Page 109

But tonight, he stayed.

Lucien

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. It’s not the inevitable pull of magic threading under my skin, trying to stitch me to her whether I want it or not.

It’s her.

It’s the way she looked at me last night—annoyed, exhausted, worn down by me and everyone else—and still offered me a place to stay like I hadn’t spent months making her question whether she mattered. Like I hadn’t carved my resentment into her with a scalpel every time she tried to get close.

She let me stay anyway.

She let me touch her, kiss her, fuck her like I was starving and she was the only thing left keeping me alive. And I didn’t stop. I didn’t just take her once, didn’t leave her like I should’ve after the first time. I woke her up again and again, until the sun was nearly rising and she was a mess beneath me, her voice wrecked and hoarse from saying my name like a prayer and a curse.

Every time she came apart for me, it only made me hungrier. Like something cracked open inside me and now I can’t shove it back in place. By the time I finally left, it wasn’t because I wanted to. It was because if I stayed, I wouldn’t have stopped.

I slipped out before the sun crested the horizon, before she could open her eyes and look at me like I was anything worth keeping.

The tavern’s only a few doors down from the house we’ve been squatting in since the cathedral—a cheap, splintered thing Branwen rebuilt to look like home, like everything else in this godsdamned world. The village is still quiet at this hour, no one on the cobbled streets but me, my steps sharp and purposeful, like if I walk fast enough, I can outrun the weight settling in my chest.

I round the corner, almost to the door of the house, already thinking about how I’ll scrub her scent from my skin, how I’ll pretend none of it happened—

And stop dead.

Because Silas is sitting on the front steps, elbows on his knees, head tilted back to watch the sky like he’s got nothing better to do at this hour. Except the second he sees me, his mouth curves in that slow, devastatingly smug smile that makes me want to put him through the wall.

“Morning, sunshine,” he drawls, like he’s been waiting for me all night.

My clothes are still rumpled, my shirt half-untucked, my hair a mess from Luna’s fingers dragging through it less than an hour ago. I probably smell like her, like sex and sweat and something sharp enough to bleed.

Silas’s grin sharpens when I don’t speak, like he’s confirming every single thing he already knew.

“Well,” he says, stretching lazily like a cat who’s just cornered a mouse. “If it isn’t our fearless leader, finally crawling home.”

I narrow my gaze, keeping my voice clipped. “Get out of my way.”

But he doesn’t move. He plants his elbows on his knees, chin tipping into his palm, watching me like I’m a show he paid good coin to see.

“You’re messy,” he comments casually, voice dripping with false innocence. “Clothes all wrinkled, hair sticking up. Didn’teven bother to pretend you were anywhere but exactly where I know you were.”

I grit my teeth and push past him, but he keeps talking, his voice chasing me up the stairs.

“Must’ve been a good night,” he adds, sing-song. “You’ve got that look.”

I stop at the top step, my jaw tight, pulse pounding behind my eyes. “Drop it, Silas.”

He hums thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “Thing is, I would… if you weren’t so godsdamned obvious about it.”

When I glance back over my shoulder, he’s still grinning—but there’s something sharper under it now. Something that looks too much like knowing.

“She’s gonna ruin you, you know,” he says, voice lower now, almost soft. “You keep pretending you don’t care, but you wouldn’t be walking home like that if you didn’t.”

I turn away, shove the door open, and let it slam shut behind me but I don’t get two steps into the house before something sharp coils in my gut—something sour, crawling beneath my ribs like static.

Because I know Silas. And Silas doesn’t keep his mouth shut.

I yank my boots off by the stairs, fingers rough, movements clipped, trying to pretend it doesn’t matter, that what happened last night isn’t written all over me like a scar. But the second my shoes hit the floor, the panic sets in like a blade twisting under my ribs.

Because he’s not going to let this go. And if anyone is going to parade my fuckup through the house like a banner, it’s Silas.