Page 47 of These Shattered Memories

T he aftermath of The Choosing is dizzying.

I hardly see Rowan as he takes his place as the nominated Head of The Snake.

News of Zaina’s death, Jonathan’s betrayal and Rowan’s ascension spreads through Senna—from Queen’s Park to Canning, through the clans and The Judiciary at a break-neck pace.

There is an apprehension in the air, a palpable fear that perhaps a war might break out between the clans, and we all wait with bated breath to see the outcome.

I mostly stay at Rowan’s place and even though the two weeks break Anders assigned to me is over, I still don’t go back to the OCU.

The idea of still being Detective Alexander Kimura doesn’t sit right.

I don’t think it ever has and now it feels like I shouldn’t step foot in there ever again.

As much as I realise I’ve done wrong myself, I can’t deny that there is something fundamentally flawed about Senna.

There is no justice, only those who can come out on top.

Jonathan Vasilyev wanted to be on top, but he failed.

Although I’ve hardly seen Rowan, I know that he’s still alive, somewhere in the Serpentine after his failed attempt at a coup.

My body shivers every time I remember the sound of the bullet rippling through the air as rage burned in his eyes.

He was going to kill Rowan, and I would have stood there watching, unable to do anything to stop him.

It was lucky he missed, but Rowan is formidable.

He was never going to lose, whether I showed up or not.

It makes me realise that he has always been on top—he’s always been determined to become the Head of The Snake.

Despite falling out of favour with his mother because of me, he’d been stacking up his cards this entire time, and Jonathan had no idea.

Outside, rain rages, a storm brewing, painting everything it touches a deep and melancholy grey. In front of me is a lacquered black coffin, surrounded by white blooming flowers: peonies, chrysanthemums, and roses, all set up beautifully to send off Zaina Vasilyev.

Hundreds of people stand inside the pews of the massive cathedral, all dressed in black. Their faces are solemn, some veiled, others exposed, but none shed a tear, looking straight ahead, hard like the statues littered outside.

The vaulted ceilings stretch high above, dark stone arches holding up a sombre sky painted in intricate mosaics of gold and onyx.

Candles line every pew and aisle, their flickering flames casting ghostly shadows on the walls.

At the far end of the grand hall, the black coffin rests on an alabaster platform, draped in deep green velvet embroidered with the same sigil in the sanctum—a coiled serpent swallowing its tail just like the one in the Sanctum—death and renewal.

Rowan stands beside me, dressed sharply in a suit similar to mine, a black tie around his neck and a silver snake pin on his breast. His hand grips mine, and he hasn’t let go since we got here, neither has he said much.

I want to know what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling, anger, sadness or even relief, but there’s nothing.

He stares straight ahead, eyes fixed on the coffin, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The priest begins to speak, his voice low and steady, echoing through the cathedral but I barely hear the words.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the droning of the priest.

Rowan doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb brushes over the back of my hand in slow, deliberate circles. Finally, he glances at me, and for the first time in days, his mask slips. The weight in his eyes is unbearable, and I feel it settle in my chest like lead.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, though I don’t think he is.

Zaina lying in that coffin finalises things. He’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted, but he has also lost his mother.

His gaze drops to our joined hands, and before I can say anything, he lifts mine to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my knuckles. I smile, the tenderness of the action warming me despite the billowing wind outside.

The priest’s voice crescendos, drawing the room’s attention back to the dais.

He speaks of Zaina’s legacy, her iron will, her devotion to The Snake.

But as I listen, I can’t help but feel a strange disconnect.

The people around me understand this, but I feel like I’m an outsider looking in, my face pressed against a window trying to see what’s happening inside.

Something about the hammering against the cathedral’s stained-glass windows feels ominous. As Rowan ascends to the top, I’m sure plenty in this room, just like Jonathan will not be happy.

The Snake is going to be more unstable that ever. Zaina was an immovable force, and now she’s gone, there’s a vacuum that some won’t believe Rowan can fill. He may have been voted in by The Keepers, but he will have to convince hundreds of members of The Snake to stand behind him.

My eyes scan the room, trying to memorise each and every face. “This isn’t over, is it?” I hear myself ask out loud.

His lips curve into the faintest hint of a smile, bitter and fleeting. “No,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Far from it.”

His words send a chill down my spine. He’s right. It’s about to get bloody. I squeeze his hand again, trying to communicate something I can’t with words.

I love you.

I’ll stand next to you no matter what.

When the priest finishes, the mourners begin to file out, each offering Rowan and his brothers a bow or a quiet word of condolence as they pass. Now, Zaina’s body will be cremated, and her ashes will be stored in a family mausoleum.

“I’ll give you a moment,” I say to Rowan as the last of the guests leaves after paying their final respects in front of the coffin.

He nods, and my eyes fall on the coffin one last time before I make my way down the aisle and outside into the rain, not missing the guard who shadows me, an umbrella ready to unfurl and cover me.

I can feel several pairs of eyes on me. After The Choosing, everyone saw Rowan kiss me and today, I’ve shown up next to him, my hand in his. I know what it looks like, what it means.

Rowan and I haven’t really talked about it—there hasn’t been much time—but as much as I want to be with him, I’m not sure I want everything that comes with being the partner to the Head of The Snake.

There’s a certain power that comes with being The Right Eye.

Not that Rowan has asked me and not like we’re getting married or anything, but I don’t think I’d want to take a position Jonathan once held.

I just want Rowan. I want to be there for him.

I want to come home to him. I want another chance at what we couldn’t have two years ago.

But romantic walks on the beach will probably be far and few between. If I’m choosing Rowan, I’m choosing everything about him and I’m happy with that.

“Funny thing about funerals,” a voice comes from behind me. “People pretend they care, but most of them are just waiting to see who goes next.”

I startle, turning to find Xander. He pulls out a cigarette box, holding it out to offer me one.

I shake my head, and he shrugs, placing one between his teeth and lighting it up.

He stands there for a moment, letting out a stream of smoke.

The distinct smell of tobacco and menthol surrounds us, and I wrinkle my nose, looking away from him.

Down the steps of the cathedral, members of The Snake stand around, black umbrellas covering their sombre faces. I look at Xander again, dressed in a similar black suit as he blows out his cigarette. I don’t know if I should ask him how he’s doing. I’m not sure whether he’d appreciate that or not.

“Do you want to say something?” he asks, blue eyes flickering.

My jaw goes slack. “This must be … a lot.”

He laughs openly, like he finds what I said truly funny.

“Astute observation. I see why you’re a detective,” he says, letting out another stream of smoke.

“You know, to my brothers; she was mostly indifferent. To me, she was cruel. So was my father. They always believed something was wrong with me.”

I shiver. His voice is empty, like he’s talking about the weather.

Something does feel wrong about Xander, but I don’t say that.

Despite the uneasy feeling he leaves most people with, I feel a flicker of understanding.

Whatever the reason behind his hate is, he was a child, and he deserved to be loved.

I almost laugh at how similar we might be.

I never knew my parents and none of my foster parents were ever kind.

All I’ve known from parental figures is indifference or cruelty.

“I wouldn’t say this to Hayden or Rowan, but I’m glad he killed her,” he continues, dropping the cigarette and putting it out with his foot. “Eventually, I would have done the same to her.”

I swallow, considering my next words carefully. I’m not sure whether him and I will ever be friends, but I don’t want him to hate me either. “I understand,” I tell him.

He lifts an eyebrow. “You do?”

I nod. “I never knew my parents and the foster homes I remember were owned by, at best, neglectful, at worst, evil people. I wanted to kill some of them too for what they did and what they were going to do.”

Xander stares at me for a moment. I match his gaze, not shying away from it. Finally, he smiles. “My mother’s death is only the beginning. Half of the people here today don’t think Rowan can do this and they are going to do their best to snatch the crown.”

It’s what Rowan and I talked about inside the cathedral. This is far from over.

“I know,” I tell him.

“Are you ready for that?” Xander asks. “Because my brother loves you. I worry he might love you too much.”

I’m not sure why but my neck heats. Still, I nod. “I love him too. I’ve loved him so much that I couldn’t breathe properly for two years. Now I can and I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Xander nods appreciatively. “Good,” he says. “I think I like you, Kimura, so I’d really hate to kill you if you fucked up again. Plus, a war is coming. We need as many allies as we can get.”

I suck in a quiet breath. Two years ago, he didn’t come for me thanks to Rowan, and I won’t give him another reason to.

I open my mouth to say something, something that can show him that I’m not afraid of him even though I think I still am, but before I can, I feel an arm curl around my waist. Rowan’s scent engulfs him, staving off the wariness I feel for a moment.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispers in my ear, voice soft against the soft patter of rain, and the quiet hum of voices and car engines.

My entire body relaxes. I’ve barely been to my own apartment in the last few days. The townhouse does feel like home now. He feels like home.

Xander shoots me a strange smile and I nod, letting Rowan guide me away from the intimidating cathedral with its tolling bells and Zaina’s dead body.

We drive through Senna in a comfortable silence. My mind drifts to Xander’s words, my mind bracing for the inevitable. Jonathan may be neutralised, but his allies aren’t. Neither are The Scarlet Ravens.

Back at the townhouse, the warmth is a welcome reprieve from the storm outside.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice soft as he steps into the kitchen.

I lean against the counter, watching him carefully. “I’m okay,” I say, though the words feel hollow. “Just wondering what happens now.”

Rowan shrugs, his expression unreadable. “The Ritual,” he says simply. “And then I become Head of The Snake.”

I force a smile, but the weight of those words lingers between us. He says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, but I know better. Being with Rowan means stepping into a world I’m not sure I’ll ever understand.

“I know,” I say. “I meant with us.”

He gazes at me for a long moment, midnight blue eyes gentle. “Whatever you want, Alex. You can do whatever you want. I’ll be right there with you.”

My blush deepens. “I don’t think I’ll ever go back to the OCU.”

He tilts his head. “That’s unfortunate. I was hoping to use you for inside intel.”

“Rowan—”

“I’m joking,” he says, his gaze softening.

I sigh, deciding it’s best I’m honest with him now. “I don’t want to be part of The Snake either. At least I don’t think I want that, but I want you and I know having you means being involved one way or another.”

He nods. “That’s fine. You don’t have to explain yourself. I’d have never asked that of you. I just want you here, and that’s the truth. I just love you.”

My heart squeezes. “I love you too,” I whisper, walking over to him and throwing my arms over his shoulders.

My mouth finds his, my lips touching his softly as I deepen the kiss.

Rowan’s hands travel down my back before resting just under my ass.

He hoists me up in a quick swoop, placing me on the counter.

A breathless laugh escapes me, but I don’t dare to stop kissing him.

Only, Rowan breaks away first, eyes gleaming. “Move in with me,” he says.

“What?” My eyes fly open.

“Please move in with me. I promise I’ll make sure the house is always stocked with as much cherry flavoured candy as possible.”

My breath catches, travelling to the first time I saw Rowan again in that bar. It’s only been two months, and with November closing out, it will be three, yet none of it seems too quick. It all feels right, like we’ve picked up right where we left off.

“Promise?” I ask.

He grins. “Promise.”

I shrug. “Then my answer is yes.”

He laughs, pulling me in again, sealing our promise with a kiss.

My hands sneak under his shirt, running against the hard muscle of his taut stomach. When I look at him, lust flares inside me in an unrelenting flame. He’s gorgeous, and he’s all mine. The thought of it makes me grin.

“Something amusing?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Just kiss me.”

He grins, his mouth smashing against mine again. “With pleasure.”