His ox-sized grin said he thought he’d won.
He hadn’t.
This was survival, nothing more.
Chapter 22
Ezra
WhatevertheWestwatershaddone to Cayden stuck. Instead of chasing Quinn, he turned up every morning at our gates to train with Rowan, sessions that always spiraled into practicing magic with Xan in the Alun. Cayden and Xan clashed like heat and steel, flashes of brilliance followed by tempers snapping. Every time their arguments edged toward blows, my cock twitched with interest.
Lucky for me, on day two Cayden threw the first punch. I slipped between them, catching his fist in my calloused palm. I thought I kept my expression schooled, but whatever Cayden sensed from me made a slight blush tinge his cheeks.
Cayden and Quinn were blushers, and I discovered new goals every day.
I dreamed of them both that night and woke up hard as a steel rod. Instead of waking my lover, I breathed slowly, drawing the blood back one pulse at a time. Control. Every denied release only made the next sweeter, and I was saving it for Quinn.
Lying there, listening to Xan breathe, I reached for the scrap of shadow still tied to Quinn. Not a tether, just a trace, enough to know her shape. Right now, no shadow. She was probably asleep, buried in blankets.
Awake, her shadow shifted, restless. Mornings, Brit drilled her. Afterward, the shape dulled. Other shadows brushed hers along with objects I couldn’t name. Only once did sunlight touch her.
I slipped out of bed and went about my morning.
Our first cellar raid caught me off guard. My lover was changing, rewriting the rules we’d always followed. He didn’t stand back. His mind reached into the darkness, revealing who hid there and what they could do. For one group of murderers, he unleashed fear again, but this time, none escaped to whisper of it. None to tell the world what he’d become.
For the first time in years, the confidence puffing Xan’s chest wasn’t just the act he put on to be the Architect, but his old self.
I loved it.
‘I swear to the gods, Ezra. I don’t understand what she sees in him,’Xan said in my mind.
Alone in my office, I let myself grin.
‘Stubborn. Clever. Desperate to do the right thing. You know what she sees in him.’
Xan sent me a mental middle finger.‘We’re putting the collar on Rowan. Come to the Alun.’
I bolted up, not bothering to finish my current report, and rushed out of the building. Stepping from shadow to shadow,I soon found myself in the Alun, already crowded with three shirtless, sweaty men, seated cross-legged in the center.
My erection was instant and painful.
I needed Quinn to come home.
“Are you sure, Rowan?” my lover asked.
Rowan crossed his arms, muscles bulging as if daring us to test him. “I trust you, sir. I volunteered. Stop questioning me.”
“Please, just drop the ‘sir.’” Xan sounded so tired of asking.
“Yes, sir,” Rowan responded with a smirk.
My lover shook his head and snapped the slave collar onto Rowan’s neck. No ceremony. Just steel on skin. Rowan grimaced, clawing at it, breath ragged.
“It’s so cold, painfully cold.” Rowan forced his hands to still. “Is this what Quinn felt? Twice?”
“Yes.” My neck burned with residual memories. It had been almost fifteen years since I had killed my slaver and freed myself, but some sensations never left.
Rowan took a few shallow breaths before relaxing as much as anyone could in a collar. He lowered his hands, and my blood once again rushed below my belt.
