Page 55

Roan

I’mnotsurewhenpity turned into protectiveness, or when protectiveness bled into something even more complicated. The realization washes over me like a slow tide as Aria and I trudge through the thinning trees, the lights of Elden Hollow coming into view.

It started as something simple—don’t leave a wounded stray to die—but somewhere along the way, I found myself caring about whether her eyes lit up with hope, whether she felt safe enough to fall asleep without trembling.

She wants a normal life,peace. I’m under no illusions that it’ll be easy—her clan’s still out there, and a vampire wandering into a mortal town comes with its own problems.

But in this moment, all I can think of is how fiercely I want her to have that chance.

“Stick close,” I say, my voice hushed as we step onto a dirt road leading between weathered cottages.

The smell of smoke and spiced meat drifts from a tavern somewhere down the lane. A few residents mill about, hooded against the cool twilight, but no one spares us more than a passing glance. After splashing most of the blood off at the stream, we look just like any pair of tired travelers seeking an evening’s rest—a lie, but a convenient one.

Aria follows me in silence, and I sense her anxiety in every step. The tension in her spine, the way she keeps her hood drawn low. I want to reach out, reassure her, but I’m not sure what words would help.

Instead, I lead her through the narrow alleys, passing shuttered shops and lantern-lit doorways until we find a modest inn with a sign that readsThe Lion’s Hollow.

I step up to the heavy wooden door and push it open, pausing just long enough to glance at Aria. Without a word, I gesture for her to go first, holding the door wide.

She hesitates—just for a second—then ducks inside, brushing past me as she steps into the warmth beyond.

Inside, the common room is warm with laughter and the scent of hearty stew. My hand never leaves the hilt of my sword, though—I can’t let my guard down, not when I know how quickly a friendly face can turn hostile if they discover Aria’s secret.

But she needs a roof over her head, even if it’s just for one night.

I approach the innkeeper, dropping a few coins onto the scarred wooden counter. “Room for two,” I say, keeping my tone gruff but polite.

The older man counts the gold, wipes his hands on a stained apron, and slides a heavy key across to me.

“Up the stairs, second door on the right,” he instructs, eyeing Aria’s hooded figure with mild curiosity but no suspicion. “It’s the last I got.”

Once we’re in the cramped hallway, I slip the key into the lock. The door creaks open to reveal a simple space: one bed, a chipped washbasin, a rickety table by the window, and a tiny balcony.

I glance at Aria, half-expecting her to recoil, but she just lets out a sigh that sounds like a quiet kind of relief.

“Not exactly luxury,” I mutter, stepping inside first to check the corners—old habit. “But it’s a bed.”

“It’s an upgrade for us, isn’t it?” she says, voice quiet.

She pulls her hood back, eyes flitting around the room. The tension in her shoulders eases slightly. I shut the door behind us, shooting the old lock bolt home with a solidclick. My heart hammers, wondering if this truly counts as safety—or just a temporary reprieve.

Still, I think of the promise I made back by that stream. I didn’t say it out loud, but it settled in me like stone.I’ll keep you safe. Whatever it takes.It wasn’t born out of duty or pity. It was something deeper.

I don’t know the word for it, but when I look at Aria—exhausted yet determined—I can’t deny there’s more than simple compassion pooling in my chest.

I exhale, catching her gaze. “Go on,” I say, nodding toward the basin in the corner. “You wash up first.”

She looks like she wants to protest, but something in my expression must tell her I won’t budge.

Instead, she offers me the faintest of smiles, and in that moment, I know: I’ll keep my blade drawn against the entire world if it means giving her just a few hours of rest and a small taste of the peace she craves.

Aria

Thewarmthoftheclean water still clings to my skin, a rare indulgence I hadn't realized I’d been longing for.

Now, fresh linen wraps around me, and the faint scent of lavender soap lingers in the air. I sit on the edge of the small wooden bed in our rented room, absently combing my fingers through my damp curls while Roan leans against the windowsill, sharpening her knife.

Outside, the town hums with soft, distant chatter, the occasional clang of metal or call from a vendor punctuating the otherwise peaceful night. It's strange, being here—somewhere settled, safe, at least for now. My body is unused to stillness, my mind unsure how to sit in this unfamiliar quiet.