14. Kai

Chapter 14

Kai

S 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 na?ve 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 self-deprecating 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.