Page 203

“Here.” I grab the glass and put it to his lips. Once again, I think he’s going to refuse, but he just opens his mouth and lets me pour the water between his lips. “Mm, feel good?” My voice has gone all hoarse and low, and yes, the view is definitely making my stomach swoop with desire.

I should be focused on the fact that he’s injured. Instead, my attention keeps snagging on the curve of his throat every time he swallows. It’s an absolutely embarrassing use of my priorities.

Rowan is stretched across the bed, propped against a mountain of pillows in one of my old black shirts. The sleeves hang past his wrists, the collar slipping just enough to expose the pale line of his throat and the edge of another healing bruise. His hair is a mess from sleep and painkillers, falling into his eyes every time he moves.

He should look terrible. Instead, he looks dangerously easy to stare at.

His hand shifts, brushing mine where our fingers meet around the glass. The touch is brief, probably accidental, but it doesn’t feel like it.

“Did you know?”

I just look at our hands where they’ve ended up tangled together around the glass before clearing my throat and setting it aside. “Know what?”

“About Damaris and Lucan.”

A laugh slips out as I reach behind him and fluff one of the pillows. “You mean my cousin treating Damaris like his personal property?”

Rowan snorts, shifting carefully against the headboard. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”

“I would.” I grab the edge of the blanket and pull it higher over his legs despite the look he sends me.

“Ciaran.”

“You’re sliding down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re trying to escape the bed.”

“I’m injured.”

“Exactly.”

His eyes narrow.

I keep fussing with the blanket anyway. “Besides, you should probably pay attention. That’s what your future is going to look like. Scared yet, mouse?”

“Terrified,” he deadpans.

“Good.”

The corner of his mouth twitches before fading again. His gaze drifts toward the window, where gray afternoon light spills across the room.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

Then he looks back at me. “No, seriously. Since when is that official?”

I shrug, rubbing a hand across the back of my neck. “I don’t know if anyone ever officially announced it.”

His brow furrows. “But?”

“But I think the first time Lucan laid eyes on him, he decided your friend was his.”

Rowan’s gaze drifts back to the window. “She made me play it. That melody. Over and over. Until my hands were bleeding and I couldn’t see clearly because of my tears.”

A muscle jumps in my jaw. Instead of answering, I reach for his hand, turning it over carefully in mine and brushing my thumb across the bandages wrapped around his fingers.

“It was awful. The way she made me turn on the Noctis, hate the one thing I’ve always loved the most.” A small shrug. “But she didn’t succeed.”