Chapter 14
Kai
he doesn’t know. Rowan doesn’t know.
I lean my head against the stonewall of the main Spire and gulp
breath into constricting lungs, trying to calm myself before fury gets
the better of me. I couldn’t stand another second of listening to Thomeo
lecture on how to torture draken, not without killing the colonel and half the
lecture hall. Or all of them. I really should have found elsewhere to be after
seeing the lecture topic—Logan and Kyrian certainly did—but something
tugged and tugged at me to stay.
Not something—someone. Rowan. I wanted to see her face when she
spoke about auric steel. And I did. Enough to know that she’s oblivious to
the torment her precious alloy inflicts.
But since when is ignorance a defense?
One hand still clutching my dagger blade—I still need the physical pain
to keep from erupting—I pull Lilith’s pendant from beneath my shirt and
run my thumb over the iridescent scales at its core. Lilith’s hatchling scales
from the first time she molted. She is the reason I’m here. Trying to make
things right after I fucked everything up. Again.
But that’s the story of my life, isn’t it? I bring destruction everywhere I
go.
“Hang on, Lilith,” I whisper. “Give me a chance to fix it.”
“Grayson?”
My head snaps up and I narrow my eyes at the approaching figure. The
alchemist. Who is supposed to currently be in the lecture hall, conspiring
with the other humans on how to best destroy lives and souls.
“Are you alright?” Rowan asks, her mane of chestnut hair escaping the
bun she’d tried to harness it into. How can someone so damn delicious be
responsible for so much pain? And how can my own core heat in response
to the alchemist’s presence when I know exactly what her magic does?
“Why aren’t you at lecture?” I demand in a voice that Lilith calls my
kill-now-talk-later tone.
“You’re one to talk.” Instead of backing away like any normal person
would under the circumstance, Rowan closes the rest of the distance
between us and reaches for my hand. The one gripping the dagger blade and
leaking blood onto the ground. “Let me see.”
Of course she wants to see. She’d probably reach her hand into a wolf’s
mouth to help with a sore tooth, too. Because somehow, against all logic
and reason, Rowan Ainsley is… good. The kind of good that crosses the
commandant she fears for the sake of delivering medicine to sick children
in the slums. The kind that protects her friends even when she’s terrified. A
naïve kind of good.
A part of me despises her for it.
My shadows swirl around my hand, but it’s too late now to cover the
evidence. Rowan pulls her hand back from the darkness, but only to my
elbow, where she grips me lightly. A tiny jolt of energy races from her
fingertips into my skin, as if the connection between us is alive. Humming.
I don’t move, watching mesmerized as Rowan catches her bottom lip
between her teeth, making it impossible to look away from her mouth. Does
she taste the way she smells? Sweet and citrusy, like sugar-coated mischief?
Realizing the direction of my thoughts, I yank them back with a harsh
jerk. Worry less about how she tastes, and more about why the hells she
followed you. I pull my arm out of Rowan’s grasp and sheath the dagger,
though I know it’s too late. She’d seen the blood.
I wait for her to ask the logical prying questions, ready to shut that line
of effort down swiftly.
“Let’s… find something black and fierce-looking to wrap around that,”
Rowan suggests instead. “Unless you want to walk around with a cloud of
shadows around your palm all day. Because that just makes you look
demented.”
Seriously?
“Did you just call me demented?” I clarify. “Because generally, only
people who enjoy being in a lot of pain do that.”
She blinks up at me without fear, her hazel eyes seeing more than I’m
comfortable with. “The workshop is just around the corner. I should have
something there that we can use inside.”
The workshop. The alchemy workshop. A jolt runs down my spine.
Kyrian, Logan and I had talked about destroying it before we left, but with
all the wards and locks in place even Logan didn’t dare try to get in. But to
be let inside by the alchemist herself? Only an idiot would pass that up. And
I’m no idiot. Just a harbinger of destruction.
Motioning for her to lead on, I follow Rowan around the edge of the
building and down a staircase to a basement level, where she runs her hand
over the lock—which must be magically keyed to her—then pulls a key
from her pocket. There’s a small spark when she turns it. Another layer of
protection.
The humans layered their defenses, but, as usual, the weakest parts of
any security chain are the people. Like the alchemist, now leading the fox
into the henhouse. It’s so easy, I don’t even feel guilty,
The alchemy workshop is oddly cozy, considering the destruction that’s
made within. Rows of shelves lining the stone walls hold neatly labeled
metals, alchemical compounds, and herbs. The massive workbench in the
center is cluttered with cauldrons and measuring devices, all worn with use,
and there’s an entire wall of scrolls and books, their spines cracked from
frequent handling. The air hums with magic, threaded with Rowan’s scent.
This place—where they made the poison that destroyed Lilith’s future—
doesn’t feel like a torture chamber. Just disciplined creativity and potent
energy.
What were you expecting? Ulyssus demands in my mind. Diagrams of
screaming draken? Tapestries embroidered with Eryndor’s tenets? Maybe
wings pinned to the wall or severed limbs in jars?
I have no answer for him. I don’t know what I was expecting. Just that it
wasn’t this.
Rowan pulls a basket from a shelf and brings it over to where I’m
leaning against the worktable. “Would it be a waste of breath to ask what
happened?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Figured.” She unpacks gauze and a few vials that smell pungent even
before she uncorks them. “So, who is Lilith?”
My spine locks. “Where did you hear that name?”
“From you.” She holds her hands up. “You sounded like you were
talking to her when I found you.”
Shit. I’d been so angry when I stormed out of the lecture hall, I’d not
been paying attention to my surroundings and must have said Lilith’s name
aloud. And of course, the alchemist was there to hear it.
I pin Rowan with a glare she doesn’t deserve. “Shouldn’t you be
worrying more about yourself?” I snap, cutting off her line of questioning,
then go on the offensive. “Isn’t there enough talk of you rutting your way
up the command chain without bringing me here alone? What will the
neighbors think?”
She flinches, and I hate myself immediately.
“At this point, I don’t think my reputation can get any worse,” Rowan
says tightly. “So there didn’t seem much point in letting you bleed all over
the ground. Give me your hand.”
She avoids looking at my face as she takes my palm—more gently than
I deserve—and dabs the wound with a clean rag. Stars, anyone else would
have dumped a bucket of fire-filled liquid on me for what I’d just said—and
they’d be justified. But not her. Not Rowan.
The little alchemist is a walking contradiction. And I hurt her for no
reason. I was angry at myself having paid too little attention to my
surroundings, and I took it out on her.
Which, honestly, wouldn’t usually bother me. But with Rowan, it does.
“Lilith is… an adoptive sister of sorts,” I say, offering a sliver of peace.
“She’s very ill.”
Rowan’s eyes widen with compassion. Of course, she forgives me
already.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly.
“It’s—” I can’t tell her it’s not her fault, because in a way it could very
well be. I don’t want to hurt her more, but I’d rather not lie more than I have
to. “Do you have siblings?” I say instead. I know she doesn’t. At least not
ones who’ve been acknowledged. We’ve found no record of who her father
had been.
Rowan shakes her head. “I used to think of Collin as a brother. Our
families have known each other forever and we spent a lot of time together
as kids. Then the whole brother thing turned, well, distinctly un-brother
like. And you know the most recent explosion there.” She tries for a light
tone, but it fails spectacularly. “Maybe you should be the one worrying
about being alone with the Spire whore.”
“Don’t.” I grab Rowan’s chin, forcing her face up until I can see her
eyes clearly. Then I pour every ounce of command into my voice. “Don’t
ever call yourself that. Not even in jest.”
She tries to pull away, but I don’t let her. Not until I’m sure the message
sinks in, no matter how long it takes.
Rowan’s eyes flash, defiance igniting beneath the hurt. “Why don’t you
make up your mind, Grayson? You’re the one who—”
“- said something stupid a minute ago? I’m well aware. Which shows
how little you should listen to me.”
“Except… I should listen to you now?”
“What you should do is tell me to shut up and knee me in the balls,” I
say honestly. I shut my eyes for a heartbeat, my grip on her chin softening. I
should pull away. I know I should. The part of my mind that’s still
functioning is screaming at me to put distance between us, to remember
why I’m here in Eryndor, what the alchemist truly represents.
And yet… My thumb brushes gently across her cheek, almost of its own
volition. The softness of her skin sends a shudder through me, awakening
sensations I really wish would stay buried.
Rowan inhales but doesn’t pull away from me. Her heart shines through
her eyes, and the more I search their green brown hues for the coldness and
calculation my mind demands to find in an Eryndor alchemist, the more I
come up empty. Instead, I see only warmth, confusion, and a vulnerability
that makes my chest ache.
Suddenly, I wish I could go back to the courtyard where Chambers had
hurt her and rip out the man’s throat to stop him from ever uttering those
words. I wish I could erase the sting from the cruel blows I delivered
myself. Worse still, I want her to forgive me.
“I’m sorry,” I hear myself murmur, my voice low and rough. The words
surprise me as much as they do Rowan. “I shouldn’t have said those things.
You’re… you’re not what I expected.”
Rowan blinks and I drown. Are her eyes just hazel or are those tiny
specks of silver in there too? Whatever they are, they are devastatingly
dangerous and threaten to unravel all my carefully laid plans.
“And what did you expect?” Rowan whispers.
I slide my hand from her chin to the side of her face, then farther,
brushing my knuckles against her hair. It’s softer and silkier than I’d
imagined, and I savor the feel of it against my calloused skin. Rowan’s
eyelids flutter and she leans into my touch. Not a lot, but enough to make
my heart skip into a gallop.
It’s madness. I know that. I know who she is. She is… She is the one
responsible for my racing heart, and halting breath, and heating skin.
“Someone easier to hate,” I admit.
Her breath hitches, and my attention drops to her lips. They are so close
now, close enough that I can feel the tickle of her breath against my neck.
Every fiber inside me screams with the need to taste her. Would her mouth
be as sweet as her scent? As intoxicating?
I lean closer, every muscle in my body coiling with the effort it takes to
keep myself in check and give Rowan a chance to pull back.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she tilts her head up toward me, her fingers
pressing into my bandaged hand. And I can’t hold myself in check any
more. I press my mouth to hers, softer than I’ve ever done with a female.
It’s worth it. A million times over. Rowan’s lips are as warm as I’ve
imagined, her mouth absurdly pliant as she allows me to taste her. The
mixture of sweetness, citrus and something uniquely Rowan ignites a fire in
my veins. In my core. And stars take me, it makes my britches feel about
four sizes too tight.
My grip slides to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as I deepen the
kiss, my body pressing hers gently against the workbench.
Rowan’s hands move to my chest in answer, not pushing me away, but
clinging to my shirt. The kiss turns deeper with each heartbeat, as if our
hearts themselves are speaking together, trying to match each other’s
urgency and building need. Rowan’s soft moan vibrates against my lips and
what little remains of my self control wavers, my hands slipping down to
grip her backside and pull her against my hardness. When I finally break the
kiss, it’s only because she needs air and I need to trail my mouth down her
jawline, savoring the feel of her skin.
“Ow.” Rowan jerks, pulling back with a sudden gasp. A soft selfdeprecating laugh catches her breath. “You’ve some sharp teeth there.”
Ice shoots through my veins, reality slapping my head hard enough to
make everything ring. I don’t have sharp teeth, I’ve sharp canines. And I’d
come within a hair’s breadth of biting her for real.
I step back quickly, knocking myself against the shelves behind me and
upsetting the glass jars and vials stacked there. As if jerking back now can
undo what I’ve done. But it can’t. Rowan is already reaching toward the
tiny scratch of blood on her neck. The one she doesn’t yet know is there.
But I do.
Rowan’s hand stills, her brows knitting in confusion. “It’s alright. You
didn’t hurt me. Don’t worry.”
Of course she would say that. Would try to make me feel better.
But that’s only because she doesn’t know what I am, that it was fae
canines that had scraped her skin. And if she finds out, the past two years
will have been for nothing. The chance for a cure, the one I’ve promised to
give Lilith, will disappear. My heart hammers against my ribs as I take a
step toward the exit. Then another.
The confusion in Rowan’s eyes shifts to hurt. I’ve hurt her. Of course I
did. That’s what I always do.
Turning on my heels, I flee the workshop without another word.
