Chapter 20
CIARAN
Did I just spend a second night in a row with Rowan?
Hell, fucking, yes.
Sure, he spent most of this one unconscious after nearly cracking his skull open in a hidden underground chamber, but I’m still counting it as a win.
I like the way he looks in my bed. Pale hair across my pillow. My shirt hanging loose on him. All soft and half asleep, completely unaware of what he does to me when he looks at me like that.
Even with the bruises. Even with the ankle. Even if there’s a very real chance he wakes up in five minutes, realizes where he is, and starts threatening me again.
Honestly, I’m looking forward to it.
Unfortunately, before I get to enjoy any of that, I still have to survive my cousins. The vultures are already downstairs waiting with coffee, sarcasm, and enough questions to qualify as an interrogation.
“Is he still asleep?”
I glance toward the stove, surprised to find Damaris standing there. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Cooking.” He shrugs sheepishly. “I was worried when Ro didn’t come back last night. And when Lucan called, I came straight over.”
“When Lucan called,” I repeat, glancing toward my cousin. “Really?”
Lucan lifts his coffee in a lazy salute, wearing a shit-eating grin. It irritates me more than it probably should.
Though to his credit, Rowan’s friend seems sincerely out of place here. He’s a cute thing with wavy hair and light eyes, but not really my type.
No, apparently my type prefers sneaking around Caervast at night, wandering into hidden chambers, and nearly getting himself killed every time I look away.
I nearly fall off my stool when a ball slams into my shoulder with vicious speed. “Mother—”
“Daydreaming again, hot shot?” Rafe grins as he catches it one-handed, then points it straight at my face.
“You wouldn’t,” I growl. I swear, if he throws that thing, I’ll take him down, cousin or not.
He winks, then makes a fake throwing motion that has me jerking sideways. “That depends. You gonna tell me what the fuck cello boy is doing in your bed again?”
“You never bring the same guy back to your bed twice,” Marius drawls, dressed in a silk robe with one long leg crossed over the other.
Damaris snarks from the kitchen, “Cello boy has a name.”
I ignore him, keeping my eyes on Rafe and that damn ball. He’s a dangerous motherfucker who, unlike Lucan and definitely unlike Marius, genuinely enjoys violence. “Rowan’s none of your business.”
“I beg to differ. If he wants to be fucked by my cousin and earn himself a more permanent place in your bed, he needs approval from all of us.”
“Please.” Damaris scoffs from the kitchen. The guy’s got balls, I’ll give him that. “Mind your own business, and we’ll do the same.”
“Yeah?” I drag my stool closer and knock the ball out of Rafe’s hand, grinning when he swears as I install myself directly across from Damaris. “And what exactly is your business?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, but color creeps onto his cheeks. “Right now, I’m making your breakfast.”
I look at the waffles he’s making and snatch one off the plate. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Taking a bite, I watch his every move carefully.
The guy’s nervous. He’s playing it cool, but I can see the tension underneath. Still, when he looks up, he meets my gaze without blinking and glares like he’s daring me to push my luck. “I’m here because my best friend is here, and you should’ve brought him back where he belongs.”
“Which is—”
“In his own dorm, with me.”
“With you.”
Next to me, Marius starts chuckling, and when Damaris visibly flinches, I decide to take pity on him. Mostly because I’m curious.
No, I’m a nosy motherfucker.
“So you’re both from Düren, right?”
Damaris cocks his head and stares at me, eyes full of suspicion.
I lift my hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m just asking.”
“Why don’t you leave the asking to the guy currently sleeping in your bed,” Lucan drawls, stepping in behind Damaris before the poor bastard can react, “and let me focus on this one?”
Before Damaris can protest, Lucan catches a loose fistful of his dark curls and gently tugs him backward against his chest, one arm sliding around his waist while Damaris makes a startled sound and nearly drops the spatula.
“Lucan—”
“Relax.” Lucan grins, completely unapologetic as he reaches around him and steals the spatula from his hand. “You’re making the waffles wrong anyway.”
Damaris goes red, shoulders tightening while Lucan casually takes over the pan from behind him like this is a completely normal situation.
Yeah. And it’s not exactly helping my situation either.
Because somewhere along the way, I started arguing Rowan’s case without even realizing it, insisting he wasn’t the threat Dad thought he was.
I better not be wrong about him.
The Black Chapel keeps showing up. First Rowan walks into it on his first night on Sero, then Voss, then the questions, then the reception.
Most people spend four years at Caervast without touching any of that shit, but Rowan’s been here a few weeks and somehow keeps ending up right in the middle of it.
“Well, last night was fun, but Mom wasn’t pleased.” Marius reaches for the trousers that have been laid out by Mariette and starts pulling them on. “Apparently we should have stayed at the event longer and kept a closer eye on things.”
“Then they should tell us what it is we’re actually looking for,” Lucan mutters against Damaris’s throat.
“She also said that some people managed to get in who weren’t on the guest list,” Rafe adds, throwing the ball toward the open window but hitting a vase instead. The ceramic shatters across the kitchen floor.
“Dude!” Marius jumps. “What the fuck was that for?”
“Oops,” Rafe deadpans, but when Mariette comes rushing in with a broom, he silently takes it from her hands and starts cleaning up himself.
Still, his previous words grab my attention.
People getting into Virel events isn’t exactly rare.
It happens. But Rowan somehow managed to end up half dead in a hidden chamber beneath Caervast less than an hour after disappearing from a reception full of people who were supposed to be watching him.
And the more I think about it, the less I like it.
Thank fuck I added Rowan’s location to my slate after the city incident, because otherwise I might never have found him in time.
And now I’m hearing that people got into last night’s event who were never supposed to be there in the first place.
Dad asked me to watch him. Nobody asked me to worry when he disappeared. Nobody asked me to memorize the sound of his voice, or notice when he skipped breakfast, or spend half the night searching a rooftop because he wasn’t answering his messages.
That part happened all on its own.
Maybe none of it means anything. Or maybe Dad’s instincts are right, and Rowan arrived on Sero at exactly the wrong time.
The problem is that every time I try looking at him like a suspect, I remember finding him half-conscious at the bottom of those stairs instead. And that makes it a hell of a lot harder to think clearly.
“I’m just saying,” Marius says, disrobed now with his pants hanging loosely against his waist, “that last night attracted one shadow too many.”
Rafe throws the shards into the bin, ignoring how Mariette hangs behind him like a frightened hen. “Exactly. Thank you, Madame Tragedy.”
Marius lifts one brow. “I’m not wrong.”
No, he isn’t. Question is, how the fuck did I miss that?
I may have been too busy admiring Rowan in the suit I sent him, looking pale and furious and gorgeous. The suit is ruined now, which means I’ll have to buy him some other clothes.
In the kitchen, Damaris has managed to wriggle himself free from Lucan and carefully picks up the tray. “Can I see him now?”
“No.” Lucan smirks.
Before the tray can clatter to the ground, I sneak it out of his hand and head for the stairs.
“Hey. He’s my best friend.”
Damaris’s voice sounds muffled and I don’t bother turning around to see what’s happening. Marius’s chuckle tells me enough.
“He’s sleeping anyway,” Lucan mutters.
Damaris makes an annoyed sound.
“And he’s concussed,” I add, continuing toward the stairs.
Rafe laughs. “Tell your bride we said good morning.”
“Fuck off.”
Behind me, I hear Lucan chuckle, Damaris bristle something under his breath, and a noise that sounds suspiciously like someone getting kissed just to annoy them further.
I carry the tray upstairs, shove open my bedroom door with my shoulder, and step inside. The quiet hits fast after the nonstop bullshit downstairs, and for the first time all morning, I can hear the rain tapping softly against the windows.
What feels even better is staring down at Rowan, still asleep in the middle of my bed, pale hair tangled across the pillow, one cheek pressed into the dark sheets.
Rafe was right. I’ve never allowed anyone in my bed more than once.
But my little mouse looks fucking beautiful under my sheets. My shirt hangs loose on him, one sleeve slipped down enough to reveal the fragile line of his shoulder.
His band glows a calm, steady green against the sheets, nothing like last night when I found him shaking and half crawling across the rooftop floor like he thought something was still chasing him.
What the hell happened up there anyway?
Rowan keeps looking at me like I’m the dangerous one, but that wasn’t fear of me in that chamber. There was something else there. Something he’s going to tell me today before Dad finds out.
But damn, the memory of him lying like a broken bird on the stone floor leaves something ugly sitting in my stomach. It reminds me too much of being dragged away from Mom while she reached for me through the smoke and I couldn't get to her.
I place the tray on my bedside table and crawl under the sheets. Rowan’s sleeping on his side, facing the window, but when I slide an arm around his waist, he sighs and relaxes back against me.
I press my chin to his shoulder, bury my face in the crook of his neck, and inhale.