53. Chapter Fifty-Three

As Kieran got up to finish brewing his tea, I let my curious eyes wander. This was the first time I’d ever actually had an opportunity to see his place.

The townhouse was surprisingly sophisticated and expensive looking, between the matching furniture sets and the built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves—filled to the brim with books. Some of them looked like first-edition novels, others were thick tomes on art, history, arcana, and so much more.

There were a few gold and bronze accent pieces, sculptures and abstract art on canvas placed elegantly throughout the room, which contrasted flawlessly with the deep blue filigree wallpaper and the plush carpets against the dark wood flooring. And gods, were those real plants on the windowsill? The man managed to keep plants alive on his work schedule? In all its elevated elegance, this looked like the type of townhouse one might inherit—not something Kieran would have purchased for himself. Curious.

There were bits and pieces of the Kieran I knew scattered throughout, though—you just had to look a little closer to catch them: the uniform coat strewn across the tufted leather chaise, and several cups of tea in various states of completion placed in odd locations, along with some half-eaten oranges. There was one heavy-looking ceramic mug acting as a very precarious bookend on the shelf to my left, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It even had a teaspoon in it still.

His voice startled me as he re-entered the room, supplies in hand.

“What are you even giggling about in here?”

“How many teacups would you say that you own?” I teased. I was sort of surprised, he didn’t often order tea when we were out. Though I usually did.

He shrugged.

“Tea helps me sleep.”

Yet another thing we had in common. Would we ever run out of similarities to stumble across? I wasn’t sure.

As he sat back down next to me, he began to prepare a cloth strip with some antiseptic solution. I reached for it, extending my hand towards his lap.

“Here, I can do that,” I offered. “You’ve done more than enough for me today.”

Kieran rolled his eyes and batted my hand away before I could take the medicine kit from him.

“Hush. Let me see your head,” he said in a brusque tone that almost reminded me of… Amaretta, of all people.

I sighed.

“I mean it, Kier… I can clean these scrapes up myself and get out of your hair, just point me to your—”

I trailed off, my train of thought interrupted immediately when he took two callused fingers and pushed my jaw to the side, ignoring my words. He was inspecting my forehead with the surgical attention of a cleric, and continued to steadfastly ignore my protests as he began dabbing at the scrape on my scalp, just above my forehead.

“I’m not sure if you realize this, Arken, but it’s perfectly alright to let yourself be taken care of from time to time.” Though his tone was serious, there was a glimmer in his eye that told me he was mostly teasing. “And you don’t even need to be on death’s doorstep to deserve it.”

Kieran gave me a pointed glance before returning to his work. I grumbled some incoherent noise to express my disagreement with his general sentiment. Was it such a crime to be accustomed to self-sufficiency?

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured with an apologetic grimace when I bit down on my lip, trying not to yelp at the sting as he dabbed the laceration on my head with antiseptic solution. It began to fizzle audibly, making its way through the dirt in the wound. It was easy enough to distract myself from the subsequent burning sensation with some shameless self-indulgence.

Even when we trained together, it was rare that Kieran and I were ever this close, his face mere inches from my own. I let myself take advantage of the view, studying the sharp angles of his jawline, his slightly crooked nose, and the brutal, pale scars that were slightly raised, slashing through the blind eye. I would never admit to him how much I actually loved the imperfection, and how much more attractive it made him to me… that scar, and those stupidly soft looking lips.

Continuing to feel emboldened by the fact that his focus was elsewhere, I studied his eyes. The cloudy whites of the left, blind eye had struck me when we first met—it was part of what made him so alluring, what with the scars cutting through his brow, making it clear the man was dangerous. Anyone who could survive a blow like that…

I’d been intrigued, of course, but then I had nearly cursed the godsdamned Fates when I saw the other eye, which was even more stunning, somehow. I had studied those hues over the last however many months it had been with every stolen glance, but up close? Gods. Under the frame of Kieran’s thick, dark lashes, I could see that glacial blue iris was speckled with shades of lilac and even a bit of yellow. The iris was ringed with a deeper shade of blue, which only served to contrast and intensify the beauty of the paler colors.

This close to his face, I could see that he had dark circles under his eyes, too. It was hard to tell from a distance, given how warm the tones of his skin were naturally, but here was the evidence of the last several nights being sleepless, like subtle little bruises beneath his—

“What are you thinking about?”

Kieran caught my eye as he began to unscrew a small tin of ointment.

“Mm, apologies. That’s classified information, Captain.”

“I’m fairly certain that I’ve earned my clearances in that regard,” he countered as he gingerly applied a dab of the salve from High Scholar Helvig to my head. The relief was almost immediate.

“Just because you’re playing nurse tonight doesn’t mean you get access to my innermost secrets, Kieran,” I replied.

A slight smirk began to curl on his lips.

“Do you often find yourself pondering over your innermost secrets while staring at me, Little Conduit? That’s rather… intimate.”

I flushed.

“It’s not really staring when you are quite literally right in front of my face. What else is there for me to look at?”

“Whatever you say,” he replied, the smirk spreading.

He had to know that, even for me, his smile was a deadly weapon. He had to know. He certainly wielded it like one.

“Okay, fine. You’re also, admittedly, the nicest thing to look at in here. I will give you that,” I reasoned.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment to my face, or an insult towards my taste in interior design.”

“Mm. A little bit of column a, little bit of column b,” I teased.

He ran one hand through his hair, rolling his eyes.

“Do you ever give straight answers, woman?”

“Only under duress.”

After such an intense twenty-four hours, my spirits were already lifting. This was one of my favorite elements of our friendship—the banter, the way Kieran could so effortlessly go toe-to-toe with me in snark. We could quite literally go back and forth for hours, volleying quips like it was a sporting event, just to pass the time. Sometimes, he even beat me at my own game.

There was a wicked gleam in his eyes now that suggested he was ready to play.

“Perhaps I should put you under duress, then,” he mused. “I am ever so curious about what secrets might be locked inside this pretty little banged-up head of yours.”

My pulse quickened. Surely, I was just imagining the genuine sensuality that had just slipped into his tone? That smirk remained as he began to put items from the medicine kit away with tidy precision.

“Hah,” I replied, voice calm. “Good luck with that, Vistarii.”

“It’s cute how you think I’d need luck to accomplish such things, Asher,” Kieran said, mocking my tone as he set aside the small pouch and soiled strips of cotton, turning his attention back to me. Those godsdamned eyes could pierce my soul, I swear.

Summoning as much false confidence as I could muster, I snorted and tossed my hair.

“Oh, you would need so much more than luck, my friend.”

He didn’t take the bait.

Instead, Kieran leaned in towards me again, this time leaving mere centimeters between our faces. My breath caught in my throat.

“You seem like the type who might enjoy being under duress, though, Arken,” he murmured. His voice was low, velvet over gravel, so soft and husky and gods, I hated what the sound of it was doing to me.

What are you doing to me?

He had always been better than me at this gods-forsaken game of ours. Just the other day, I had been giving him shit over it, too—the way he used his silver tongue and sex appeal to get what he wanted out of damn near anyone. I’d caught him laying it on the barmaid that afternoon, thick as honey.

“Oh, please,” he had argued. “It’s just another tool, one that makes for much easier investigations. Why resort to fear or violence if seduction works just as well?”

When I had suggested that perhaps it was unethical to toy with people’s heartstrings like that, he’d doubled over laughing.

“Trust me, Arken. Nobody in this city is walking around with a broken heart over the likes of me.”

But I had my doubts. I was also sincerely struggling to come up with a witty response as the influence of his sheer proximity was starting to overtake my wit.

Or maybe it was the way he looked like he was currently undressing me with his eyes.

Just a game. Get over yourself, Arken.

I was just about ready to shake it off and think up something clever when the bastard went for my damn throat.

“Oh,” Kieran crooned softly, slipping a hand back under my jaw—this time with entirely different intent. He cocked his head gently, maintaining that searing eye contact before allowing his gaze to drift just a little bit lower. “I’m actually right, aren’t I? You do…”

My heart beat scattered, frantic and erratic. Perceptive motherfucker. He knew godsdamned well…

But why was he staring at my mouth like that?

The sun had already started to set outside, and the orange glow of dusk wasn’t doing me any favors. The warm panes of light poured through as the room began to darken, leaving his skin looking positively golden.

“Don’t go silent on me now, sweetheart.”

That was the second time he’d called me sweetheart tonight.

“Err. I… Um. Sorry. What was the question again?” I stammered.

Source be damned, I sounded pathetic. He chuckled softly, and the way it rumbled in his chest left my eyelids feeling heavy.

Why did he have to be so good at this?

Kieran gently stroked my cheek with the pad of his thumb, his dominant left hand still cradling my jaw. The other hand moved to brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and he let his fingertips brush skin ever so slightly, raising gooseflesh on my arms. I really hoped that wasn’t obvious.

He drew his response out slowly, voice dripping with sensuality.

“The question was… Do you enjoy being put under duress, Arken?”

Gods above and below, I was being put under duress right here and now. Just a game, I reminded myself. There was no need to fixate on the way he’d just said my name like a prayer.

“That exists within the realm of possibilities, Kieran,” I breathed, letting my arousal slip into his name in the same indecent way he’d uttered mine.

There we go, Arken. Two can play this game.

What I hadn’t anticipated was the genuine flicker of surprise that would pass behind the lazy, bemused bedroom eyes he was giving me, or the way that for a moment, he seemed to struggle to return to form. It was only a moment, though, quickly replaced with a seductive and calculating half-smile.

I felt the lightest of pressure beneath my jaw as he began to tilt my face upward. We were close enough now that I could feel his breath against my lips, and it seemed like he was about to say something—another round of heavily weighted innuendo, if I had to guess.

I wasn’t about to give him the chance. No, the gloves were off now, and before he could speak another stupid, sexy word, I leaned into his caress and…

I kissed him.

Though I’d closed my eyes out of habit, I could feel his mouth freeze under my lips—the briefest hesitation, followed by a small gasp that came and went so quickly I might have imagined it. But no, I felt that pull of air between us, just before he leaned into the kiss… and he leaned in hard.

Oh.

One hand slid around the nape of my neck as he pulled me even closer, his tongue brushing against my lower lip in gentle request. I let my mouth part for him, temporarily forgetting that this was supposed to be a game.

As Kieran’s tongue began to explore my mouth, I could taste him. I found myself pleasantly surprised at the heady mix of black tea, a hint of citrus, and… clove, maybe? Fuck, he was good at this—I could feel every slow, deft stroke of his tongue all the way to my very core. Hesitant, I let my own tongue wander into his mouth, and was startled again by the sharpness of his canines.

I was running out of breath, and I pulled back just barely for a moment’s pause, only for him to tighten his grip on my neck. Without warning, he planted a soft but demanding bite on my lower lip, tugging at it, pulling me back in. I felt heat pool at my core almost immediately, and in that moment—against my godsdamned will, Fates above and leylines below be damned—a small whimper of pleasure escaped my mouth.

Oh, fuck.