Chapter Forty-Four #3
After a beat, he rolls on to his front, elbows splayed wide, resting his face on the backs of his hands as he looks at me.
“I’m adopted.”
“Oh.” The word slips out, soft with surprise. “I didn’t know.”
“Very few people do. I’m supposed to be a Veirmont. The prodigy son. They’ve always needed everyone to believe in the strength of the bloodline.”
“So your real parents...?”
“Never knew them.” He lifts a shoulder. “My dad was just, some guy, apparently. Knocked up my mum and vanished. And she died giving birth to me.”
My chest tightens. “I’m sorry.”
My fingers trace along the lines of his back, skimming over the edge of his tattoo. He shivers slightly beneath my touch.
“It’s okay,” he says after a beat. “I was placed into the Veirmonts’ care when I was barely a month old. Never known anything else.” A pause. “Only thing I have of hers is the talisman. It was hers, my birth mum’s.”
All this time I've hated him for his name, for what it represents, and he's not even one of them....
“And the tattoo... is that a Veirmont thing?” I ask, fingertips brushing along the edge of it.
He laughs, low and rough. “No. I got it after I made a deal with someone. It’s a reminder.”
“A deal?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions tonight… when we could be doing something else.” He shifts, moving over me again, body warm and heavy, eyes already darkening. Just the weight of him alone makes heat flare in my belly.
“Okay, okay,” I breathe, laughter slipping out as I arch into him. “But one last question. Promise.” His head drops against my shoulder with a dramatic sigh. I soften my eyes, then slide my hand between us—wrapping around him. He’s already hard. Already ready. “I promise to behave after,” I murmur.
He groans, twitching in my grip. “Okay, one more,” he mutters, playful frustration laced through his voice. “Make it quick.”
“When I was pushing you—when you tried to stop me—you said you had more control over this than I understood. That I wasn’t ready for how good you are at it... But if this Thread transfer thing has only happened once before, how could you know?”
He lets out a long exhale, “Fuck,” he mutters. “That’s not a quick one.”
“I need to know,” I say, soft but firm.
Another breath. Then he rolls off me with a groan and flops on to his back, one arm over his face like I’ve just ruined all his plans.
“Okay,” he sighs. “I know you’re still waiting for answers. Some I can’t give you, and some I probably shouldn’t. But this one? It’s mine to tell. So I will.”
I shift on to my side, arm bent under my head, watching him.
“Look, this connection, this bond thing between us, it's new. Being able to share what I’m feeling with you, that's new. I'm still figuring it out, but I did have a bit of a head start.” A pause, “My Threads… they’ve, well, they’ve always allowed me to sense the vibrations people give off—emotional ones.”
“So... you can tell what someone’s feeling?” I ask, prodding gently, not letting him slip into vague.
“Yes and no,” he replies. “It’s not specific. I can’t read minds, but I pick up general things—fear, joy, pain. Like I couldn't pick up on what Beth was planning,” he grits his teeth, “no matter how much I fucking wish I could have.”
I stare at him. “That’s…” impressive, scary, creepy, “...that's a lot”
“It is, I know...” He gives a tired laugh, runs a hand over his face. “But that’s not all… I can also… influence them.”
“Influence how?” My voice goes flatter. More cautious.
“I can’t increase or invent emotions,” he adds quickly. “I can’t plant things. But I can… adjust the balance. So if someone’s feeling a dozen different things all at once, I can quiet some of the noise. Turn the volume down on one, so another one can come through.”
“So you can manipulate people?”
“No, well, sort of. I can’t make someone angry or make them do something they don’t want to. But for example, I could calm their anger so that they are more likely to listen to me when I talk... which comes in handy a lot.”
No wonder he’s risen so high within the Citadel, with that type of power, influence, over people.
“Only two other people know,” he goes on, “and I don't use it that often; it drains me a lot. Plus, I'm sure it would become more obvious and people would get suspicious if I did it all the time.”
“And you’ve used it...” a pause, “on me?” I ask, even though I already know. The answer’s written all over his face.
“Yes.” He closes his eyes.
My mouth goes dry. “When?”
He exhales through his nose then opens his eyes and looks at me.
“In the tunnels, when I found you trying to escape... and during the body search. Then, after Ezzy, when I kissed you. I turned down your fear. Your anger. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.
I needed to sell a lie, I needed you not to run, or kick me in the balls. ..”
My chest pulls tight. “So you made me… what? Want you?”
“No,” he leans up a little, like it matters that I hear him right. “No, I didn’t make you feel anything. I can’t do that. I just gave space to what was already there.”
“And in the courtyard?” I ask. “When we first met?”
He groans, rubbing his face again. “You were so damn feisty, and I just—fuck, it was fun messing with you. I nudged it. Just… took the edge off your fire. A little. Barely. But I obviously didn’t do it enough as you still nearly blew me, nearly blew yourself up, when you realised I was a Veirmont.”
I narrow my eyes. “You absolute asshole.”
“I know.”
I knew something was off. I knew it was strange my body was so drawn to him in those situations, that I should have been leading with anger, but he’d turned it down so only my attraction to him came through.
God, that’s why they call him the Nightrose, he can literally fool you into feeling safe around him, you wouldn’t even feel the petals close in until it’s too late.
A flush creeps up my neck, the realisation that all this time he knew all this time how I was physically feeling about him.
I want to snap at him. I want to say something sharp.
But... he's not smug about it. If anything, he looks guilty, like he’s been dreading this conversation.
I should be furious. And maybe I will be.
But right now, lying here with nothing between us, him finally telling me something—I just feel the weight of it. Heavy and complicated.
And then it hits me, low in my stomach. “The kiss in Ashvale? After the ball, now?”
A crooked grin tugs at the corner of his mouth “No. Sorry, that’s all you.”
“You sure?” My voice wavers. “Because if you’re still—”
“Look, yes, in Quinn’s class the other week I sent you those feelings, my feelings, and you’re welcome by the way.
” His grin widens, then more serious. “But changing your emotions, I’ve not done that since I kissed you after Ezzy’s Demonstration” He exhales, and a single Truth String floats out from his mouth, landing lightly against my chest.
I watch it settle. My heart aches.
“I believe you,” I whisper. “I didn’t need the String.”
“I did,” he says softly. “I needed you to know for sure. I should’ve told you sooner, but with everything... and then finding out about this bond between us... I didn’t know how much would be too much. I was waiting for a better time.”
His eyes meet mine. “Do you hate me?”
The question is quiet. Like it hurts to ask.
I stare at him. At the regret in his voice. At the way he’s finally laid something down between us.
“I get it.” I sigh. “You were trying to protect me. I probably would’ve kicked you in the balls, or something worse, and I probably would have been Reassigned shortly after... so no, I don’t hate you.”
The smile that breaks across his face isn’t his usual one—it’s softer, almost disbelieving, and maybe a little fragile.
Relief runs through it like an exhale he’s been holding too long, and it hits something low in my chest. I can’t help it.
I lean in and kiss him—just a brush, light, meant to say it’s fine, but my weight shifts with the movement, and he catches it, hands sliding to my hips as he rolls me easily on top of him.
His fingers slide into my hair, pushing it gently back from where it's fallen around us as my hand rests by the birthmark just above his heart.
“Lyra, do you know how beautiful you are?” he says, quiet and rough. “God, I’ve wanted to say that for so long.”
His eyes hold mine—open, unguarded, a little undone—but then they drop, darkening as they trail over the bare lines of my body, straddling his. Then his other hand slides up my thigh and I can feel him, already getting hard beneath me.
“Okay,” I murmur, leaning down, lips brushing his, “I have so many more, but right now I’m done asking questions,”
I kiss him. And that’s all it takes.
He flips us fast. I’m on my back, breath stolen, and suddenly, we’re not talking anymore.