“Okay.” I sat up, stretching, feeling aches in my muscles for the first time since the rush of the previous night. “But I need to have a bath first.” I leaned over and kissed Ciaran’s cheek, feeling heat sear me in the wake of the seemingly chaste gesture.
I emerged from the bathroom,clean, fresh, hair wrapped in a towel and ready to face this reality, where Ciaran and I had not only crossed the line but smashed it to pieces.
Ciaran was in the kitchen, standing over a skillet of fried potatoes, onions and peppers in a spicy, savoury sauce. He had already prepared thick toast and a pot of steaming hot coffee. I could have kissed him.
“So, is this what you had to show me?” I mumbled, my mouth full of potatoes and bread.
Ciaran’s mouth twisted into an arrogant smirk. “No. This is just because I thought you were probably feeling as hungry as I was after all the… excitement of last night.”
I swallowed. “This is so. So. Good.” I shovelled more into my mouth, decorum be damned. Iwasstarving. “You are incredible.”
The smirk widened into a full grin. Cocky bastard. I probably shouldn’t compliment him so much. But he was incredible. At so many things.
“I really like it when you talk to me like that.” Ciaran tilted his head to the side, and I was sure he was remembering how I had said something very similar to him the night before. I narrowed my eyes but continued to pile more and more of the delicious food into my mouth.
“Well, I really like it when you cook for me,” I countered. Two could play this game.
“I also really like to watch that pretty mouth of yours. I like it even more when it’s on me.” His eyes were fixated on said mouth. The game was over now—flush crept up my neck and into my cheeks, heating my entire face as I swallowed and took a sip of coffee.
We finished eating, Ciaran cleaning up, ever the fastidious and neat one—my polar opposite—and headed down the trap door. We walked through the catacombs toward the Cistern, where we had dared each other to jump in. I should have told him then—how I felt. I had wasted so much time, never sure of what I wanted.
Ciaran led me to a nondescript door and unlocked it with a key, while muttering some spells. I hadn’t seen him use those spells to unlock anything other than his own home. This was a special place, then.
The door opened to a large space that was flooded with daylight. I let out a gasp as I stepped inside.
“What? How?” I murmured, spinning on the spot, taking in the features of the naturally lit room.
Four of the walls were typical—plaster, painted a warm white—but the wall on the opposite side of the door was the natural rock face, where the wall remained anyway. Along that wall, impossibly, stood floor-to-ceiling windows, which overlooked the rushing River Sequana and had a stunning view of the northern side of the city. My eyes prickled as I took in the view of the city I had loved so much.
The ceilings of the room were high—at least twelve feet—and star-vaulted, like the ceiling of the Cistern. The floor was a deep walnut, and there were several doors leading off to, what I assumed, were various other rooms.
“Ciaran. What is this place?Howis this place?”
“I started having it built… oh… at least a year ago. I was still living and working in the city above, trying to complete my mission against the viscount, but I planned to move down here to be with my people full time. When everything happened with Scion, I needed a temporary space to live—hence our tiny apartment.” He shrugged.Ourtiny apartment. “But I had always planned on living here. It’s almost finished now. The windows are made from the same two-way glass as the mirror up in the opera house. They are magically warded to let the light in but be invisible to the outside world.” And I noticed then, runes, carved into the wood that framed the windows. There were little runes and characters like those in the intricate golden frame of the mirror in the opera house too. How had I never noticed before?
I was blinking stupidly. I hadn’t seen true daylight since I came here. The few glimpses of the night and creeping dawn had been all I was allowed. But this place? I could truly see the sun.
“Did you… design all this?” I was awestruck.
“I did,” Ciaran said quietly from behind me.
“You sing. You cook. You write music. You fight against tyranny. You write poetry. You design magical homes carved into rock. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Yes,” he said, quieter still, “there is.”
“What?” I whirled on him, ready to play another verbal sparring game.
“I cannot stop this.” His eyes burned into mine as he said it, intense and open and completely vulnerable. “Wanting you.”
The power of his gaze knocked the wind out of me, and I stepped toward him, breathless, desperate to feel the strength of his arms around me once more.
THE POINT OF NO RETURN
Every second since we’d been tangled up in that filthy room at the tavern across the river had been agony. Each moment that Ciaran’s hands weren’t on my waist, that his lips were separated from mine, was an eternity. It had only been a few hours, but I could hardly stand it. The energy between us sizzled.
I pointed toward the door on the right side of the large open room where we stood. “Where does that lead?” It was just a guess. But maybe a lucky one.
Ciaran’s eyes dropped to mine, and he let out a slow breath. “That would be the bedroom.” His voice was even lower than usual, descending closer to the baritone in which he sang. “Is that something you would like to see?”
