Rowan onlynodded.
I let out a humorless chuckle. “I’ll be twenty-one in three months. Not that name-days really mean much here.”
“I think they do.”
“Well, that’s uncharacteristically optimistic of you.”
I gave him a small smile and then looked at my hands. They were still shaking. I picked at the undersides of my fingernails. Nothing was under them—they were too clean. I hadn’t seen the outside world for what felt like years.
“Why are you still attending the truth sessions?” Rowan asked quietly. “Is it because of your gift?”
“No, she doesn’t suspect that.”
“Well then, what does she think you’re hiding?”
“Nothing important.” I shifted uncomfortably, and then I stood and started for the door. “I should get going,” I said, reaching for the handle.
Rowan quickly grabbed me by the shoulder and twisted me to face him. I was then pressed between him and the door. I felt exposed and trapped.
“What are you hiding?” Rowan all but growled.
“It’s none of your business,” I hissed, trying to free myself from his hold.
“Everything to do with you is my business.”
I bristled at that.
“You want to know what I’m hiding?” I taunted.
“Yes.”
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t run away. So, I did the only thing I could do.
I surged up and kissed him.
Chapter 38
“The touch of love is tender yet fierce, capable of healing wounds unseen.”
- The Old Book
Rowan stiffened the moment my lips touched his, tension radiating from every line of his body. For a breathless second, he didn’t move—then something shifted. His muscles relaxed beneath my hands, and he exhaled slowly, surrendering to the kiss with a quiet intensity that stole the breath from my lungs.
His hands came up to cradle my face, thumbs brushing softly across my cheeks. The warmth of his touch seeped into my skin, anchoring me in the moment. I dissolved into it, savoring every heartbeat, every inhale, every second that passed like a slow burn.
Then his hands slipped to my waist, grounding me, exploring. Heat surged through me, sharp and dizzying. My pulse pounded wildly beneath my skin. I pressed in closer, arms winding around his neck, needing to feel every solid inch of him, needing to remember what it was like to want something that wasn’t about survival.
And then—he pulled away.
Abruptly. Sharply. Like the air had grown too thin.
His breathing was ragged—his eyes unreadable. Desire still lingered there, but something colder moved behind it: restraint.
“We should stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper.
I opened my mouth, ready to protest. But the look on his face stopped me. He wasn’t just retreating—he was fortifying. Bricking himself behind the invisible wall he so often lived behind. Whatever freedom he’d allowed himself in those brief seconds was now being sealed away again.
I bit back the sting of rejection and nodded silently, trying to slow the thunder in my chest.
