#wordsafterhours

It was just her today at the store, which required her to be punctual for the first time in weeks. Aelin had grown spoiled by Evangeline opening the store and was begrudging the fact that she couldn’t drink a cup of coffee on the back porch and read a chapter in her book before work. Well, she could have, but it would have required sacrificing sleep, and that wasn’t a preferable option. 

Mindlessly, she showered, then slipped into a dark-green, oversized sweater, and off-white corduroy pants. She braided her hair and wove the tails into a bun at the base of her skull using pearl tipped pins to hold it the arrangement in place. A few pieces of hair were tugged out to frame her face. Two quick swipes of mascara and Aelin deemed herself presentable enough to be out the door.

A light covering of frost dusted the windshield but not enough that it would delay her too long. Turning the vehicle on, she dug in the floorboards for the ice scraper amongst discarded receipts and croissant wrappers, before clearing the windshield. The drive into town was uneventful but beautiful, the Staghorns, lower valley, and Oakwald forest was still quite covered in snow. Terrasen was never more picturesque than in its winter glory. 

By the gods, there was a spot open right in front of the shop and Aelin pulled her vehicle into it, cutting the engine with a little smile. Usually, she parked at Lysandra’s or down the block, preferring not to have to deal with the main street traffic. The day wasn’t going to warm up much and the idea of walking after dark sounded unappealing. 

Like the Christmas tree still taking up residence in her room, twinkling lights and green garlands adorned the windows of Present Tense, which made her smile brightly every time she saw them. It wasn’t practical to leave them up much longer but with everything lately, the small joy was a novelty not worn yet. The smell of aged paper, leather, and spices reached her nose as Aelin pushed through the front door, flipping lights on as she went through the store. 

Mindlessly, she powered on the computer, put coffee to brew, and started a fire in the fireplace. The store would open soon and needed to be as inviting as possible in hopes of combating the post-holiday lull that it was in. It happened every year but there was always a small sliver of hope on her part that it wouldn’t. How could people not appreciate the written word every day of the year? 

Minutes faded into hours, and it was lunchtime, with not a single customer having come through the doors. Inventory, payroll, and needed ordering had been done. Bookcases dusted, wood oiled; Aelin had even made sure her under the desk spider was still happy and thriving.  Staring at the door waiting for someone to come in was quite literally inducing a headache. Popping two pain pills, she loosed a resigned sigh, plopping down in a worn, plush chair adjacent to the crackling fire. Others may not be reading today but the same would not be said for her. 

She was warm, almost unpleasantly, and a small neck twinge was beginning to register on the outermost fragments of her consciousness—It wasn’t enough to fully rouse her though and she burrowed back against the soft velvet. A featherlight touch traced the shell of her ear, accompanied by a warm, low chuckle. Reluctantly, Aelin cracked a lid, her turquoise and gold eye searching for the disruptor. 

“There she is,” he murmured with a small smile. 

“Hi,” she replied sleepily, sitting up and stretching her sleep-addled body. Involuntarily, she winced, the twinge in her neck more serious than it had felt half asleep. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking two quick steps in her direction. 

“Nothing, just stretched wrong is all.”

One silver brow raised, his face tight as his green eyes roved over her, trying to a discern the depth of her candor. Whatever he saw had him standing between her legs in an instant, peering down at her with perfected skepticism. “Turn around.”

“Rowan, I said I was fine.” The last thing she needed was his hands on her, blurring the line she was trying so hard to keep straight. Narrow. Uncrossed. Their track record was quite poor, but it was a new year for new beginnings, with eleven months to go.  

“You can’t even straighten your neck right. Your right eye keeps squinting when you move and you’re chewing the inside of your cheek.” Could nothing be secret from him? Aelin had been commended on her poker face, it was one of her greatest assets, and now when it was needed most, it was painfully absent. 

“I can live with a stiff neck, Ro,” she argued, leaning back against the chair and crossing her arms to strengthen her declination.

“Gods, you’re a literal pain in my ass,” he snarked. 

“I’m not trying to be.” 

Lies. Liar. Difficult was exactly the strategy Aelin was playing. If he was mad, then he wouldn’t want to help her and on the straight and narrow she could continue. 

“It’s a good thing I’m bigger than you, though.” His lilt was teasing, light, and his grin, as roguish as she’d ever seen it. Only half a word had made it passed her pink lips before being cut off by a loud squeal as dragged her from the chair and onto the plush rug beneath their feet. 

“Now, you can either keep lying flat of your back, pouting, or you can sit in front of the fire and let me work out the knot. I vote the latter but again, your choice.” 

She hadn’t seen him since their Yulemas festivities, and it suddenly dawned on her how much his presence had been missed. Despite the bothersome stiff neck and having been dragged from the chair like a child, her heart felt light in a way that couldn’t quite be placed. The corners of her mouth turning up into a genuine smile. 

“I’m going to hurt you if your antics messed up my hair.” It was an empty threat and the only response given to let him know he’d won. 

“Vain, as always,” he noted with a small shake of his head. Deftly, he maneuvered his large form to the ground, taking up residence behind her. It was fortunate that she was facing forward, if only to avoid his piercing gaze as her cheeks heated at the intimacy of their set up. An urge to lean back against him was ferociously clawing its way up her throat as each second ticked by. 

If only to redirect her own thoughts, Aelin moved one leg up and rested her chin atop her knee, idly playing with the soft carpet beneath her right hand. If Rowan didn’t make a move soon, the anticipation of it was going to result in her saying something stupid about how this whole thing was his idea. 

The touch of his hand was contradiction personified as he splayed it across her right shoulder, thumb digging in softly and firm all at once, working it into the muscle that paralleled her spine. The calloused fingers moved with awareness of her that they should not have possessed—his touch akin to that of a lover’s who had spent long hours tracing every square inch of fair skin until committed to memory. 

Notes of tangy iron filled her mouth, an unintended consequence of sinking her teeth into the soft flesh of her lip; a pitiful attempt at stifling how marvelous it all felt. Her head tipped sidewise, temple resting against her leg now, granting Rowan better access to the column of her neck. Strong fingers pressed beneath the hollow of her ear, steadfastly following muscle tract to just above her collar bone. Featherlight, he grazed the length of delicate bone before returning to his starting point, again dragging firmly down in the same pattern. Heat sept in, washing away tension like ocean tides did sand. 

A true glutton for punishment, Aelin tipped her head in the opposite direction, a silent signal for the male at her back to direct his focus elsewhere. With expert care, he massaged the muscles, working out the knots in much the same manner as before. An errant, small moan slipped out when Rowan’s fingers lazily dipped too far past her collar bone, barely missing the top of her breast. So much for that line she’d been towing. 

If he pushed it, there was no way her heart or body could say no, even with her head a screaming cacophony of objecting reasons. The ache low in her core and between her thighs had her shifting uncomfortably, trying to soothe even a fraction of it. The green sweater, a good idea this morning, was surely becoming a nuisance against her flushed skin. Crackling wood wasn’t enough to drown out the low, shaky breaths at her back, and if that wasn’t indication enough of his shaken façade, both hands were on her back, lower—a safe layer of knit separating them.

She hissed when he hit a particularly tender spot in the small above her back and it seemed to be the reprieve they both needed. The anxiety dissipated and breaths came easier. Moving forward, they could not afford to continue to end up in these situations. No one ever wanted to be the other girl, especially her, even if Lyria had made her feel less a person on multiple occasions. 

“I’ve got to sit down. I’m too old to keep this position,” Rowan admitted, sounding a little embarrassed at his admission. Soon, either side of her hips were cradled by legs as he stretched out. 

Like this was going to fucking help anything. “Ro.” 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, Aelin.” 

If she stayed put, did this make a her duplicitous in whatever ideology was governing him in to believing that this didn’t mean anything? Or should offense be what she should feel because perhaps none of it meant anything. It was easier to live with being a liar than being used by him.

Throwing her morals, standards, and protests to the wind, Aelin leaned fully back into him. 

As he had done her shoulders and back, his muscular hands began to massage her arms. The air became oppressive again, not with unspent sexual tension, but with the acute awareness that this situation was surpassing unbefitting friend behavior. Several times, her mouth opened and then promptly closed as she choked down unbidden questions. 

“Something you want to say?” he enquired quietly. 

“Why?” Succinct. Falsely unaware. Confident. 

“I can feel you get tense and relax and tense and relax. It’s obvious something is going through that head of yours.” His hand stilled except his thumb, which was drawing smooth circles against the underside of her wrist. 

“A thought for a thought?” The entirety of his frame stiffened, and a cool draft crept up her spine as he leaned back, an invisible but tangible wall falling into place. For as open as he seemed to be, or intrusive, the minute things were not on his terms, Rowan became impenetrable as opalescent stone buildings of downtown Orynth. 

Frustrated, Aelin started to scoot forward but halted when a relinquishing sigh guttered out behind her. White teeth pressed into her bottom lip, a poor attempt to stave off a satisfied, triumphant smirk. He gingerly grabbed her right hand, tugging her back against him. The tension was still there but had lessened a minutia. 

His hand dwarfed hers but in the best way. The worn planes and callouses of his hand lit by the fire glow were the only thing her turquoise eyes seemed to be able to focus on. Everything about this man drew her in, like a greedy moth to a flame. Silence hung between them, her waiting patiently for what Rowan would say. 

Or wouldn’t.

It could have been five minutes or thirty but soon what little patience lived in her body was dissipating. Expectantly, she turned to look up at him, eyes roving over his tight jaw and dark eyes. Whatever thoughts were running through his mind, she didn’t know but he looked quite truly a man at war with himself. Wisely, she kept her mouth shut.

His silver lashes were full, almost touching his cheeks as his gaze flicked down to her, briefly. “I’ve never had someone like you in my life, and I’m glad to call you my friend.” 

The answer was paltry at best. It felt as though he was saying anything but what truly occupying his thoughts. His refusal to look at her when it wasn’t normally an issue spoke more than he probably realized. A veiled half-truth wasn’t what she had intended when she asked him a thought for a thought. 

Aelin wanted to call him on his bullshit, to demand the same raw honesty he always demanded of her—that she always gave because anything less was unacceptable. 

But, again, she stayed silent, merely shifting in his lap to rest her ear against his chest, taking in the steady thump of his heart as it slowed. When it returned to what seemed like a normal rate, her own half-truth tumbled from her lips. “I’m glad to call you my friend, too.”

Friend. Friend tasted acrid and wrong on her tongue despite the sentiment being mostly candid. Friend was too small, too generic of a word for what was living within her chest. Amongst the pages of some forgotten book, she had read once that liked called to like. 

And that they were. Two halves of the same soul, cleaved apart long ago by the gods, left to search for another across time and space. It was the only plausible reason she could muster as to why he felt like home. In the very marrow of her bones, he had entombed himself. In any world, any life, Aelin would know him.

While she could not have him, not as she wanted in this reality, she would try her damnedest anyways. It didn’t matter what capacity he could afford her, Aelin would take it, hoarding their moments like a dragon with stolen crown jewels. 

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Wincing as she hit a particularly rough pothole, Aelin made a large mental note to chastise Rowan for it. The winter season had only worsened the already shit road and SUV be damned, it didn’t seem to make it any more bearable. Fleetfoot shifted her footing in the passenger seat, glancing over, giving a judgmental look.  

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s not my fault this road isn’t maintained,” she muttered in contempt. 

Lucky for both the golden-haired girls, the A-frame cabin was soon in few, lit by beautiful glass bulbs strung from tree to trees. While his house wasn’t her style, much preferring luxury and the things accustomed with the that lifestyle, there was something perfect about the view she had now. It was quieter than even where she lived. And if possible, it seemed more stars could be seen winking in the sky. The light blues and purple of dusk were fading away into dark blues and black as the sun continued its decent below the horizon. 

Cutting the engine, Aelin sat a moment, taking in two large breaths and talked herself down from the anxiety that was clawing violently up her throat. There was no reason to be nervous, not really, if you got past the fact she was spending another evening in his presence, in the home that would one day house his family…

Fine. Everything was perfectly fine. That was the mantra that would headline the forefront of her mind tonight—it had to be. The alternative distressingly cruel. 

“Let’s go, girl.” Fleetfoot didn’t need to be told twice, bounding over her lap and out the car door, rounding the corner of the house before her feet had even touched the pine needle ground. 

“Well, someone was eager,” she grumbled under her breath as she followed the same path the dog had taken. The backdoor was open, spilling added light across the porch and grass. Chairs circled a firepit that had already had a crackling fire within it. Blankets hung on the back of two chairs. Her mouth watered as a small breeze kissed her skin, bringing with it the smell of garlic and a little spice. The silver haired man had refused to tell her what they were doing, other than he was making her dinner, which he also decided to withhold what it was they would be eating. 

Gently, she knocked against the door trim before walking in. Rowan gave her a smile as he lowered a wooden spoon down from his lips and set it down on the counter. “Couldn’t wait for a taste?”

“A cook always has to sample the dish before serving it to others. I wouldn’t want feed you something terrible.”

“My refined palate appreciates that.”

Rowan rolled his eyes, but the small laugh let her know he knew she was just being difficult. She took a seat at the bar top that overlooked the stove. The meal looked simple but it smelled divine, especially with her sitting almost directly over it. “Are you going to tell me what’s on the menu now that I’m here?”

“You’re insufferable sometimes. I hope you realize that,” he answered, flicking her nose. 

“I’m wonderful, thank you very much. The only intolerable one here is you.” 

“Keep it up and I’ll give the dogs your plate and your part of the dessert.” His face was straight, no slight tick in his jaw or arch of a brow to tell if he was kidding. The discarded spoon was picked back up and used to stir whatever sauce was simmering on the stove top.

Worrying her lip, Aelin said nothing but continued to watch him mill about the kitchen. He flicked off the burners and bent down, giving her a better view of the kitchen. It was like a beacon in the dark, the small image pinned to the fridge with a magnet, that immediately ensnared her wandering gaze. A heavy unease settled in the pit of her stomach the longer she stared at the photo. His tall frame appeared back in her view, but he might as well have been invisible because she just kept staring—a very tangible feeling of nauseousness working up her throat. 

Rowan was going to be a father to a baby that would be here before they both knew it. And he would be filling his spare time with raising him or her. Cooking meals in this very kitchen and coming home to someone who Aelin couldn’t stand. Until now, a small part of her had been delusional, quietly whispering that he would still have time for her when it came down to it. But he wouldn’t. This man would be all in for that life that hung proudly against the silver fridge face. 

In the haze of her tunnel vision, she had missed him moving until he was turning the stool and pulling her against warm, muscled chest. His heart was thrumming erratically against her ear. This man was far from dumb and likely knew just the reason for her terror-struck silence. “Aelin,” his voiced pleaded against the crown of her head. 

“What are we doing Ro?” she cried into him. 

“We’re having dinner.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Aelin declared, shoving her palms against his stomach in a paltry attempt to put distance between them. He gripped her harder, snuffing out the hope for any separation.

“Rowan, let me go,” she begged, the words vibrating against them both. 

“I can’t, Fireheart.” 

“Rowan, there’s a baby on your fridge. Your baby. It’s growing and some months from now, it’s going to be more than just a black and white decoration to look at.” He was lying to himself if he thought he could keeping living his life like this and it broke her heart because he didn’t seem to have an iota about it. 

“Aelin, you don’t think I know that?” he barked angrily, stepping back and bumping into another stool. It’s high-pitched squeal making her look up at him. Loosing a frustrated breath, his green eyes weighed heavily on her. 

“I can’t change that. I know I’m going to be a dad and it wasn’t how I thought my journey to fatherhood would go, but I know more than anyone, that July is going to bring so many changes. So don’t sit there and preach at me about that stupid black and white photo. I didn’t even put it up there. Lyria did. It’s from when she first found out and it’s a blob. It doesn’t even look like a baby.” 

From her vantagepoint, it looked like a potato. Gods, likening a baby to a potato was surely going to get her some gods-given karma down the line. Unsure of what to say to the passionate, yet angry monologue, Aelin elected silence. 

“I’m scared out of my mind, but I’m excited, too. Some little human out there is going to call me dad. And I’m going to read poetry to them every night before they go to bed and take them hiking on Saturdays with my friends. I’m going to stroll the streets of downtown Orynth, telling them about a time when there used to be a queen and kind of this country, and how the opalescent buildings were an unheard-of masterpiece when they designed and built. I’m going to take them to Emrys’ and introduce cake when they’re old enough. And we’ll see you when we come to buy books because I want them to know 1,000 different lives. I have to make the most of what I’ve been dealt.” 

Tears burned, falling for herself, and falling for the man at her front. Rowan loved that baby, and it was beautiful to see it. But the life he painted; it made her envious. What would a life like that, with him, be like? Would they fight about what book to read? What would be the first poem they would read to their child? Would he get the history just right having not grown up here? Would she have to correct him with a teasing smile? 

“What if” was the most painful start to any self-harm idea her brain and heart could muster. What if she had met him a few months sooner? What if it had been her and not Lyria? What if Lyria hadn’t been pregnant at all?

What if. What if. What if. 

Calloused thumbs swooped across the swell of her cheeks, wiping away the moisture sliding down. He tilted her head, catching her gaze with his. “There’s a limit to what I can give you, Aelin. I know that, but I’m trying to be here, for you. And if that’s enough for now, then let it be enough. And when it’s not, ask me again to let you go.”

It was appropriate to say while he cradled her in his hands—the declaration literal and figurative and a bittersweet understanding. She knew that whatever unspoken thing tying them together didn’t adhere to the constructs of reason or reality—it unapologetically existed. And for now, the small kernels of time and of himself that Rowan offered to her were enough. 

However, they’d both be nothing but fools if they believed with any real hope that this would last beyond July. The gods didn’t cater to mortal whims, not even love or desire, despite what countless words penned in books tried to argue. Aelin knew this better than anyone having suffered unbelievably so in the face of the cards she had been dealt. 

Before her parents had died, Arobynn betrayed everyone, and her uncle and cousins’ unwitting complicity in his schemes, her life had been one of unwavering love, joy, and happiness. Every day was not sunshine and roses, but there hadn’t been one thing she’d willingly change. 

It occurred to her that she had not offered any sort of response to Rowan’s quiet plea apart from silence. With a rueful twitch of her pink lips, she said hardly audible, “Okay.” The two syllables tasted acerb against her tongue, but she’d utter them again and again if it meant he’d look at her the way he was now.  With one last smooth stroke against the apples of her cheeks, he asked, “Are you hungry?” 

Aelin gave an enthusiastic nod, which had him freeing her and returning to the other side of the counter, dishing out food onto two plates in a manner that could only be described as routine.  A quick jerk of his head silently commanded her to follow him as he took their dinner outside. Once she was seated comfortably in one of the chairs surrounding the fire, did he pass her a plate and take his own seat. 

The first few bites had her letting out a low moan that had no right appearing anywhere except within the confines of her bedroom—but damn the gods, she couldn’t help herself. Rowan sounded like he was semi-choking across from her and it made a small, feline smirk of delight grace her lips. There was power in the knowledge that she could and did fluster the man. 

Deciding to spare him anymore discomfort, she mercifully kept her indecent sounds and thoughts to herself for the remainder of their dinner which fell into a pleasant, companionable silence. Gently, she discarded the plate on the ground beside her and leaned back into the chair, taking a sip from her beer, and looking up at the stars. Millions of tiny light balls gleamed back at her, some stark white, others hardly more than a dull glow. 

“When I was a kid, my parents used to tell me that the stars were all the people that we’d lost looking down on us. It used to make me so upset because I thought it was ridiculous and at that point, I had already learned that they were balls of exploding gas. But as I got older and lost them, I came to the decision that their explanation was the only one I wanted to possess any conviction for. At the very least, it’s a far more beautiful sentiment than any scientific truth.” 

Aelin refused to look anywhere but up, not wanting to see pity, understanding, comfort—anything in response to her confession. Vulnerability made her feel weak and broken and she’d shown Rowan more of herself in the months of their friendship than she’d shown must people in years. He was constantly disarming her; strategically knocking a stone loose from the wall she’d armed herself with and with the right move, it would irreparably crumble.

It was inevitable. It was coming. And she wasn’t ready yet… but she wanted to be. Living as a ghost of herself was exhausting and depressing and life was passing her by. Aelin had been a victim of life, of shitty circumstances, and had endured things some people could never imagine even on their worst day.  There was more to go through, so much to face and work through, but in the perfect silence of this starlit night, it felt like her parents were by her side, reminding her they’d never left, not really.

“I wish someone would have told me stories like that,” his voice said a little gruff. Hesitantly, she flicked her blue and gold gaze his way, admiring how the firelight played off the sharp angles of his jaw. His green gaze was trained on the sky above as he continued. “I’m not sure if you’ve been to Doranelle but it’s so different from Orynth. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s the largest city east of Wendlyn or because it’s a main trade port for many routes, but it’s never quiet. Something is always going on.”

She’d been once, as a young teenager on holiday with her family, and if she thought hard enough about it, she could almost taste the spice-laden air and hear the vendors selling their wares along the winding, elegant streets. Beautiful pale stone buildings with blue tops and mosaic tiles decorating their walls stood out in her brain.  And their palace with its jasmine-wrapped columns and stained glasses ceilings were such a stark contrast from Orynth’s own palace of shimmering opal walls.  

“It wasn’t until I was older that I knew the sky held so many stars. The bright lights of the city in culmination with the pale stone buildings, rivers, and mist make it eerily bright all the time. The sun and moon obey the same laws there, but night never seems as dark as it ought to be.  Not like here, where on a moonless night, you can’t see five feet in front you. It’s beautiful at home and I was privileged growing up there, but when I was able to see more of the world, I realized there were somethings more beautiful than others.”

His piercing green gaze dropped to hers and held as he said the last part. For someone who wasn’t entirely forthcoming and made it seem like sharing personal information was akin to pulling teeth sans anesthetic, Rowan was a born storyteller. Perhaps, it was because she was sweet on him, but she was more inclined to believe it was in the way he spoke about things. His accent grew thicker, voice lower, his body more relaxed, and green eyes a little brighter. 

“I went one summer after I had turned fourteen or fifteen, I can’t quite remember. We traveled every summer for my belated birthday gift. My parents wanted me to be well-rounded and to know the world. That year, Gavriel and Aedion were able to come with us. We’d traveled before as a family but never that far, for that long. It felt nice to just be ourselves without constantly wondering if photographers and journalists were going to be writing about what we were wearing, or what restaurant we frequented, or what new bill my father or mother were trying to pass.” 

She loosed a bitter chuckle and picked a little too angrily at her cuticles, causing one to bleed. Rowan’s large hand rested over hers, snuffing out the anxious tendency before she could cause more damage. 

“Fireheart, what happened with your uncle and your cousin? I know Elide said they betrayed you, but I saw how your face lit up when you talked about them. It’s clear you miss them. Your parents aren’t here but from what I’ve gathered, they are. You don’t have to tell me. I can feel you stiffening under my hands and you’re holding your breath. Gods, I know it’s painful for you, but you don’t have to carry around those feelings by yourself.  There are so many people in your corner who would be more than happy to shoulder some of that weight… You just have to stop holding on to it so tight.” 

That wall of hers? Well, there went another stone or two as he laced their fingers together, his gentle but not subtle offer to bare her grief ringing loudly in her ears, as though he had shouted it for the heavens to hear. It wasn’t that her friends hadn’t offered their ears or shoulders before, because they all had, numerous times, but she’d been too devastated to let any ounce of control go. Then, came Rowan, no better than an avalanche bulldozing a mountain full of trees, decimating everything in its wake.   

He pushed when she didn’t want to be pushed. Held her when she didn’t know that’s what she wanted. Listened to her fall apart and stayed anyways. He wasn’t perfect. He had hurt her and likely would hurt here more in the future, but in their skewed dynamic, he had given her room to breathe. In shouldering of all the messy, the bad, the dramatic—it had lessened that crippling burden she’d been carrying around for years to just enough to remind her that there was more to life than what she’d been accepting. 

And for his gift, she would give him another ugly truth despite the possibility of it opening up an emotional chasm deeper than any fissure on this continent. “I didn’t know how corrupt Arobynn was. To me, in most everything before and for two years after the death of my parents, I just saw him as ‘Uncle A’, my godfather and dad’s best friend. Every holiday, family birthday, fancy gala—he was there. He was my rock after it all. Him and Aedion and Gavriel.” 

Aelin shifted forward in her seat and adjusted their still laced fingers on her knee, not wanting to lose the grounding contact, but unable to bare his dark emerald gaze a second longer. It seemed childish to hide, but sometimes if felt like he could see into the very darkest parts of her soul, the ones she didn’t offer up or acknowledge, and that level of discomfort was threatening to flicker out the small tendril of courage she was gripping onto. 

“I didn’t know the extent of their involvement in his seedy underground dealings until the middle of the trial. Gavriel was the chair of the historical and restoration department for the city, appointed by my mother. Nepotism at its finest, I know. He had his own construction company as well and Aedion grew up learning from him. After college, he took over more responsibility in the company, leaving Gavriel to devote more time to the public and political aspects of restoring the city. Little did I know then that their company built and restored many underground areas of the city. I think at first, they didn’t realize that they were paving the network that would feed into success of The Vaults, but it became very clear, later on, that they knew. They knew and they continued anyways.” 

She gave a harsh chuckle, the notion of their part in the crime syndicate somehow still bitterly amusing years later. Only amusing because they’d let themselves be deceived in the face of overwhelming evidence. Hardly any of the evidence of their involvement had been presented at trial when the betrayal had cut through her like a hot blade. Aedion’s eyes, so like her own, had found her in the sea of people within that room, brimming with guilt and unshed tears. He had looked devastated. 

But she had been devastated. And blind-sided. And betrayed.  And hurt. And angry. 

Again, she had been made a fool at the hands of those who supposedly cared for her. A public spectacle for all the court-goes to gawk at while she crumpled in the front row. 

Absent-mindedly, she rubbed at her chest, a poor attempt to soothe the ghost of twinging pain. “I don’t know what Arobynn had over my uncle, but I know it had to have been something because why else would you help a criminal? Half the city’s tunnels existed when we still had a monarch. They deserved the chance to be restored and appreciated. The finished result though surpassed what was initially documented and planned but that didn’t come to light until the underground syndicate was dismantled. No one could figure out how criminals were thwarting law enforcement left and right and all along, the answer was right under their feet.” 

“I hadn’t been here long when crime started to uptick. I got mugged outside my truck one night and it was like the guy disappeared into thin air. I tried to chase him but when I turned the corner, there was nothing but empty streets. Makes sense now,” he remarked in an acrimonious tone. 

“Manholes, specific businesses, canals… everyone who belonged to the Vaults learned where and how they could use these tunnels to their advantages. Arobynn had his finger in everything from prostitution and drugs to street fighting and ordered hits. When you sit at the right hand of the country’s governor, you make a lot of connections, and he used every one of them to his advantage. My uncle and Aedion redid all the tunnels as my mother asked, but they built new ones seamlessly connected too, creating an intricate and unmarked web unless you knew where to look. Had it not helped Arobynn’s rise to power and criminal empire, I might be impressed.” 

Feeling restless and angry, she abruptly stood from her chair and took a few steps back. The air around the fire too warm. Rowan’s hand too heavy. The feelings still too raw.

“I didn’t stay the rest of the day Aedion and Gavriel testified, and I ignored every attempt they made to explain themselves since. There was nothing they were going to say to me that could make their involvement any less painful. I know all the charges were dropped after they disclosed the tunnel maps and trade routes for product moving in and out of the city. I think I could have forgiven just the tunnels, in time, but Aedion was helping run the street fights and Gavriel knew what businesses were operating under the table. I just can’t help but think had they spoken up about Arobynn’s illegal dealings, he might not have had the network, power, or capital to have had my parents murdered.”

And there it was. The repulsive, dark truth that had been festering deep within the walls of her heart for years. Resentment and hate bitterly clamored up her throat as she bent over, hands braced on her thighs, gasping for air.  Was she a monster for having no understanding, no compassion for her family? Was she wrong to blame them? Was she as cruel as Arobynn?

The world started to tip, black spots filling her vision as her knees buckled and the ground growing increasingly closer. Familiar muscle flushed against the side of her body, guiding her delicately down. “I don’t know much Fireheart, but there is no world in which you could ever compare to a man like that.” 

One hand held firm against the crown of her head, keeping her upright, while the other ran long, soothing strokes down her back. Nothing else was said between them as they sat there. It could have been five minutes or two hours—Aelin wasn’t sure, but she thanked the gods for the still silence and for the friend she’d found in Rowan. Tonight, had been one of courage and candor, and she had faced it head on. 

She had not yielded when her heart and head had been screaming otherwise. The world, her world was shifting. It was a dull throb somewhere in the depths of her bones, demanding to be felt, noticed. 

Change was coming and she would no longer be afraid. 

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Lyria had stayed the night, declaring herself too tired to go home. He didn’t mind, really, choosing to enjoy their arrangement. Companionship without a label was working for them and he wasn’t in any hurry to change it. She had made comments here and there indicating she wanted to be his girlfriend—he studiously ignored them. Rowan cared for her; he wouldn’t let it go beyond that. 

The day after the incident… that’s when he had found Aelin’s discarded bag on the back porch. Like a high school girl debating to talk to her crush, he toyed with the idea of texting her, letting her know she had left it. Eventually, he did and was subsequently left on read. 30 years old and left on read. The gods had a sense of humor for his life lately.

Now it was December and that stupid bag had been mocking him for weeks. It was perched on a chair by his front door, a constant testament that he didn’t even warrant a reply. He’d woken up today on the wrong side of the bed and her stupid bag was grating his last nerve. 

“I’m taking you to the damn bookstore,” he declared, angrily slinging it over his shoulder as he locked up to leave the house. Naturally, all the contents of the bag spilled into the passenger seat and floorboard when he chunked into the truck. A curse word accompanied each item he placed back into the bag. 

He was ready to be done with this and her. He was crazy for ever thinking the two of them could be friends. Her ego and lack of manners drove him crazy. She was emotional and he liked to think he was pretty even tempered. Also, he despised the way she organized some of the sections in her store, it made zero sense in his type A brain.

Rowan had the address for Present Tense and the two routes he could take to get there memorized which meant he didn’t have to listen to the music dim as his phone gave directions. Scrolling through his various playlists, he decided to forgo is usual musical choices, selecting something with a more alternative edge. Highly Suspect’s “Natural Born Killer” began to blast through the cab, it’s hard beats a welcome distraction. By the time he reached the store, his mood at improved slightly, leaving him confident he wouldn’t bite her head off when he handed over her bag. 

Bag in tow, he rounded the corner and peered into the large windows of the store. The lights were on and the fire lit, but he didn’t see Aelin, or anyone else for that matter in the store. The front door displayed its open sign, the door handle unlocked, moving freely when he jiggled it. A familiar tinkling of bells overhead sounded as he pushed into the store, drowning out any other noise for a few seconds. 

Rowan pushed the door flush, looking around for Aelin, and still not seeing the familiar hair of blonde hair anywhere. That’s when he heard it, loud retching and choking noises, like someone was struggling to maintain their airway.  His green eyes darted across the store, desperately seeking the source of the sound. The hallway behind the desk where the bathroom and Aelin’s office were was dark; the sound was too loud to be that far away. 

The heaving started again, only this time punctuated with muffled cries. “Aelin! Aelin is that you?” 

Heave. Heave. Heave.

“Aelin!” he called out while walking to the register. 

A loud thud his only answer. His heart seized in his chest when he looked over the countertop. Aelin was ghostly white splayed out on the floor, her hair wet and stuck to her face. Her breathing was fast, shallow. He said her name twice but no response. 

Rowan dropped to his knees, slipping his arms beneath her back and pulling her up against his body. Despite her skin being wet with perspiration, it felt cool to the touch. Resting his chin against her temple, he pleaded for her to wake up. His heart was pounding hard against his rib gage as he prayed to Mala for her to do something, anything to let him know she was okay.

Aelin’s small frame tensed in his arms and before his brain could process what was happening, she was pushing herself away from him, turquoise eyes wild, shocked. His own were as wide as half dollars, not understanding why she’d reacted like a terrified wild animal caught in a hunter’s snare. Holding out his hand in calm reassurance, he inched forward to help her up. The woman slid back with a violent shake of her head back and forth, a silent rejection.

He ignored her, moving forward again. 

“Don’t,” Aelin whispered, her voice firm in warning. 

Worry continued to bloom uncomfortably in his chest, newly accompanied by a note of hurt. Aelin seemed absolutely rattled by something and didn’t trust him enough to accept help. He knew their friendship was tenuous but the look in her eyes was going to haunt his dreams for months to come. 

“Aelin, what’s the matter?”

“I said don’t,” she cautioned, louder than before. 

He was not going to let her best him, regardless of the situation. He would get to the bottom of this, warnings be damned. “I heard you, but I don’t care. What. Is. The. Matter?”

The little bit of color that had returned to her cheeks was receding, the pale white hue taking over once more. She sprang up, dropping her head between her knees, and Rowan took the opportunity to move closer. He stood over here, green meeting turquoise as she looked up at him. “Aelin’s can you just tell me what’s wrong?”

She nodded no, placing her head between her legs, body visibly spasming as she started heaving again. An agonizing cry sent Rowan to his knees as he cradled his body around hers. He pressed his cheek into hers, forcing her to brace against his left arm. Despite being much smaller than him, his body was shaking by proxy. “You’re shaking,” he cooed, unable to keep the pain from his voice. He felt her stiffen and try to pull forward, but he held his grasp firm, hushing her. 

“Aelin, I need to know that you’re alright. Do you need to go to the hospital?”

A few calm minutes passed with no response, so he pried once more. “Can you tell me what you has so upset, Ae?” His arms gripped her tighter, preventing possible escape.  “Aelin, I’m serious. If you don’t tell me what happened, I’m taking you to the hospital.” 

The lack of response was both tiresome and worrisome and Rowan had had enough. He shifted Aelin so that she was sideways in her lap, allowing him to cradle her face with his free hand and force eye contact. The gold rings in her eyes were muted, the turquoise flat, lifeless. Her lids closed, effectively shutting him out. A pang stabbed his chest as his heart ached for her at her having been reduced to this panicked version instead of the vibrant, stubborn, fiery person he’d known her to be. 

“Please don’t,” he asked, a last-ditch effort to get her to open up. 

“Can’t what?” his voice gentle.

“I can’t do this.”

He tensed, his 6’4” frame becoming a solid wall of alarmed muscle. “Do what?”

“Keep living,” Aelin admitted so softly it was almost as though she hadn’t spoken at all. Rowan stared at her in disbelief. Had he just heard her right? 

“Aelin. What the fuck happened?” 

“Arobynn,” she said succinctly. 

“Arobynn?” he repeated, confused. The way she said the name was like he should know whom she was referring to. 

“He was their friend.”

“Whose friend? I don’t understand.” 

More tears escaped her closed lids and were soon accompanied by silent cries, her body shuddering in untold grief. Rowan didn’t ask her to expand on what she meant, instead he continued cradling her, resting his head against hers as she soaked the front of his red shirt. He would hold her forever if it meant the tears would stop falling. He’d never heard someone sound so broken. He himself was no stranger to pain, having lost both his parents tragically, but somehow, this was different. It was as if there was only despair occupying her, allowing nothing else. 

Eventually, Aelin’s tears stopped.  His arms refused to loosen, as though they were solely responsible for holding together all her broken parts. “Arobynn Hamel was my parents’ best friend. He was my uncle and one of my favorite people in the world. Growing up there wasn’t a happy memory he wasn’t in.”

“But you said he’s responsible for your parents’ death?”

Aelin cleared her throat. “Arobynn James Hamel is a murderer.” 

Rowan’s breath audibly caught in his throat as her admission sunk in. He could feel his heart heart racing, bordering on beating right out of his chest. It suddenly all made sense—what he had walked in on earlier. There was still quite a bit of questions he needed answered but they would come in time, hopefully. Grappling with what to say, he elected to stay silent, not wanting to put his foot into his mouth. 

 “There’s more to the story but I just can’t today, Rowan. I can’t. I’ll tell you someday if you’re still around, but today, today I feel like dying and I can’t do much more but breathe in and out,” she declared candidly. 

“I’ll be here.” And he would. Rowan could feel his promise echo into his bones. He’d tried to deny it, had successfully up until this point, he was undeniably drawn to Aelin and could not stay away anymore, consequences be damned. 

“What?” she asked, surprise heavily coloring the one word. 

His thumb brushed against her lower lip causing her to open her eyes. His dark green ones were serious as he met hers. “I’ll be here.” 

Aelin’s berry-colored lip quivered beneath his thumb. “I haven’t scared you off?”

Rowan felt his lips quirk slightly upward in a smile at her remark. “No, I’m afraid it’ll take more than a borderline catatonic, panicked meltdown to scare me off. You’re stuck with me.” 

“To whatever end?”

“Yes, Aelin, to whatever end.” 

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She felt Rowan’s chest vibrate as he let out a small chuckle. “That tickles,” he confessed.

Confused, she craned her head back as far as her current position would allow, now able to see his pine green eyes sparking with light. Arching her brow, she encouraged him to explain.

“I think you were, uh, sniffing me. You kept moving face back and forth and it tickled,” Rowan said quietly in the space between them.

Aelin’s brows rose in shock. She hadn’t realized how obvious she had been, and it was mortifying he’d noticed. What would he think if he knew how she’d watched him silently from behind a tree? Unconsciously, she stepped back, trying to distance herself as she withered in embarrassment. His arms wouldn’t allow it though, tightening, pressing her back into his chest has he let out a low tut. 

Was this his way of telling her it was okay? Was this a pity hug? Perhaps holding her close and plotting his next truth bomb? 

She wasn’t sure the man knew how to lie. He always seemed to be so forth coming with whatever he was thinking, giving no care to how it made the other person feel. It was both refreshing and distressing. No one else she knew would have called her out on the sniffing. 

Deciding he wasn’t letting go, Aelin tentatively put her arms around him, naked skin to naked skin. Her earlier assessment of his physique had been correct—Rowan was nothing short of defined muscle and hard planes. The pads of her fingers easily discerning the corded sinew beneath them. It took every ounce of self-control for her not to trace them. 

A weight pressed upon the top of her head as Rowan rested his chin, still refusing to let go. Several times, she opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, but trepidation at what might follow, stopped her. Instead, she relaxed into him, enjoying the feeling of resting against him and allowing herself to just pause for a moment. 

Whether this man knew it or not, he was giving her a gift by forcing her into whatever this was. Aelin wasn’t sure when the last time someone had just held her. Maybe that was her fault for the tone she’d set in her relationship with Chaol, keeping him close but somehow still at arms’ length, not allowing him to cross her deepest walls. 

It was easier to ignore her problems and the spiraling depression that threatened to drown her most days if she never talked about it with anyone, never gave it an inch more in her life than it already had. To her friends and the outside world, she was strong, confident, resilient. A girl who had overcome life ending tragedy by finishing college and opening a successful business in the very district her parents had helped restore and preserve. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius had the world at her feet.

It was exactly how she wanted it.  Showing only enough of herself to get by. Yet, as she leaned harder into his tall frame, owning up to just how tired she was didn’t seem daunting if he would be there to catch her. Aelin was only kidding herself though, the day when she gave into vulnerability and voiced how broken she was would never come because that would mean laying her heart bare, laying it open to be bulldozed again by loss. She would not survive it. 

“Thank you,” Aelin mumbled into the warm skin of Rowan’s chest. He was owed at least that for quieting all the noise. 

His arms tightened slightly in acknowledgement before loosening, signaling the moment had come to a close. Rowan stepped back and looked her up and down, his face betraying nothing. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for but assumed he was satisfied when he chose to speak, “I didn’t think you were going to show.” 

Aelin waffled between telling a lie or being truthful. “I wasn’t, but curiosity won out.” 

Not entirely truthful but not an outright lie either. 

“I would have been at the house to greet you if you’d let me know,” he supplied without the usual barb he so often used when chastising her lack of manners. 

“Want to know what I thought about on the way over here?” 

He dipped his chin in a silent yes.

“I half thought I was on my way to be murdered. I thought I lived off the beaten path, but it doesn’t have anything on your house. Which is very you by the way,” she admitted sheepishly. 

Rowan’s laugh was belly deep, reaching down into her very soul, further pushing Aelin into bewitchment. There was something so wonderous about other peoples’ joy, his especially, and she found herself laughing, too. “I’m glad you find my terror funny.” 

“You have to admit it is a bit ridiculous.” 

“It’s not! You say that because you’re not a woman. Besides, haven’t you watched true crime documentaries?” 

“I say that because I’m a rational human and I like to think I don’t give off serial killer vibes. Maybe I’m wrong,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and looking expectantly at her for an answer. 

“I don’t know, your personality is a little bit erratic,” she replied, trying her best to keep the tone flat and even. Inside though, she was smirking. 

Rowan said nothing, appearing to be mulling over what she had said. The silence drug on and Aelin wondered if he had been that easily offended by her words. She was about to apologize when he jumped in her direction, acting as though he was going to grab her, and Aelin yelped, scrambling back and tripping over the same root from earlier. 

A string of muttered curse words escaped her lips as she sat on the ground, trying her best to remain dignified despite having fallen on her ass. Rowan’s shadow loomed over her as he approached, extending his hand to help her up. Her turquoise eyes narrowed when she noted the subtle shaking of his body. He was laughing at her. Again. 

Aelin ignored his olive branch, standing on her own and dusting herself off. “I rest my case,” she threw over her shoulder, refusing to look at him. 

“Fair enough,” he acquiesced. She could hear him moving around behind her and felt something lightly graze her head. 

“I’m not sure how you did it, but this was in your hair.” A scraggly branch entered her right periphery. 

She rolled her eyes. “Well, if someone didn’t go around terrorizing me, I wouldn’t end up with sticks in my hair.” She turned, meeting his smiling face with her glare. 

Was she being a child? Absolutely. Did she care? No. 

“You started it by saying I had characteristics similar to a homicidal maniac!” 

“So, acting like you’re going to grab me doesn’t provide evidence for the point?” she asked, throwing her hands up. 

He did have the gall to look slightly sheepish, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “I can see where that might have been a bit alarming.”

“A bit? ‘A bit alarming’ he says.” 

“How was I supposed to know you were going to fall on your ass?” His green eyes were alight with mirth clearly enjoying this too much.

“You’re just supposed to know. I guess you need to get better at premeditating others’ actions based on your own. You’d make a terrible serial killer, you’re right,” Aelin jested. 

He flashed her a large smile, waving his hand for her to follow as he brushed by, his shoulder playfully bumping into her side. “Just so you know, no one is worth going to jail over. I’d sooner rot than be sentenced to the Salt Mines.”

An instantaneous wave of nausea brought on by crippling anxiety had her bending over, hands braced on her knees as she tried to breathe through the overwhelming urge to heave. She could hear the loud pounding of her heart in her ears, drowning out everything, even her own thoughts. Trying to regain composure over herself, she started counting the dead leaves on the ground at her feet. One. Two. Five. Thirty-three. 

Rowan was new to her life. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that those simple words would and could bring her very world to its knees the minute they were uttered. He wasn’t like the rest of her friends and boyfriend, who had learned so quickly what triggered panic attacks. He hadn’t been around to see how she avoided newspapers, journalists, social media. How she avoided her remaining family. How she had essentially filtered her daily life to prevent anything triggering from falling through its cracks.

But she hadn’t accounted for him. Hadn’t accounted for someone who didn’t know that you couldn’t even joke about something like that, because it was never a joke to her. For her, it was real life and trauma and a house for her own monster come to life. Yet here she was, struggling to pull breaths in and out, drowning on dry land, unable to call for help. A victim of her own short-sightedness. 

The stomach acid burned her throat, tears falling from the corner of her eyes as she refused to give into the panic more than she had. The blackened edges of her vision lessening and the thrumming white noise in her ears quieting just a little. Two hundred and five. Two hundred and six.  Two hundred and seven.  Aelin continued to count all the leaves she could see, eventually loosing count of the ones she had and hadn’t counted.  

Exhausted and a little worse for wear, she stood and waited for the onslaught of questioning from Rowan she was sure she would get. Instead, she found him staring at her with a concerned expression, the dogs sitting at his feet. He was farther away than she had anticipated, and she wasn’t sure where Fleetfoot or Elliot had come from. In the moment, her panic attacks felt as though they lasted forever but only really were a couple minutes. This one, though, seemed like it had drug on for some time. 

Neither said anything, waiting for the other to broach the elephant. If he didn’t have the conviction to ask her, Aelin wasn’t going to volunteer the information herself. With an exaggerated shrug her only response, she closed the distance between them, falling to her knees at his feet. The two dogs were immediately upon her, nuzzling her tear-stained face with their cold noses. 

Fleetfoot seemed to be especially intrusive into her personal space, likely discerning how poor her emotional state was. Aelin hadn’t had a panic attack like that in front of her dog and it saddened her because she didn’t want to stress her out. “I’m okay girl,” she reassuringly cooed into golden fur. 

Rowan dropped a hand onto Aelin’s shoulder, and she flinched, not expecting it. He quickly withdrew, stepping back. 

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time. 

“It’s fine,” she quickly supplied, standing up and doing her best to appear unbothered. 

He started several times to say something but eventually opted to pick up his axe instead. He pointed to a log carved into a sitting bench, never saying anything. He went back to splitting the large stump he had laid out before and she took her seat, mindlessly watching him. Too lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t realized he had stopped until a book was thrust in front of her face. Her fair hands grabbed it and Rowan sat down at the opposite edge of the bench, drinking from his bottle. 

Aelin ran her hands over the worn, faded leather cover. Her fingers could feel slight indentations on the front and spine but couldn’t make out the title, lettering long gone. She opened it, leafing through the worn pages—it was a book of poetry. A lick of surprise went through her, and she briefly looked over at the silver-haired man, trying to reconcile this new fact against what she knew about him. Whatever she had expected the book to be, wasn’t this. 

Looking back, the noted the page she had stopped on to be particularly discolored at the edges and the top right corner creased, indicating it had been dog-eared many a time. Aelin was familiar with the writer of poem, e.e. cummings but hadn’t read much of his work. The poem at hand, “Little Tree”, seemed fitting given their current location. Opting to read it aloud, she cleared her throat before beginning:

little tree

little silent Yulemas tree

 you are so little

you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest

and were you very sorry to come away? 

See I will comfort you

Because you smell so sweetly

I will kiss your cool bark

And hug you safe and tight

Just as your mother would, 

Only don’t be afraid

Look the spangles

That sleep all the year in a dark box

Dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,

The ball the changes red and gold the fluffy threads,

Put up your little arms

And I’ll give them all to you to hold

Every finger shall have its ring

And there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy

Sometime during the reading, Rowan had leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes. She might have thought him asleep if not for the pleasant smile he was wearing and the occasional tap of his foot against the ground. She went back to the book, finding another tattered page, again reading its contents audibly. 

It was several poems later when Rowan finally found his voice again. “This was my mother’s favorite book. She started reading these to me before I was even born, and I can remember begging for her to read to me as a boy. When she passed, I started reading them to my father by the fire after dinner as a way for us to keep her close.” 

Aelin turned towards him, finding his eyes still shut, his face marred with nostalgia. “When my father passed, the book became a way to keep them both close. I’m certain one day that I will have worn the very ink from those pages and will only know what they should say because I’ve spent my whole life with them,” he lamented in sad candor.  

She wanted to say a million things to him, to acknowledge how much she understood the feeling. She wanted to tell him how each day she had to fight with herself to get out of bed because she too had lost her parents and it had left a gaping hole in her chest. She wanted to tell him that she had a book, just like this, that she kept in her bedside table and read in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep because the words felt like a hug from her parents. She wanted to tell him how his hug earlier had soothed something inside of her that had been crying out for years. But she did none of those things. 

Instead, she only offered up a sliver of a response, “I used to read to my dad by the fire after dinner, too. I think it’s probably where my love of literary works started.”

The pair fell into comfortable silence after her admission which Aelin was glad for. She wasn’t sure how much of herself she could volunteer up before he started asking questions that she wasn’t ready to or willing to answer. She liked Rowan, liked him even more because he could be held at arm’s length without much of an explanation. They were friends at best; she didn’t owe him anything at this point. 

Deciding to mimic Rowan’s position on the bench, Aelin untucked her legs and stretched them out, toeing the forest floor with her boots. As she drug them back and forth in the dirt, it occurred to her, he had never disclosed why he’d asked her over in the first place. Or why she needed good shoes. 

“Why am I here?” she blurted out. 

“What?” he countered, sounding half asleep. 

“Why am I here? You never told me.”

“It’s Saturday.” His succinct response left her feeling like she was supposed to know what that meant. 

“And?”

Rowan, clearly frustrated at her lack of understanding, huffed as he stood. “Hiking. The hiking group I lead meets on Saturdays. It’s Saturday.”

He had mentioned that in the bookstore during her probing about Lyria. It hadn’t really registered in her mind at the time because it wasn’t the most important part of their conversation. Now she remembered and felt slightly dumb in having forgotten. “I remember now. Sorry, it was a long night, and my brain still is bogged down by the aftereffects of drinking.” 

“Well, you can have aspirin and water back at the house, it should help. We need to head back that way anyways, it’s almost time for people to start showing up.” 

Rowan didn’t wait for response before plucking the forgotten book off the bench and letting out a low whistle to garner Elliot’s attention. She didn’t bother calling for Fleetfoot, as the two were connected at the hip.  Aelin followed close on Rowan’s heels, taking in the last moments that they would have together, just the two of them. He hadn’t put back on his shirt, leaving her the opportunity to slyly look him over once more. The man was unfairly attractive. 

As they ascended the gentle slope behind his cabin, Aelin could see a light on through the back window. She thought it odd. There had not been light on before and Rowan had been with her the entire time. Rowan didn’t seem to notice or if he had, likely thought he had left it on. 

He opened the back door but stopped in the entry way, surprising Aelin. Her hands unconsciously splayed out on his back to steady her. He felt tense beneath her hands, and she didn’t know why. His frame took up the entire doorway, limiting her view which made her impatient. The promised glass of water and pain medicine was calling her name.

“Hey, I wondered where you were,” Lyria said, her voice light, warm, and betraying a level of familiarity between the two. Aelin didn’t need to see her to know the smile the dark-haired woman was wearing. 

“Lyria,” he acknowledged in a clipped manner. 

Aelin didn’t know Rowan well, but she knew enough to know that he wasn’t happy with Lyria being in his house. She pushed slightly on his back, hoping to move him forward. He could sort out his boundaries or lack thereof after he let her in the house. It was awkward to be hidden behind him. 

He didn’t move much to Aelin’s chagrin. “You didn’t call.”

“No, I saw your truck was here, so I figured you were out somewhere with Elliot. I wanted to set up the snacks and drinks I brought before the group showed up,” Lyria explained. 

“Well, next time can you give me a heads up that you’ll be hijacking the kitchen?”

“You usually don’t mind,” she answered. “But yes, I’ll let you know in the future. Now, come inside and try these! It’s a recipe from Doranelle. I can’t remember the name… it loosely translates to ‘meat on a stick’.”

Aelin’s breath caught in her throat as she listened to what Lyria said. Her mind flashing back to first day she met Lyria in Present Tense when the woman was looking for a cookbook with Doranelle recipes. Now here Lyria was, using the cookbook Aelin had procured for her to impress Rowan. The porch suddenly felt too small. The awkwardness she felt earlier was nothing compared to what it was about to be. 

Rowan maneuvered his left arm behind him, grabbing and pulling her forward as he side-stepped into the house. She had no choice but to confront the situation head on.

Lyria’s chestnut eyes flashed quickly in what looked like disdain but disappeared too quickly for her to be certain. The smile affixed on her face seemed forced. “Hi, Aelin! I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I had a free weekend and thought I’d try something new,” Aelin lamely answered. Given more time, she would have come up with a better lie, but her anxiety seemed to be short circuiting her brain. 

“You know I love having new people join us,” Rowan’s lilting voice sounded behind her. 

“Yes, you do,” Lyria agreed enthusiastically closing a cupboard door a too harshly. 

“I’m going to go rinse off. I can feel woodchips stuck in places they ought not to be stuck. Can you get A a glass of water and some aspirin, please?” he asked before heading up stairs she hadn’t noticed until now. 

With ease, Lyria opened the appropriate cabinets, grabbing a glass and bottle of medication. She filled the glass and set it on kitchen island looking expectantly at Aelin. 

Aelin opened the bottle, quickly downing two pills with water. She cautiously sat down and watched Lyria continue to plate the spread. The meat on a stick smelled excellent, as did the bread she was slicing. “That looks wonderful. I see the cookbook came in handy,” she praised.

Lyria’s movements faltered slightly with Aelin’s compliment, and she wondered if she shouldn’t have said anything. “I won’t say anything to him,” she said quietly to her, trying to undo whatever hole she’d just dug for herself.

“It’s not any of my business what you two talk about. Although, I wasn’t aware you two did much talking.”

Aelin’s brows pinched in confusion, her mind attempting to work through what Lyria was implying. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Lyria stopped slicing the bread altogether, laying the knife down. Her expression was hard, her chestnut eyes roaming over Aelin’s face. “Rowan hasn’t mentioned you two being friends. I know all his friends. He’s a pretty private person and doesn’t share his personal time with people outside his friend group.”

There it was. 

Lyria was marking her territory: Rowan. And by proxy, his friends, this house. Elliot. She didn’t have to say it in so many words but her actions, her attitude, they said more than plenty. Aelin once thought her terribly sweet but now, she saw her for what she was, a flowering thorn bush. Pretty at first glance yet with closer inspection, riddled with barbs. 

Aelin wanted to give into the anger she could feel burning beneath her skin’s surface, to knock Lyria down a few pegs, but she did not. It wouldn’t help. “I don’t know that we’re really friends. I think he invited me because he felt bad for his past behavior.” 

“Past behavior?” 

That hole she mentioned earlier, it was quickly on its way to being her grave. “He got into a fight with a customer in the store,” Aelin casually presented in explanation.  

“That doesn’t sound like Rowan at all,” Lyria countered in disbelief. 

“Well maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

Lyria rounded the island coming to stand in front of Aelin, which was more like over her, as Aelin was still sitting. “I know him better than anyone else,” Lyria angrily declared into the limited space between them. 

Aelin slid her stool back and stood, toe to toe with Lyria. If she thought she was going to intimidate her, she had another thing coming. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here Lyria, but I don’t like it. Quite frankly, Rowan is grown enough to decide who he talks to, and he does not need anyone’s permission, lest of all yours.” 

“I’m just making sure you know where I stand in his life,” Lyria stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Understood, message received,” Aelin confirmed with an embellished thumbs up. She tried to stop there but when Lyria looked a little too satisfied, she couldn’t stop what came out next, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a boyfriend and I’m not out to steal the one you don’t even have.” 

Aelin brushed past Lyria, refusing to give her a moment more of her time and headed out the backdoor, harshly closing it. The idea of hiking through the woods with Rowan and his club hadn’t sounded terrible until now. She didn’t see her dog anywhere and Fleetfoot wasn’t responding to her whistles, but she knew she’d come running when she started the SUV. Fleetfoot loved to go for rides.

As she rounded the front of the house, making for the driveway, the front door opened, and Rowan came barreling out yelling her name. She ignored him, getting into the vehicle and starting it up. Damn Fleetfoot for not already being in the car.

“Aelin, open the door. Or roll down the window. Talk to me. Where are you going?”

Still, she ignored him, watching the rpm handle bob up and down as the engine idled. 

“Can you at least open the door for your dog or are you leaving her too without an explanation?” he asked, angry. 

His words stung. Her turquoise orbs welled with tears, this all feeling a little too much like something Chaol would say to her.

Aelin hastily threw the driver side door open, narrowly avoiding Rowan and Fleetfoot only because he had been paying attention. She couldn’t see his face but could tell his hair was down, water darkening the t-shirt where it touched. Afraid her voice would betray her, she motioned for him to put the dog into the driver’s seat. 

Carefully, he bent down, stuffing his upper body into the vehicle as he loaded Fleetfoot up. She expected him to move so she could leave but instead, he remained in the doorway. 

“Can you move please; I want to go home.”

“Not unless you tell me what happened. You were fine when I left you and gone when I came back. Lyria said you weren’t feeling well.” One of his hands tipped her chin up, forcing her to acknowledge his gaze and line of questioning. 

“It’s nothing,” she lied, attempting her best to be convincing by keeping the answer short, concise. 

“If it was nothing, Aelin, you’d be staying. Would you not?”

“I wish everyone would quit telling me about me. It’s maddening,” she declared, throwing her hands up and shrugging his off in the process.  

“What happened?” he pleaded again, stepping towards her. 

She stepped back, shaking her head. He stepped forward, not heading her “no”, she stepped back again. “Aelin, what’s wrong?”

Angry Rowan pushed her buttons. Half-naked Rowan made her core flush with heat. Laughing Rowan warmed her soul. Pleading Rowan, with his lilting accent, he had the power to lay waste to all her defenses if she let him. Her resolve was wavering and if she didn’t give him the smallest bone now, she would regret it later, or worse, he might after he realized how good and truly fucked up she was. 

“Go ask your girlfriend,” Aelin yelled, shutting the door to her SUV and throwing it into drive. Further tormenting herself, she glanced in the rearview mirror to see him still standing there, watching her leave.  

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To demand answers about why he was drawing hot paths into her skin and then acting like he didn’t know her the next. Why he was with Lyria, were they dating, sleeping together…. was that who Lyria was learning Doranelle recipes for? It shouldn’t matter, any of it, because she was in a serious relationship with someone who had seen her through the worst times of her life, someone who loved her, wanted to marry her. Chaol should be the subject of her thoughts, fight, or no fight. 

Shame burned down into the pit of her stomach as she glanced over to her bedside table, meeting the happy stares of her and her boyfriend smiling at the camera a during their last vacation to the coast. It was too early to call him, but sunrise was only a handful of hours away and Aelin couldn’t wait to apologize—to smooth things over like peanut butter on warm toast. Perhaps then, the nagging nauseous feeling that was hanging out in the background more often than not, would finally leave her in peace. She never faired anxiety well and it would only get worse. 

Loosing a frustrated sigh, she turned on her side, pulling Fleetfoot into her chest, snuggling down into the golden fur. All her problems could wait until after the sun came up because sleep was calling her name and adult responsibilities didn’t disappear when life became hard. 

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Sandpaper. 

Sandpaper was the most accurate description her sleep-addled brain could muster for how dry her turquoise orbs felt upon waking.  Her ability to stay up late and wake up early was clearly diminishing with every new birthday. Four hours of sleep felt much different at 28 than it did at 23. Her body felt like it had been mowed over by a herd of stags, as did her head, pounding in tandem with each heartbeat. 

Her hand dug through the covers, looking for her phone to check the time, and call Chaol. No new texts or notifications marred her home screen which was equal parts nice and depressing. She wasn’t sure what or who she wanted to hear from, but good morning messages were always appreciated. Scrolling through her contacts, she clicked her boyfriend’s name, placing the phone to her ear. It rang and rang which was unusual because he was the type of person who answered on the first or second ring, at least for her anyways. His voicemail picked up, parroting a generic message into her ear, but she hung up before the beep refusing to leave a message. Aelin was not the type to leave a message. If someone wanted to call her back, they would, message or not. 

He was likely ignoring her due to their fight and not ready to talk, but she at least wanted to know he had made it to his job site and was alive. She hit his name again, hoping a second call would convey she was serious about talking to him while also making it clear he could not ignore her. The second call, unanswered. Third, the same. 

Undoubtedly, he had to be ignoring her. Three unanswered calls, busy or not, should mean something to someone. What if she had been in a car accident or one of their friends were sick, or Fleetfoot had to go to the emergency vet? Three calls in today’s society signaled something. Frustration at Chaol’s lack of response and pity towards herself for calling three times was picking away at her. It was too early in the day to start off on the wrong foot. 

Sitting up, she dialed Chaol’s number one more time, determined to leave a strongly worded voicemail when he didn’t answer for the fourth time. But instead,  she found herself surprised, fumbling for words when the line went through.

He was laughing and not alone, as a feminine laugh accompanied his. “Are you okay?” he finally asked when the laughter died down.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Aelin, you’ve called four times. It’s not even 9 am there,” he replied, his tone flat and serious.  

“I wanted to talk to you and apologize for the fight yesterday. You didn’t even let me know you’d made it to the job site. Fight or no fight, you always let me know you’re safe.”

“Well, obviously I’m okay,” Chaol deadpanned, electing not to acknowledge any of the other things she’d mentioned. 

“How was I supposed to know that? You’re too busy to answer my calls or text me, but not too busy to be having a good time.” She tried not to sound bitter but by the sharp intake of breath on the other side of the call let her know she’d failed. 

“Am I not allowed to laugh with coworkers, Aelin? Not allowed to have a good time with my friends? Do you need a report of everything I do all day so you can approve what I can and cannot do?” 

Evidently, his feelings from yesterday’s fight had not diminished and consequently were spilling over into this. So much for not starting off on the wrong foot today. 

“Chaol, that’s not what I’m saying. Of course, you’re allowed to have a good time with your friends and coworkers. I’m just letting you know how I felt. I was worried because you always answer. And I know I owe you an apology for yesterday.  I’m not asking to talk about it right now,” she whispered between them, trying her best not to sound angry or accusatory. 

“Yeah, you do. I don’t really have time for this right now and if I’m being honest Aelin, I absolutely don’t have anything else to say to you. I didn’t answer your first three calls for a reason. I know I sound like a dick right now, but I’m still pissed, and I need to get back to work. We can talk when I get back in a couple weeks, I’m not sure I’ll be ready to talk before then,” Chaol revealed coldly. 

Aelin could picture his stiff shoulders and straight face on the other end of the phone. She’d seen what he looked like when he talked like this to others, but it had never been directed at her before. It made her feel small. Hurt. Tears lined her eyes, one more lip quiver from falling down her face.

His harsh voice saying her name reminded her she hadn’t said anything back. She made a noncommittal noise letting him know she was still there.

“Well, I guess you don’t have anything else to say. And like I said, I’m working. We’ll talk later.” 

Goodbye was on the tip of her tongue when a muffled feminine voice asked Chaol a question and Aelin decided it was better she said nothing. She hung up and leaned back against the headboard, internally lecturing herself into not crying. Their conversation wasn’t important enough to be private and whoever he had been around, now had a front row seat to their problems. 

Aelin wasn’t sure what bothered her more, the fact Chaol was with a woman or that he was comfortable enough to talk openly in front her. 

But she couldn’t throw rocks in a glass house. Hadn’t she herself been comfortable enough with Rowan to allow him to touch her? To get beneath her skin enough that others could see how affected she was, even when she denied the truth again and again? The continual nausea and acidic feeling in her belly were evidence enough of the answer.

 With a drawn-out sigh, she slumped over sideways into messy covers, almost pancaking her dog in the process. “Sorry girl,” she apologized into the Fleetfoot’s soft fur, offering a few reassuring pats to her head. There was still time to get ready and head into town to open the store if she wished but having to cater to people all day sounded exhausting. Sleeping her feelings into oblivion sounded better. 

But there was a third option: Rowan’s. 

Aelin knew she shouldn’t even be mulling it over. He was already responsible for an increase in strain in her life and relationship. His hot and cold demeanor sent her for a loop with each interaction. She wasn’t sure if he would be Jekyll or Hyde until well into their exchanges and last night—well that was something else in its entirety. Had Lyria not rounded the corner, a more serious line likely would have been crossed. 

By whom, Aelin couldn’t say. And yet, curiosity was nagging her to show up to the address in the text, throwing all caution to the wind. She had already declared adult responsibilities null for the day and depression was strongly ruling her life as of late, so giving it another inch seemed terrible, too. 

Fleetfoot would certainly be glad for a new environment and Elliot would keep her entertained if Rowan brought him. She would show up for her dog. Searching through the mess of covers, her hand finally found her phone and she opened Rowan’s message, copying the address, and pasting it into her maps. It was back towards Moonie’s but further east, just barely outside what she considered city limits. 

Feeling slightly petty, Aelin decided Rowan did not warrant a heads up that she had decided to come. Let him wonder if she would show. Someone else should share the stress in their friendship acquaintanceship. 

Hurriedly, she rolled out of bed, ran downstairs, and opened the back door, encouraging Fleetfoot to go outside. Food was poured into the dog bowl as coffee brewed, and Aelin shoved down two pieces of toast covered with hazelnut spread. She was a terrible person with no coffee and food on board. 

Back upstairs, she dug through the depths of her closet, searching for her hiking boots, which hadn’t been used in years. Perhaps, since she was in college, or maybe even before then. She was about to give up, when she spied the worn sole of a boot peeking out beneath the hem of a long dress. Shoving it back, both were lying there, dried mud still smeared along the sides.

Grabbing leggings and a pine green cropped, workout tank, she walked to the bathroom and started getting ready. Normally, she would shower but considering she would likely be outside and had spent too much time looking for her boots, time was of the essence. Her hair looked like a possum’s nest, gold locks haphazardly sticking up and the cowlick on one side of her head reminding her of its frustrating existence. 

She slipped into her chosen attire and started braiding her hair into to Dutch braids, taming the wildness as best she could. Last night’s make up was smeared about and regret flashed briefly through her as she started wiping it off. She really must not have cared about anything this morning when she got in, seeing as how she always took her make-up off before sleeping. 

Fresh faced with only SPF moisturizer on, Aelin looked one last time in the mirror, decidedly ready to conquer today no matter what it entailed. 

The road to the address Rowan had imparted to her needed serious work. Aelin was thankful for her SUV’s higher ground clearance and ability to conquer subpar dirt roads as she hit an umpteenth pothole making both her and Fleetfoot groan in unison. The automated voice of her GPS voiced the destination was soon coming up, one turn and some change to go. 

Towering pines sprinkled with oaks and other various forest plants lined the road, concealing anything but the immediate view. Perhaps she should have told one of her friends where she was going because this could very easily make for a good murder scene. Her location was being actively shared with them, so if she didn’t answer, sooner or later someone would check—but if Rowan was manufacturing her demise currently, later wouldn’t do her any favors.

Letting out a nervous chuckle and shaking off the idea that Rowan Whitethorn was going to murder her out her, she guided the SUV left and searched for her destination. Not too removed from the small road, she noted an A-Frame wood cabin tucked into the pines. 

“A house,” she stuttered aloud in stunned conclusion. He had invited her to his house? Of all the possibilities that had run through her head regarding the address, it being his address had not been one of them. For godssakes, she had just been toying with the idea of dying via homicide. 

Pulling into the drive, she turned the vehicle off and surveyed the scene before her. As domineering as Rowan was, somehow the notion that he lived in this cabin was fitting. Halfway of up the face, was a balcony hugged by rustic railing. Cut firewood lined the bottom section of the porch on either side of a rust-colored front door. The morning was overcast, and Aelin could see the soft glow of forgotten porch lines running the length porch. 

The two-front ground-level windows didn’t allow her to see much inside but there didn’t appear to be any lights on. Besides her and her dog, there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. Rowan’s truck was nowhere to be seen and neither was Elliot. The time on the dash read just before eleven, so he should here. 

Aelin grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and slid out with Fleetfoot on her heels. There was a visible back porch or addition to the right of the house and a worn foot path carved out in the dead pine needles and dirt. If he wasn’t going to be around to greet her, there was nothing to stop her from being nosey and snooping about. 

Her booted footfalls were muffled by the leaf litter, and she rounded house quietly in anticipation of whatever adventure awaited her. A feral grin splitting her face as the certainty of catching Rowan unaware was likely going to come to fruition.  The silver-haired man was currently winning in their cat and mouse game, especially after the incident at Moonie’s last night. It could not continue, as she was a very sore loser and not often accustomed to it. 

Now at the back of the house, having followed the addition and wrap around porch, Aelin was at a loss for where her host was. Worrying her lip, she made her way up to a large back window and peered inside—nothing. Rowan would be getting an earful if he had invited her over and wasn’t home, even if she hadn’t answered his text.

He was just supposed to know.  

Aelin plopped down on the porch and ran a hand through Fleetfoot’s fur. At least she had a beautiful view and her best girl to keep her company. The wind whistled through the pine tops and softly caressed her cheeks, bringing about a soft smile to her pink lips. There was a name for the sound that wind made in trees, but for all the schooling she had done and all the books she had read, her mind could not conjure it. 

In the moment it seemed fitting though, that a lovely sound and the subsequent reaction it brought about in her, not have a name. She relaxed more, placing her palms behind her, and leaning back, tipping her head, the end of her braids touching the wooden porch. Minutes ticked by and Aelin only sat forward when her arms and shoulders were crying out in protest from holding her in one position for an extended time. 

The same forest that surrounded Rowan’s, surrounded her house, yet she felt more at ease here in a short time than she did in all the hours she spent on her own back porch. Life was funny that way Aelin supposed, only she would find a prickly buzzard’s house more appealing than her own. Although, it could have everything to do with the fact that he wasn’t here to ruin it. 

Aelin, catching Fleetfoot’s abrupt position change in her periphery, scanned the area looking for what had elicited the response. Her turquoise eyes saw nothing and other than the wind stirring tree branches, she heard nothing. The dog did though, intermittently cocking her head searching for the origin of sound. 

“Do you want to go see?” she asked enthusiastically which had Fleetfoot rearing up and down, tail wagging, letting out small, excited barks. At least one of them was excited to investigate; Aelin hadn’t completely tabled idea of being murdered just yet, irrational as it might be. She stood, dusting off her leggings and grabbing her phone, hoping if she needed to call someone that somehow the spotty service would let her. 

Aelin pointed, indicating it was okay for Fleetfoot to go ahead. She followed her, constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. Slowly, they started to descend a gradual slope, the cabin disappearing from view. From the back porch, she had missed the change in landscape altogether, which slightly alarmed her because anyone or anything could have been watching her unnoticed. 

The slope gave way into flatter terrain with a large creek cutting through it. The clear water washing over the worn rocks had a beautiful trickling melody that resulted in a small smile turning up on her face. Rowan’s “backyard” was incredible and a wave on envy washed over. Her house and land were stunning, but she wasn’t lucky enough to have a snow-melt creek running through it. Bending down at the bank, she dipped her fingers into the water, delighting in its cold crispness. Terrasen with all it had to offer never ceased to amaze her and on her parents’ graves, she would swear there was no better place in the world. An odd sound caught her attention, pulling her out of the haze. 

She jumped when she heard it again. Whipping her head back in forth, looking for the source and praying there wasn’t a fat bear, angry ghost leopard, or stag in rut waiting to annihilate her. Dogs didn’t make that sound, so she knew it wasn’t Elliot waiting to run out at her like he did so well. But now that she was being more rational, wild animals didn’t grunt like that either. Fleetfoot, the traitor, was completely unbothered and giving her what could only be labeled as a judgmental look. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Aelin chastised, moving past Fleetfoot towards the direction of the grunts which were coming in fairly regular intervals. The closer she got, the clearer it was that the noisemaker was human and male.  And unless there was a random man in the woods, Rowan was out here doing something. 

Aelin steeled herself, ready to be yelled at for interrupting but equally ready to lecture him on not being present to meet her. However, every prior notion died in her body when she reached a break in the trees. Rowan was swinging an axe, in the process of splitting a massive stump, releasing grunts when the tool met woody resistance. 

His white t-shirt clung to him like a second skin, sweat making it almost translucent in some spots. Suspenders held up worn, tan canvas pants that hugged his ass in just the right way. Aelin could feel her ears burning in embarrassment from openly objectifying him from her spot behind a large tree, but it was not enough to deter her.

Rowan was attractive—a blind person would know it alone just from his voice, but in this moment, she’d never seen him look it more. He stopped, setting the axe down and looking in her direction. She held her breath, the anticipation of being caught staring looming over her. 

He said nothing, did nothing to indicate he noticed her. Instead, he stripped on his shirt and wiped it across his face, soaking up sweat. Aelin’s blushing before could be categorized as child’s play compared to fiery feeling that was coursing through her body now. Rowan was the very definition of a man in peak physical condition. His tan skin looked as though he was cut from stone, every muscle visible to the eye defined. She didn’t even think abs like that existed outside of photoshop or romance novels, but they did. 

From somewhere on the ground, he picked up a bottle and started drinking from it. The slight change his position, allowed her a better view on his just how far his tattoo went. His entire left arm, shoulder, chest, and neck were covered in the whirling black ink. In their encounters, Aelin knew it was from the old language but despite owning a bookstore, was not very familiar with the text. 

Hydrated, Rowan exchanged the drinking bottle for his axe and began swinging it again, continuing to split the stump until all its pieces were approximately fireplace sized.  In between stacking the pieces into a neat pile and selecting another large stump to hack, his bun loosened. Aelin wondered if she would finally see his hair down and it was that curiosity alone responsible for her still standing out of view, watching him.

It seemed he couldn’t take it anymore, hair falling into his face when he started again. Letting out frustrated grumble, he dropped the axe and pulled out the band holding it back. Long silver waves fell, the ends reaching to just below his shoulder blades. Aelin’s mouth grew very dry, and a warmth started low in her belly, extending down her legs. 

She could deny it no longer, the attraction she had for this man was developing at alarming rate. Every interaction, another log to the fire and he was its tender. Moreover, his gruff attitude was awakening parts of her spirt that had long been dormant. 

Chaol and her argued, but it lacked passion and was fueled solely by anger, with one of them eventually wavering to the other. They were comfortable and comfortable had been working for them, but it seemed like that was giving way to tumultuous waves and she wasn’t sure if she wanted Chaol to throw her a life raft. And she could not say with certainty anymore that he would even if it were wanted. She loved him, deeply, but she wouldn’t pretend that their latest fight hadn’t changed something. 

Decidedly ignoring all her problems, Aelin returned her focus back to Rowan’s hulking 6’4” frame, enjoying watching him try to tame his silver hair back into a bun. She wondered to herself what it would be like to have hands do the same to her, betting that he’d have her purring like a cat from just the simple act alone. 

Seemingly satisfied with his hair being tied back, Rowan looked around the clearing, and let out a whistle. He must be calling for Elliot, who Aelin had not seen this entire time. Fleetfoot was a Velcro dog and hardly left Aelin’s side, which was nice because never had to worry about her running off, even in the care of other people. 

She’d spoke too soon. A ball of golden fur shot past her, running enthusiastically up to Rowan, effectively giving away her hiding spot like a giant neon sign.  Rowan’s nose scrunched up in confusion at first and then smoothed into a smirk when he realized who was at his feet. Aelin slid back behind the entire tree she’d been peeking from behind, hoping he hadn’t seen her and had only given the area a brief once over.

Seconds ticked by and nothing happened. She cracked open an eye and only saw trees. Letting out a sigh of relief, she opened both and relaxed, recognizing how tense she’d been in waiting to be found. The bark dug into the exposed skin of her back but not painfully, allowing her to continue leaning against it as she contemplated her next move: walk out like she was looking for Fleetfoot or admit to being a certified creep. 

The former was the superior choice, albeit a lie, but Aelin wasn’t sure she wanted to suffer through Rowan roasting her if she was truthful. He would take too much pleasure in it. And she would not give him that. Yet, the idea of lying to him was making her feel guilty.

She never got to make the final choice though, as she was jerked sideways, tripping over an exposed root and into a wall of firm muscle. 

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