21 - You & Me

(Mature content ahead! Read at your own discretion)

— ➶ —

I don't leave Rowan's side when we make it back to the pack house. I'm his second shadow, pressing my shoulder against his own, or else brushing my hand against his— whatever I can do to stay close and attentive. Panic clings to me, stealing my breath and turning my focus razor-edged. All I can do is stay close, as though those lycanthropes will dart out from the shadows and snatch him if I'm not careful.

My family are hurt badly. Those lycan's claws are lethal, and though the marks it — she? — left on us all are healing, it's taking a whole lot longer than I'd like. It only reminds me that the next time we fight, those wounds might be too deep to heal. I won't let that happen.

Rowan falls back on the instinct of caring for his own as easily as breathing, and I'm right by his side as he checks everyone over. Disregarding his own injuries — though, in all fairness, I'm acutely aware of them for the both of us — he asks Lachlan to fetch a blanket and tells Teo to set Kay's wolf down in the lounge. They whine softly, tail thumping, and he kneels down at their side to coax them into a shift. I don't miss the way he winces as he does so, and I make a mental note to check his wounds more thoroughly when I have the chance.

When, after a few minutes of gentle coaxing, Kay begins to shift, Rowan's form slumps with relief. "That's it," he praises as Matteo relaxes with similar solace. The life of a werewolf is still new to Kay, I suppose, since they were only turned a few years ago, and I guess this hesitance is as much due to fear as to pain.

"There's fucking two of them," they gasp at last from beneath the blanket Lach has draped over them.

A little laugh escapes Teo, brittle as cracking glass, and he manages, "I know."

Satisfied my family are alright — or at least as alright as they can be after the close call — I devote my focus towards security. My hand ghosts the hilt of my last knife as I kneel and angle myself between Rowan and the doorway. It's the only entry point, given the windows are locked and the curtains drawn, and though I know these lycanthropes are probably nursing their wounds and have no intention of opening the front door, I stare towards the quiet hallway fervently anyway, awaiting an ambush. I'm shivering, my Haze prowling just out of reach, and nerves fire in fits and starts as I lose myself to a blurry yet devoted defence.

The others start talking softly amongst themselves, and I let their words wash over me without paying much attention.

"...how it's even possible..."

"...don't know what to..."

"...guys be alright if I check on Riv...?"

"Yeah, yeah, we're all good. Go on."

Rowan rises from his crouch, tugging at my focus, and my gaze darts up towards him just as he offers me his hand. Lachlan and Matteo are frowning softly at me and even Kay has peeked out of the blanket to watch.

With one last wary glance towards the hall, I take his hand and let him pull me up, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he leads me from the room and down the maze of branching hallways.

I falter outside our door but Rowan doesn't, and I let myself be pulled further down the hall until we reach the bathroom we've been sharing with the others.

Rowan releases me to lock the door behind us and wanders towards the bath, shrugging off his top as he goes. As he messes with the tap, and as water gushes into the bath, I find myself wandering aimlessly, as though lost in a dream, only to falter when my absent gaze finds the mirror above the sink.

I stare at my reflection in muted shock. Crimson streams down my temple, drying and cracking and streaked with mud. My hair is all tousled with bits of dried leaves and blood from my hard landing and my eyes are wide and shimmering, ghosts stirring in their mercury depths. My clothes are dirty and four puncture wounds mar my shoulder. Drying blood leaks like tangled roots down my arm, merging with the streaks of pale lightning beneath my skin.

In short, I look as though I've just barely survived an attack from a nightmare, which I suppose is the truth.

As Rowan steps up behind me, his golden gaze drifting down my reflection and his brows pinching, I tell him, "I need to get my knives back."

"We'll fetch them in the morning," he assures me. "Come on."

He leads me to the bath, grabbing the first-aid kit Morgan sent with us from the counter as he goes. With a gentle, attentive care, he has me take a seat on the lip of the bath and rummages in the kit for some antiseptic wipes.

I study him closely and wonder if this gentle side of him — which, I suppose, is almost every side of him — is a way for him to regain control of himself after a close call. I defend to clear my mind; he checks on those he cares about.

"Your eyes," I manage at last. They've been blazing golden for the entire walk back, and even now we're inside and relatively safe, the gold persists.

He swallows thickly, his brows furrowing. "He's close," he explains. "He wants to make sure you're alright."

"Oh."

"Are you?"

I take a breath and let it out slowly. "I don't know. Are you?"

"I will be as soon as you are."

He steps up close to me and, with a finger hooked beneath my chin, he guides my head into a slight tilt so he can study the source of the fire. With the care of a heart surgeon, he starts to clean the wound on my head. The fire flares and I suck in a sharp breath.

"I'm so sorry, love," he murmurs, his voice the rustling of leaves. "Bear with me."

As he works, and as I grow accustomed to the flares, my gaze drifts appreciatively down his form. The swirled ink of his sleeve tattoos, the broad, chiselled expanse of his torso, the streaks of blood and dirt marbling his skin, the joggers hanging sensually off his hips. My focus stutters and trips at the site of the lycan's fury— the four puncture wounds seem like scars now, dark against his bronze skin like persistent echoes. Carefully, I reach up and trace my fingers over the marks, assuring myself he really is alright. I almost lost him tonight. That lycan's claws could have torn him in two. They could've sliced his neck and he'd be gone in an instant. I wouldn't have been able to say goodbye, or— or any of the things I need to tell him.

Thoughts flit and surge like faulty wiring in my head. Echoes of the fight, of the massacred wolf we found the other week, of the hunters I dealt with out in the woods, of Rowan's wolf lying limp and unresponsive— they all grapple for my fractured focus.

That fight was too close a call.

I thought I lost him, and it was all my fault. I'd rushed in unprepared, certain I could take the lycanthrope because of my Haze and Imogen's theories about my heritage and the assuring knives in my grip, but I could barely scratch the thing, let alone get close enough to kill it. And now there's two of them.

I'm used to throwing myself head-first into danger with nothing but my skills and my weapons to fall back on. I'm used to pushing and pushing until the threat is gone. Even with the Ferreus hunters, nearly every shred of my attention would be on my own fights, and I would only ever watch out for Esme, as she would watch out for me.

What I'm not used to is caring so deeply about every person I'm fighting alongside. Every yelp or whine, every bruising connection, was as raw and painful as if I'd been the one struck down. My focus had been divided, torn in two, with one half dedicated to taking down the threat and the other trying to keep my family safe from harm.

I thought I'd managed it, and then the lycanthrope struck Rowan and my world fractured.

I can't do it. I can't take on one lycanthrope and I can't take on two— not without putting the people I care about at risk. And yet, I can't do it alone, either.

A horrible, sickening idea flickers to life amidst the carnage of shattered thoughts and fractured memories. A black, thick smoke curling and seeping its way out of the depths.

"It's healing well on its own," Rowan notes, his voice a beacon dragging me out of those choking shadows. Though I cling onto his distraction, the smoke curls at the edges of my mind. Looming. "Where else were you hurt?"

"I'm fine," I dismiss.

"River," he says softly, coaxing me into meeting his gaze. His golden eyes are liquid with concern; a melting, swirling pool of heartache I find myself falling into. "It's just you and me. If you're hurt, love, then please tell me. I need to make sure you're alright."

I swallow thickly, but I can't break the hold his gaze has over me. "I think I fractured a few ribs," I admit. As he curses beneath his breath, I rush on to assure him, "But they're healing, too. Whenever I've sprained or broken something in the past, it heals fine on its own. Promise." It's true; there's a dull ache in my chest as the fractures set themselves.

He stares down at me and that concern in his eyes only deepens. His brows furrow and he takes a steeling breath. "Alright," he says at last. "As long as you're sure."

Satisfied that he's finished, I swipe the kit, pull out another antiseptic wipe, and guide him a little closer to study those wounds more thoroughly. Rowan gives himself over to my close attention and his only complaint is a sharp intake of breath when I start to clean the wounds. I murmur an apology, though most of my focus is locked on the injury.

My wariness, ever so slowly, begins to thaw as I deem the wounds to be healing. "How's your head?" I ask at last, breaking the quiet gathering between us.

"Hmm?" Rowan returns, blinking to awareness like a deer caught in headlights.

"You knocked yourself out, Rowan," I remind him, though it sounds more like an accusation.

He clears his throat, a bronze blush burning his cheeks and nose, and as I wonder what's on his mind, he tells me, "I'm alright." To prove it, he swipes his fingers through his unruly curls, checking himself over, and there's no blood on his hand when he pulls it back.

At last, I relent with a nod and release him.

He reaches past me to turn off the tap and, without preamble, he strips off his joggers and steps into the bath, holding out his hand for me once again. I undress quickly and join him, submerging myself in the pleasant heat. The aches and pains within me start to settle a little.

I'm quiet as we sit facing one another, and I'm quiet as I start washing the blood and dirt off his skin, and I'm quiet as he does the same to me. There is nothing but the rhythmic trickle of water as we work to assure ourselves that we're both alright.

"River, I know that was a close one, but we'll be better prepared next time. There's no need to worry," Rowan tells me when, at last, we settle back; clean and content, for the most part. "We know there's two instead of one— we can plan our approach and try again."

I break his golden gaze and instead absently study the swirling web of cracks and symbols fracturing my skin. "What was it you said last week, when we first got here?" I ask him. "If we do this, there's no trying and failing. I tried, and I failed, Rowan. I almost killed you."

"Hey," he says at once, sitting up with a stern frown tugging at his features. "This isn't your fault. We tried, and it didn't end well, but we got out, too. You didn't hurt me, Riv. That lycanthrope did." He breaks off and shakes his head. "That creature used to be Grace, but the way it was throwing itself at us all... it's like she was never there to begin with."

A shudder scuttles down my spine. I think of Imogen's detached expression as she told me to kill the creature that used to be her daughter. And then I think of Orion aiming a gun at Esme's head for a bite on her shoulder. Neither of them asked for this mess. And neither of them deserved this fate.

Rowan watches me closely, his eyes fading to their familiar chocolate as he deems me to be alright. His wolf retreats to the depths of his subconscious.

I stare at him in return, and I can't shake the heaviness in my chest at the mere thought of losing him. I can't put him at risk like that again.

If I lose him, I lose the part of myself that I can't live without. He is the breath of fresh air when I'm drowning. He is the flicker of light when I'm lost in the shadow of my Haze. I need him. Without him by my side, I'm lost.

"What is it?" he asks softly. I find myself sinking in the depths of his liquid chocolate eyes; in a storm of concern and dedication.

The words come tumbling.

"I thought I lost you," I breathe, my voice shuddering with raw emotion. The grief I've tried hard to bury comes crashing down all around me, breaking apart the fragile wall keeping my fear at bay. "I couldn't help Esme and I— I couldn't help you—"

"I'm fine, love. I promise," he assures me. As I sit up, he does the same, pressing his forehead to mine and swiping his thumb across my cheek. Ever so gently, he takes my hand and presses it to his chest, his eyes searching mine. "See? I'm okay."

I flatten my palm against him and feel the soft, familiar, comforting thump of his heartbeat. With my free hand, I grip the back of his neck and pull him close. "Never do that to me again," I warn weakly. In a sudden rush, the words I've longed to say for weeks now come flowing. "I... I love you, Rowan, and I can't—" my voice trembles, but I forge on— "I can't lose you. Not like that."

Even despite the close call, he smiles; a breathtaking dawn breaching an endless night. His lips capture mine in a soft, languorous caress as his fingers lace through my hair, being careful not to go near the wound. I melt against his affections, grasping at him in a desperate effort to keep him close.

At last, he pulls back a little, his eyes shimmering with golden flecks; shards of sunlight in a dark gaze that burns with devotion. "I love you, too."

A charge stirs between us; arousal flickering in the embers of our passion. He kisses me again and again. Thoughts swirl in a whirlpool beneath his close attention, beneath the velvet of his lips and the warmth of his hand at my jaw and the pressure of his body against mine.

At last, he pulls back. With remarkable restraint, considering the lust burning in his eyes, he pulls the plug, rises, and steps out of the bath. He grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist before turning to me and offering a hand to help me up.

I take it, stepping out of the swirling pool of dirt and blood, and when I send him a lost look, he steps up close to me. He kisses me once more before his lips graze across my cheek. He breathes against my ear, "I want to take my time with you, love, and the others might need the bathroom soon."

A shiver of longing, of desperate need, jolts down my spine like a lightning strike.

Rowan pulls away, taking my breath with him and leaving me to work my way through the cloud of arousal settling down around me as he dries himself, dons his joggers, and scoops up our pile of dirty clothes in his arms.

He waits at the door for me as I find a fresh towel and wrap it round my waist, hoping and praying that the others won't be waiting just outside.

Mercifully, when Rowan opens the door, the hallway is clear, and we make it to our room without any awkward confrontations.

Dropping our clothes in a heap by the door, Rowan strides for the bed. He switches on the bedside lamp and, as he settles on the sheets, he offers me a soft smile seeping with devotion.

The smile I send back is coy, and I revel in his sharp intake of breath when I drop the towel and approach.

The moment I sit down, he's right there with me, kissing me softly, coaxing me back against the headboard. I'm glad to give myself over to his affections.

He runs his hands over every inch of me, as though searching for any lingering injuries despite my assurances, and he leaves twin trails of fire in his wake.

And then he takes me in his hand, and my world ignites. I melt against the pillows with a strangled groan of appreciation as his kisses turn deep and sensual.

He pulls back before long, watching me with a fond, sultry smile as I gasp and arch against him. The heat builds and builds; I'm powerless to stop it, but I don't want to.

I need him. I need—

"Ro—" I manage breathlessly. "I want more."

I watch as his eyes shimmer golden with lust— arousal an inferno locked behind his gaze. His brows pinch and a ripple of longing fractures his features.

"Tell me what you want," he says, his pace relentless, his eyes riveted to my face as my expression contorts with agonised pleasure.

"You," I whine. "All of you. Rowan, please—"

All at once, he stops. Pleasure stutters and trips, leaving me breathless and hanging on a precipice. I send Rowan a lost look, only to find anguish tugging at his brows and lips. The fire in his eyes becomes timid.

"I want that, too. So much," he murmurs, his voice the rustling of leaves. Ever so gently, he traces his finger along my jaw and his eyes track the movement closely. "But I... I can't. Not here. It— it isn't home."

Carefully, he lifts his gaze to mine. His eyes are an endless pool of longing and desire, of heartache and anguish and silent apologies.

I reach up to cup his cheek; he leans into the gesture. "I understand," I tell him. "I know what it means to you. I just— I want you to know I'm ready when you are. To go further, I mean. I trust you, Rowan, and I want to be with you in every way. I don't want to lose you."

He smiles at me and closes the distance between us to kiss me softly. "Thank you for trusting me, love. I know what this means to you, too, and I need you to know we'll go at the pace you want. I'm happy with whatever you give me, and you don't have to give me that if you don't—"

"I want to," I cut him off, certainty lacing its way through my tone. What happened tonight proves we're tied together. My fate and his are interlinked; they have been since I met him in that alley. I want it to be official— I want him to be mine, and I want to be his. He could be taken from me in a heart-wrenching moment of chaos, just as I could be taken from him. I can't lose him without him knowing how much he means to me.

As I gaze up at him, wondering how in all hell I managed to get so lucky, his smile turns mischievous. My focus lingers there. "You know," he says casually, his hand picking up a slow, torturous rhythm that has me sighing in relief. "We might not be able to go all the way right now, but I'd like to try something else. If you want."

I'm liquid euphoria in his embrace, tilting my head back with a nod and a breathless assent as my hips arch against his skilled hand. In every interaction, in every promise he keeps, he has earned my unconditional trust.

"Tell me to stop, and I'll stop," he murmurs, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he grazes them down my chest, absently kissing along the way. He's careful with his movements, keeping his kisses light and airy. I watch, awestruck, as he settles between my legs and flicks his gaze up to regard me once more— checking for unease.

He won't find anything.

A little smile touches his lips as his focus drifts lazily, appreciatively, down my form. And then he takes me in his mouth.

I barely manage to clap my hand over my mouth to conceal the groan that escapes me, my hips arching upwards to chase that heavenly heat. Rowan's hands grasp at my hips, coaxing a gentle rocking movement I'm all too happy to settle into.

My fingers sink into his curls, tugging gently, as he goes a little deeper each time. A moan of satisfaction rumbles through him, and the vibrations cause a jolt of pleasure so intense it has my eyes rolling and a whine rushing from me.

It's taking a special form of restraint to keep quiet, to muffle the desperate noises rushing from me behind my hand. I'm sinking in a fog of euphoria, clarity detaching.

The pleasure builds and builds. When I glance down at him, I find Rowan already staring up at me, his bronze gaze honeyed with devotion as he checks for any hint of a refusal. The intensity behind his eyes has a thunderclap of pleasure jolting down my spine and his name leaves my lips in a muffled, desperate moan.

I can't look away from him. Not when he's got strings tied to my pleasure and every little tug has me whimpering and gasping for more.

My release sneaks up on me, catching me by surprise. One moment I'm holding Rowan's gaze, losing myself in the intimacy of his close attention, and the next I'm melting against the sheets and arching against him, breathing hard as I succumb to the sensation of his warmth moving so perfectly against me. His moans harmonise with mine; a perfect concert.

When I emerge, languorous as rippling waves, Rowan's right there to greet me.

My fingers are still lost in his hair, and I tug him close to kiss him softly. He melts into my affections. Desperate, my free hand trails down his chest, down the ripples of his muscles, until I reach the waistband of his joggers. A shuddering breath rushes out of him when I dip my fingers beneath the elastic, but I stop there. Instead, I pull back to study his face.

"May I?" I ask coyly, keeping my hand tauntingly out of reach.

"Please," he breathes.

I give him what he wants, with every firm stroke hauling him to a precipice. He's close already; I stare up at him as his features contort with pleasure, riveted to every inch of him.

He kisses me to muffle the desperate sounds escaping him; I'm all too happy to settle into the fast, eager pace he sets as he shudders against me.

My own pace is unrelenting, hauling him over the edge. He stiffens against me with a muffled groan, and the hand he's not using to hold himself up locks around my wrist to keep my movements steady. Pleasure hisses through my blood as I watch him find his own.

At last, we collapse amongst the ruffled sheets, breathing hard, little smiles tugging at our lips as we stare at one another.

Clarity nudges its way into focus. The incessant ticking of distant clocks fight for our attention and the cottage creaks and wails in symphony.

The bedside lamps casts harsh shadows across the small room and the weak moonlight can't quite penetrate past the curtains. As I lie there, soaking up languorous bliss, the shadows I've tried hard to ignore come creeping back. The terrible idea that I have no choice but to try.

But I don't want to think about it. Not yet. Selfishly, I want to savour this moment with Rowan; our shade of peace in the wake of all that terror.

So I shove the shadows back into a dusty, forgotten corner of my mind and shuffle into Rowan's arms, turning my back on them for the night.