”
My mind drifts unwillingly back to Sola, to the scholarship that brought me here in the first place, and to the strange feeling that ever since I arrived in Caervast, invisible threads have been tightening around me, pulling secrets and Ciaran Virel straight into my life whether I want them there or not.
Damaris grabs his bag from the chair and heads for the door. “Come on. We’ll figure it out if it gets weird like we always do, but first we still have class before your terrifying mafia stalker decides to parade you around the Legacy Gala in designer clothing tonight.”