Page 23

AREZOO

A rezoo was getting tired just from watching her cousins, or maybe it was Ruvon's presence that was draining her energy.

A war was waging inside of her between the effects of her trauma and her empathy, and it was all happening in her subconscious because she couldn't assign any conscious thought to it while watching the little devils.

Rohan and Arman were turning the slide into a fortress they needed to defend against imaginary invaders, while Kavir and Zaden practiced super-jumps from the swings, trying to recreate Drova's spectacular leap.

"Don't jump so high," Arezoo called out, her voice carrying the same cautionary tone her mother used. "You're not immortal yet, and you can get hurt."

Zaden rolled his eyes at her the same way she rolled hers at her own mother.

Soraya would have called it payback, and she would have been right.

Thankfully, Cyra was happy in the sandbox, using the paper cup from Ruvon's coffee delivery to build a palace.

Girls were so much easier to raise than boys. If she ever had kids, she hoped they would all be girls. Not that she would ever have children. If she turned immortal, which she should do sooner rather than later, her fertility rate would drop, and children would be unlikely.

Arezoo couldn't say she minded.

She took another sip of her by now cold coffee, hyperaware of the immortal male sitting beside her.

Ruvon hadn't said much since their conversation about his past, seeming content to watch the children play while nursing his drink.

The silence wasn't exactly comfortable, but it wasn't unbearable either.

"You know," Ruvon said, startling her, "you should come with me to the Hobbit Bar tonight."

She turned to look at him, noting how he kept his gaze fixed on the playground rather than meeting her eyes. "Why?"

"Fenella is working at the bar tonight, and rumors claim that she's very entertaining. She's been conducting psychometric readings on objects brought to her by bar patrons. Her readings are fake, of course, but they are a lot of fun. The whole village has been talking about it."

"Who says that she makes them up?" Arezoo frowned. "Psychometry is her talent."

"Oh, she is. That's what makes it entertaining. She might be getting real impressions from the objects, but then she turns them into wild tales. Last night, she told a Guardian that he had a passion for performing yoga in the nude on top of the roof of his house and howling at the moon."

Despite herself, Arezoo found her lips quirking up. "Maybe it's true?"

"It's not, but eyewitnesses report that everyone in the bar was laughing hysterically."

From where she was pushing herself ever higher on the remaining swing, Drova had clearly been listening. "Fenella sounds like fun," she called out, executing a graceful dismount that had the boys stopping to watch. "I'd love to check it out."

She sauntered over, her long legs eating up the distance in just a few strides. "We should go tonight. All three of us."

Arezoo's stomach tightened. "I've never had alcohol before."

"You don't have to drink anything alcoholic," Ruvon said. "I'm sure Fenella can make a mocktail for you."

"What's that?"

"Non-alcoholic cocktails," he explained.

"All the presentation and flavors, but without the alcohol.

You'd like them. I don't know what Fenella can make, but there is one that tastes like tropical paradise, with mango, passion fruit, and coconut.

Or a more subtle one with cucumber and mint or pomegranate and rose. "

Pomegranate and rose sounded like home, like the sharbat her grandmother used to make for special occasions. The memory brought an unexpected lump to her throat.

"I..." She paused, already knowing what the real obstacle would be. "I'd need to ask my mother's permission."

Ruvon's brow furrowed. "But you're an adult, right?"

As if that meant anything in her household.

Drova nodded in agreement. "You're what, nineteen? Twenty? Why would you need permission?"

Heat rose up Arezoo's neck. How could she explain?

How could she make them understand that in her family, in her culture, unmarried daughters didn't do what they pleased, that her mother had already been through so much that she didn't want to stir things up, especially for something as inconsequential as going to a bar?

"It's just how things are in my family," she said quietly. "It's not that my mother is traditional, she's not. But we've lived a certain way, and it isn't easy to just switch gears and behave like we were born here in the land of the free. Things take time."

"I could come with you and talk to your mother," Drova offered. "I can convince her that it's perfectly safe, and that I'll be there too."

Something in Drova's tone made Arezoo's eyes narrow. "You're not planning to use your compulsion power on my mother, are you?"

Drova's eyes widened. "Of course not! I swear on my honor as a warrior that I would never use compulsion on your mother or any member of your family without their explicit permission."

The oath sounded formal, ritualistic even, but Arezoo wasn't entirely convinced. She'd seen how easily the immortals bent others to their will, how natural it seemed to them. Even if Drova meant her promise now, in the heat of the moment, faced with Soraya's temper…

"I appreciate the offer, but I think it's better if I talk to her alone."

Ruvon shifted beside her, and when she glanced at him, she caught something that might have been disappointment flash across his features before he smoothed them back to neutral.

"I'd be happy to pick you up from your home," he offered. "Properly introduce myself to your mother, if that would help. But if you prefer to meet me at the bar, that's perfectly fine too."

He was trying so hard to do this right, to respect her boundaries even if he didn't fully understand them.

"Meeting there would be better," she said. "If I can come at all. I'll call you if my mother throws a tantrum and forbids it."

"You'll need my number." He pulled out his phone. "What's yours?"

She recited the number of the phone the clan had given her, watching as he typed it. When he finished, her phone buzzed with a text: Ruvon - This is my number. Looking forward to tonight, but no pressure if it doesn't work out .

"There," he said, tucking his phone away. "Now you can reach me either way."

She stared at the message on her screen, her throat suddenly tight. It was the first time she'd exchanged phone numbers with a guy who wasn't family. Such a simple thing, something her friends in Tehran had been doing since they started attending university, but for her, it felt monumental.

It was ridiculous because she wasn't even sure she was interested in Ruvon romantically, even though she no longer saw him as a threat or lumped him together automatically with the monsters who'd hurt her. The conversation about his past and his gratitude to Kalugal had shifted her perspective.

She felt guilty now for her initial prejudice.

He'd been a victim too, raised in brutality, denied education, denied choice. That he'd escaped and had built a new life, that he could sit here making gentle conversation about mocktails and respecting her boundaries, spoke to the quality of his character.

But understanding someone's story and being attracted to them were two different things.

The truth was that she wasn't attracted to anyone in the village, which was strange since most of the immortal males looked like they'd stepped out of magazines with their supernatural beauty.

They were also polite and friendly, and she couldn't find any fault in any of them except perhaps being too perfect.

Maybe she was broken.

Maybe she considered all males a threat because of what had been done to her.

It wasn't rational. She knew that. Some of these immortal males, the Guardians, were saving girls like her from predators like the fake doctor. They were honorable, kind, and respectful. They would never hurt her.

But knowing something intellectually and feeling it were two different things.

When she thought about being touched by any man, her skin crawled. Her body remembered rough hands, violations, the helplessness of being examined like livestock. The fake doctor's face haunted her—so handsome and yet so evil, capable of such cruelty.

Perhaps that was the problem. All these males were just as handsome if not more so, and they reminded her of him.

Except, Ruvon wasn't as perfect as the others. Yet, still, she wasn't interested.

"Arezoo!" Cyra's voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. "Look! I made a tower!"

Grateful for the distraction, Arezoo rose and walked to the sandbox, making appropriate sounds of admiration for Cyra's architectural achievement. Behind her, she heard Drova challenge Ruvon to attempt her push-up routine, followed by his good-natured laughter and acceptance.

Arezoo needed to transition to immortality eventually.

She knew that, too. Her mother and aunts were already discussing it in hushed voices when they thought the younger ones couldn't hear.

The sooner the better, they said. While they were still young and healthy, while their children could grow up with immortal mothers.

But the transition required an inducer. An immortal male's venom delivered through a bite during...

She couldn't even complete the thought.

"What's wrong?" Cyra asked, tilting her head up at Arezoo with those overly perceptive eyes of hers.

"Nothing, sweetie. I was just thinking."

"Sad thoughts?" The little girl reached up with sandy hands. "You need a hug."

Arezoo bent down and accepted the embrace, sand and all. This was love untainted by complication—simple, pure, freely given. If only all affection could be so uncomplicated.

"Arezoo," her mother called from behind them.

She turned to see her mother standing at the edge of the sandbox with Yasmin.

"Maman." She straightened as Cyra ran to her own mother. "I thought you were in the house."

"Yasmin and I decided to come see how you were doing." Her mother's eyes turned to Ruvon, narrowing slightly. "Who is this?"

"This is Ruvon," Arezoo said, trying to keep her voice neutral. "He works for Kalugal and he's a friend of Drova's."

Ruvon rose to his feet and offered her mother a respectful nod. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Your daughter speaks highly of you."

It was a polite lie, but she appreciated the attempt at diplomacy.

"Does she?" Soraya's voice could have frozen the desert. "How nice."

An uncomfortable silence stretched until Drova, bless her complete lack of social awareness, broke it.

"Ruvon and I invited Arezoo to join us at the Hobbit Bar tonight.

Fenella, your newly discovered cousin, does these hilarious psychic readings that the whole village is talking about, and we thought it would be fun to see. "

Arezoo wanted the ground to swallow her up as her mother's expression shifted from suspicious to thunderous.

"The bar," Soraya repeated flatly. "You invited my daughter to a bar."

"It's just for the entertainment," Ruvon said quickly.

"Thank you for the invitation," Soraya cut him off, her voice sharp enough to slice steel. "But Arezoo has responsibilities at home tonight. Come, daughter. It's time to go."

The dismissal was clear. Arezoo felt heat flood her face as she gathered her things, avoiding everyone's eyes.

"I'll call you," she managed to murmur to Ruvon as she passed.

His expression was understanding, sympathetic, and even. "Of course. Have a good evening."

As they walked away, Yasmin herding the protesting children, Arezoo could feel her mother's anger radiating like heat from a forge. The lecture would come later, she knew. For now, there was just this tense silence and the weight of conflicting expectations.

On the one hand, her mother wanted her to find a guy who would induce her transition, but on the other hand, she wanted to cloister her in the house. The two were mutually exclusive.

As her phone buzzed in her pocket, she pulled it out and saw a text: I understand. The invitation stands whenever you're ready. No pressure. - R

She deleted it before her mother could ask who was messaging her.