28 - Take That Chance

(Mature content ahead! Read at your own discretion)

— ➶ —

As usual, in the wake of terror, Rowan is quick to take control in that annoyingly gentle way of his. He commands the room with care and attentiveness, and he settles into the role of looking after his people like a king taking his throne. He checks everyone's alright and healing, and then he sets about organising for the mess outside to be cleared up and for some scouts to take back the land Duskland stole before any ambitious rival wolves can pull rank.

Everyone rushes to do as he asks— not out of fear, I understand now, but out of a desire to be worthy of him.

I use their distraction to slip away down the hall and retreat into the room I claimed as my own.

Well, not for much longer.

I scramble through the dresser and the wardrobe until I find a small backpack tucked away, and I toss it onto the bed and descend into a rushed flurry of activity. If I stop and think, I'll change my mind and that cannot happen. It will not. My gaze flits to the clearing and the few werewolves dragging limp bodies into a pile, and I stalk towards the window and rip the curtains closed.

My knives still lie sprawled on the nightstand and the bed. I empty out a drawer, drop them inside, and slam it closed. It doesn't feel like enough. Rowan needs to hide them somewhere far away. Somewhere I cannot find them. They're nothing but a tie to a family and a legacy I do not want, and they lead to nothing but suffering for the people I've grown to care about.

I'm choosing werewolves over a silver-lined safety net, and my mind has never been clearer. I know what I must do to keep them safe from myself.

I'm so preoccupied shoving clothes in the bag that I don't notice when Rowan manifests in the open doorway.

He taps his knuckles against the door frame and my attention snaps towards him; my rushed packing on hold. Guilt claws away at me.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, leaning against the frame and crossing his arms.

I frown. "What?"

His expression twists with something close to discomfort. "Well, you haven't eaten in a while, so I thought... well, Kay thought they'd make you something— if you want, that is. They're incredible in the kitchen. Honestly, it's an opportunity you can't let pass you by."

He offers a little laugh, but my frown only deepens. My attention flickers to the bag and back, and I wonder if perhaps he's ignoring it on purpose. As though, if he doesn't draw attention to it, the backpack doesn't exist.

I manage a nod. "I could eat something." It'd be good to eat now, so I can spend more time on the road and get as far away from here as I can. I'll make sure my family are following. I'll make sure they won't come back here. I'll make sure Rowan and his pack stay safe.

"Alright." He turns his head a little and calls out, "Kay! It's a go on dinner."

Distantly, I hear a whoop that could only belong to a victorious Beau.

My plan to sneak off while everyone is too busy restoring order is in shambles, so I decide to test the waters. See how long it takes for Rowan to try and stop me. Then again, after my show in the clearing, and now his rivals are dead, he doesn't need me around anymore. He claims to want to help me with my demons, but I'm one of the demons now— a monster without control. I'm doing him a favour by leaving. My excuses are bricks, and I build up a dam to hold back any feeling at all.

"You okay?" he says, his gaze dipping pointedly to my shirt. I follow his close attention and find — a little belatedly — my top all torn and bloodied, courtesy of Elsie's wolf and her claws and her rage. It doesn't hurt, and I expect the scratches lurking beneath are already healing. She didn't bite me — of that, I'm certain — and anything else is simply not life-threatening enough to concern me.

"I'm fine," I say, eyeing Rowan warily. "I need the keys to my car."

He rubs at his jaw and hums. "So you've made your choice, then." Something about his posture deflates, and he walks further into the room and closes the door carefully behind him. "Is... is it honestly that bad to let me help you?"

The dam cracks and crumbles. The words come spilling before I can stop them.

"Yes!" I insist, glaring at him. "My own family want me dead. I'm trying to keep them away from you. All my life, I've been told you're all monsters and bloodthirsty and— and you're not. I am. They've made me into a soldier and they told me to kill you and I can't trust my own mind anymore. You don't know what it's like to... to lose yourself like that." With every word, my voice becomes more strained, more shaky, but I forge on regardless, determined for him to understand. "Don't you dare stand there and act like I'm leaving for my pride. I'm trying to keep you alive. I'm dangerous for you to be around. Why won't you see that? Why won't you see I'm trying to save you from myself? I lost Esme to them and I will not lose you, too."

He recoils as though my words are shurikens, each one landing true to a razor-edged aim, but determination sparks in his eyes like a furious blaze. "I don't want to lose you, either, River. If you leave, and they follow, you might never come back. You are my fated. I don't know what you feel, but I know I can't lose you like this. You have to let me help you. We'll face your family together and we— we'll find a way to manage. We have to, because I won't lose you. I can't." He's wild-eyed and desperate; that tranquil alpha mask of his cracking. "I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe with me— but you have to let me help."

"And what if I Haze again? What if you get too close and I snap and I kill you— what then?" I demand, shoving another top into the bag. It smells like him. They all do.

He steps closer. "I'm willing to take that chance. I trust you, River."

"I can't trust myself!" I explode. My voice is tight and trembling, so I channel fire into the glare I send his way to make up for it.

His features are twisted with anguish and his eyes shimmer with tears. "And that's the problem. You're letting it control you, you're letting your family control you. This fear, this guilt— it's what they want. They want you to run and cower and go crawling back to them begging for help. I thought you didn't run from fights. Let me help you."

The fight drains out of me and I sit heavily on the bed, digging my palm heels into my eyes and taking deep, steeling breaths. I melt back against the headboard with a sigh.

"I'm sorry for what they've done to you," Rowan murmurs, the mattress tilting a little as he takes a seat beside me. "We'll make them pay together, I vow it."

"I don't want to run," I manage in a ragged whisper. "But I don't want to hurt you, either."

"We'll find a way," he tells me, some of that alpha spark lacing into his words. "We must. On the Goddess, I vow it. She wouldn't let us find one another to lose each other like this."

We're both quiet for a while. Distantly, I hear the activity of a pack scrambling to restore order in the wake of chaos.

"Did you believe them, back there?" I find myself asking when at last I've gained back some semblance of control, dropping my hands and staring at Rowan. He's frowning softly, a question in his eyes, so I forge on, "About the link between us being a... a hunter trick."

Understanding dawns; a spark of light behind his gaze. "No," he says softly. "I saw you trapped and at their mercy and it almost broke me, knowing I could've lost you. I know it like I know my own mind, River. This is real." Ever so gently, he reaches up and traces his finger with feather-light precision across my neck, following the echo of Elijah's blade. His close attention leaves a trail of fire in its wake. A pleasant fire. One that has me leaning a little closer, basking in its heat. "I saw the knife at your throat and I couldn't think of anything except, 'don't take him from me'."

I lose myself in his gaze, wanting nothing more than to drown in the peace flooding from him. Even when I've lost control of my own life, he's not going anywhere. He's not leaving me alone, he's not shutting me out. He's by my side. I can't turn my back on this— on him.

An urge grips me— but not the Haze kind. The kind that has me closing the distance between us, eager for his peace to smooth out my ragged emotions. He meets me halfway and our lips meet in a gentle, soft caress.

This time, we're tentative. Like a fawn learning to stand on its own, or a field mouse venturing out of its home, checking for threats. Neither of us want to coax out a Haze in me, and yet every gentle brush of our lips sets my world on fire for an entirely different reason. My fingers tangle through his hair and tug. His hand cups my cheek, keeping me close.

I fall into a world of serenity and cinnamon.

Until, at last, Rowan pulls away.

"Is this okay?" he breathes out, pressing his forehead lightly to mine as he gazes imploringly at me.

I manage a nod, breathless, and we connect once more in a ripple of warmth and bliss and tranquillity. It's perfect, but I want more. I need more.

So I push the boundaries, deepening our kisses so his regal scent coats my tongue and sends every shadow retreating beneath the spearing light of his close attention.

This time, Rowan does not meet my advances. This time, he melts beneath my intentions with a little whine that sends a jolt of pleasure thrumming through my blood. He relaxes back against the pillows and I follow in his wake, drowning in the scent of him, in the warmth exploding between us.

His hands slide down my form to my hips, leaving twin trails of fire in their wake, and he pulls me onto his lap. As I settle, I feel him beneath me; desperate and straining and fuck— if it doesn't set my blood alight.

I gasp a little at the pleasant sparks, pulling back just enough to see his face.

With his hair all tousled, his lips parted and his eyes shimmering with devotion and pleasure, he looks exquisite. I can do nothing but stare, enraptured.

"You set the pace," he manages, his gaze flickering between my eyes and my lips. "What we do, how far we go. You're in control, alright?"

A smile tugs at my lips. "You're the strangest alpha I've ever seen," I taunt, kissing him deeply.

He laughs against me, using his hands on my hips to pull me down against him with a blissful pressure that tugs a desperate noise from my throat.

"That okay?" he checks.

"More than okay," I manage, already fumbling with his shirt.

He sits up to help me out, and we end up pressed together as he shrugs out of his shirt and moves to take mine off. And then he falters at the sight of the blood and the tears in the fabric.

"I know you say you're fine," he begins, clearly not convinced.

Before he can finish, I take off the shirt. Sure enough, the only evidence of the close call with Elsie is the angry red lines slashing through the tangled roots of the lichtenberg figures marring my skin. He traces his fingers across the claw marks, his brows pinching.

"I mean it, Rowan," I tell him, hooking my finger beneath his chin and tilting his head up until he's gazing into my eyes. "I'm fine. I promise."

"Alright," he murmurs, closing the distance between us and kissing me softly.

It's not long before we lose ourselves a little to the fog of bliss and arousal stirring around us. Our kisses deepen and our hands roam one another, tracing the intricate lines of our forms and committing every inch to memory. Somewhere along the way, we lose the rest of our clothes.

Rowan keeps to his word, and every step we take is down to me. He's wax in my hold, meeting my advances with whines and sighs. It's addicting as hell.

High on pleasure, and desperate for more, I shove past my fear and take us both in my fist. I keep my pace slow and deliberate, with each stroke hauling us towards serenity. Bliss sighs through my veins.

"Fuck," I gasp, a shudder sliding down my spine as I settle into a gentle rocking motion.

Rowan groans and melts against the sheets, his hands at my hips as he settles into the pace I set.

I close my eyes and tilt my head back, soft noises escaping my parted lips as I work through the new, serene sensations. My pace is slow, tentative, but it's heavenly.

"River," Rowan manages in a strangled, mewling noise.

My eyes slide open and I regard him in all his heated glory. His eyes flickering with desire and honeyed flames, his shoulders heaving with laboured, eager breaths.

"Are you alright?" he forges on, shuddering beneath me. His form is tensed up— he's holding himself back and the reins are in my hands.

I nod quickly, biting my lip to keep a rush of sinful noises locked away. My pace is building and the friction is gasoline to my fiery arousal. It's all so new and it's all so overwhelmingly good— I can't stop. I don't want to.

"Talk to me, love."

"Yes," I moan, the words escaping in a breathless rush. "Fuck, yes."

Desperate and craving more, I speed up without warning.

"Shit—!" he gasps, jerking against me. He lifts himself up on his arm, tugs his free hand through my hair, and brings me into a deep kiss.

It doesn't take long at all for us to find our release. Rowan's all gasps and groans as he holds me close and thrusts into my hand with desperation. Every movement, every sound, drags me towards a precipice.

It's more than I've ever done before, but it doesn't feel as overwhelming when he's so close to me, when it's his skin against mine and his ragged breaths in my ear.

"Rowan—!" I manage, my pace stuttering as I start to ignite. "I— fuck, I'm—"

"I know," he murmurs against my cheek, the brush of his lips like heaven. His hand closes around mine and he picks up where I left off. "Together, now."

I'm shuddering and moaning assent to keep him doing exactly what he's doing, and when my world explodes in a burst of shattering light, I hear him moan in symphony. Even as I float in the blissful aftermath, emerging from that pleasure, I feel him close. Keeping me tethered.

We emerge a gasping, liquid mess. Our forms melt into one as we shudder and jerk and take laboured breaths against damp skin. I've got my head buried in Rowan's neck and every breath I take is laced with musk and cinnamon and nutmeg.

His arms are locked around me — a warm, solid embrace I'm all too eager to bask in — and as he melts against the sheets, he takes me with him. I'm wax in his hold, savouring the peace.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs breathlessly against my hair.

I let out a heavy sigh and settle against his hold with a nod and a mumbled assent. A smile tugs at my lips. It's the closest I've ever been to a werewolf — our shared pleasure warm against my skin — and there's no Haze in sight.

A knock on the door startles us both from our reverie. I'm trapped like a deer in headlights, but Rowan deftly tugs the sheets over us both and calls out, "What is it?"

"Dinner's ready! Unless you're busy. Or unless our stray's killed you." Beau's voice is muffled and distant — even though only a door separates us — and I recall what Rowan said about the 'mainly soundproofed' doors which I couldn't be more grateful for in this moment.

Rowan groans and tips his head back but, before he can answer, the door handle starts to move.

He jerks up with startling efficiency as I grab the sheets and pull them over my head in a pointless endeavour to hide. "No, wait! Don't come in!" he exclaims with a touch of melodrama.

Mercifully, Beau listens. "Oh. Oh. I see," he calls, sounding way too pleased with himself. "Have fun, then!"

"Bastard," Rowan grumbles, falling down beside me.

I peek out from the sheets, decide the coast is clear, and emerge to shuffle close.

"Shall we face the music?" he asks, holding me in a light embrace.

"No," I mumble, resting my head on his shoulder, desperate to keep hold of the peace we've found. In his arms, in this bubble of security, Hazes and hunters are a distant blot on the horizon. "I want to stay like this for a bit."

"Me, too," he admits softly.

I close my eyes and simply exist in the moment, frozen in time, wishing it would last for all eternity.