Riven groaned and buried his face in the pillow, though not before Thane caught the flicker of a smile at the corner of his lips. Bastard.
They laid like that for another long stretch. No words. No biting remarks. Just the hum of something unspoken hanging in the stillness.
It should have been awkward. It should’ve made Riven bolt for the door.
But the warmth of Thane’s skin against his back wasn’t something he wanted to lose just yet. Even the man’s breath was steadying. Grounding. It was terrifying.
“You came to the infirmary,” Riven said after a beat, not looking at him.
“I always would have,” Thane said, quiet.
That silenced him.
He didn’t know what to make of that, and the way Thane said it like it wasn’t a favor. Like it wasn’t obligation or anger that had brought him through that door.
Like it was a fact, unchangeable.
He turned, just enough to glance at Thane over his shoulder. Thane met his eyes, unreadable as ever, expression softer now than Riven had ever seen it. Still intense, but not cruel.
Something clenched behind Riven’s ribs. “You could’ve told me you were watching,” he said, “instead of sending your dogs to babysit me.”
“I didn’t think you’d listen if I asked you not to go.”
“I wouldn’t have.”
“There’s your answer.”
A moment passed.
And then Thane moved, pulling back just enough to sit up. The distance was sudden—cold in the absence of heat.
“Don’t read into this,” he said, voice flat again. “You wanted it. I let you have it. That’s all.”
Riven rolled to his back, watching him.
“Sure,” he said. “That’s all.”
Thane stood, walked to the nearby dresser, and grabbed his discarded shirt, pulling it back over his scarred shoulders with efficient detachment. Like the night hadn’t happened. Like his mouth hadn’t been on Riven’s skin like he needed to devour him.
Riven watched every movement, heart still thudding too fast in his chest. But he didn’t say anything, because he could already feel the walls going back up.
It was easier to let them.
Chapter 25
Riven woke with the regret pressing against his ribs, thick and suffocating as the sheets tangled around his legs. The room still smelled like sex—raw, unfiltered, him and Thane woven into the walls now—and it made his gut twist with something sharp and sour.
He should never have let it happen.
Not because it hadn’t been good—it had been devastating. Not because he didn’t want it—he had, too much. But because he knew better. He knew what it meant to blur lines with people like Thane. Knew it was dangerous, addicting, and impossible to come back from clean.
And yet, a traitorous part of him was glad. The tension between them had snapped last night, and the pressure that had been building in every look, every brush of skin, was broken. At least now the air between them was scorched and spent, not electric.
Clear—or as clear as it could ever be in this place.
He dragged himself upright, wincing at the soreness in his thighs and throat, and made quick work of washing up. He refused to look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to see the confirmation in his own face—the bruises along his neck, the faint shine in his eyes that always gave him away.
The knock came just as he was pulling his shirt over his head. He opened the door to find the same woman who’d greeted him on his first day in the estate, spine straight and eyes cool as polished stone.
