Hey! I know its been a while so click on the master list if you want to catch up or even start. Im going to try to start updating more frequently in the next few months. Thanks to everyone for reading!!
Aelin woke with a start to the sound of her phone ringing.
“Shit.” She swore, quickly realizing she must’ve fallen asleep after her conversation with Fenrys. She hung up on the call, silencing that obnoxious ringing as she sat up in bed. Aelin hadn’t bothered to check who it was, but she knew she’d figure it out if she went back downstairs.
It was probably Lysandra, calling to make sure Aelin wasnt already passed out drunk somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time. Groaning internally, she picked herself up off the bed. Despite her falling asleep, the duvet covers looked unruffled. Still, she fluffed the pillow briefly in an attempt to ease her own discomfort at sleeping in Dorian’s room.
With one last look to confirm that the room appeared undisturbed, Aelin closed the door shut behind her. She made it halfway down the staircase when the exhaustion hit her. It was a familiar feeling, like when you were abruptly waken from sleep to attend a six am practice at school. Still, she clung extra hard onto the railing for a moment in order to gain her bearings once again.
As her eyes finally focused, she could make out the throng of high schoolers in the living room below her. Her eyes adjusted to the colourful lights as she scanned the area for a familiar face. She saw Lorcan first, and then Rowan beside him, the latter scowling. At first it didn’t seem odd, Rowan was always scowling at something. She took another few steps down the stairs, and with closer examination, realized something was wrong.
AN:To warn you in advance, I’m going to take next week off so that I can focus on the next chapter (which will be a lot of work to write) and When in Wendlyn. So the next update will be posted June 25th.
And you know how I feel about cliff-hangers …
______
It went against every instinct Aelin had to let Sam pick her up for their date.
Handing over power to men she didn’t quite trust wasn’t exactly one of her favourite things to do, but he’d claimed he had an evening of surprises for her, and hell, Aelin wanted to see what Sam would do if he felt he was in control.
When he showed up at her door with a bouquet of roses and a crooked tie, though, she realized that maybe she was letting her vigilante mentality get the best of her. There was nothing threatening about the way Sam was jittering with boyish nerves, nor the way he grinned at her when she pulled open the door. His arm shot out, pushing the roses into her hands as he stumbled through his, “Hello.”
Aelin couldn’t help but smile—though she did hold in a laugh. “Hey.” She took the roses and gave them a sniff. Not her favourite flower, but lovely nonetheless. “These are beautiful, Sam. Thank you.”
His smile was one of relief. “You’re welcome—and you look great.” He waved a hand at her dress like he was helpless in its presence. “That’s, um … you look amazing.”
At that Aelin allowed herself to chuckle. “Thank you.” She had to admit she looked damn good, though it wasn’t her best dress. That she was saving for … for someone else. Even though the only plan she had in regards to her mate was to figure out a way to shut Fenrys up permanently.
There were exactly eleven days left until the interfering idiot would tell Rowan her identity. And she’d laid awake every night, imagining possible avenues and outcomes to the beat of the ticking clock. Should she just bite the bullet? Come clean now and accept the consequences? Or would it be better for Fenrys to break the news—a third party that wasn’t as emotionally invested?
Deep down, Aelin knew that Rowan wouldn’t appreciate hearing it from anyone but her, and yet … she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she called Fenrys’s bluff. It was a stupid hope, but maybe, he wouldn’t spill her secret at all.
Not likely, though.
Aelin lifted up the flowers. “Come inside while I find these a vase.” She stepped aside and held the door open wide. He followed her into the foyer, and she asked, “How was work?” She’d been in the labs with Elide today.
“It was really productive,” he said, all mischief. “Not even one piece of mail got misdelivered.”
“Wow, dinner and a performance review?” Aelin threw a wink over her shoulder. “How did I get so lucky?”
“No—I—that’s not what—”
“Relax,” she laughed but softened her tone. “I’m just messing with you.” Gods, he was so nervous that she sort of wanted to raid her mom’s old medicine cabinet for a solution. But she led him into the house, not toward her parents’ ensuite, but through the first floor. Aelin didn’t know exactly where the vases would be, and she kept as little staff as possible, so they’d have to look around a bit. She aimed for the kitchens.
Sam’s inhale was sharp and instant.
The foyer was predictable in the way that all mansion entrances were. Two spiral staircases, a crystal chandelier with more shine than a disco ball. But the rest of the house was … different.
Amithy, Aelin’s house steward, had tried to have the mansion “readied” for her when she’d heard that a Galathynius would be coming home. Aelin had put a stop to that as quickly as she could, and the result had one foot in the land of the living and the other in limbo. Half of the furniture was covered in dust sheets. The rooms were dark and ghostly. Aelin didn’t want her parents’ mansion to feel like a home, nor did she want visual reminders of them.
But she understood that that decision made it a dreary place for guests to visit.
Her echoing footsteps were more awkward than Sam’s stuttering. He merely walked behind her in silence, perhaps reassessing the type of person he believed her to be. She almost jumped when he murmured, “What about this?”
Aelin turned to find him pointing at a blue vase sitting on a plinth and laughed. “That’s five hundred years old.”
“Oh.” In the darkness, she couldn’t decide if Sam had blanched or blushed.
“It’s from the Eastern Continent,” Aelin explained, running an irreverent finger over the lip of the vessel. There was nobody who could stop her from doing such things now. “Worth about $400,000. It was my mother’s. When I was ten, I almost knocked it over while playing tag with Aedion. I swear my mom nearly lost her mind. She loved this vase. I was on a plane to Wendlyn the very next day…”
Aelin pulled back her hand, the porcelain suddenly stinging the pads of her fingers. She’d forgotten about that memory.
“Aelin?”
“Hmm?” She shook her head, ridding it of the dizzying thoughts. She must have been silent for a lot longer than she’d realized. This is why she’d wanted everything covered in dust cloths.
Sam tapped a finger against his wrist. “We’ve got to get moving if we want to make our dinner reservation.”
Aelin sighed and resumed the walk to the kitchens. “Right.”
______
“He lives,” Lorcan drawled as Rowan took a seat at the table his friend had procured. The wood was sticky beneath his hands, the booth stiff and worn. Skull’s Bay was the seediest bar in Orynth that police officers could visit without getting shivved. It was the kind of place that they could probably shut down if they looked close enough.
But it had the cheapest drinks.
“I was back at work today. You saw me.”
“Yes,” the police chief rolled his eyes, “but you stopped coming for drinks with us months ago.”
“I’ve been busy.” Rowan flagged down a waitress and ordered a beer. It was all he’d allow himself after getting drunk as hell on Sunday night. One night to marinate in his self-pity before getting his shit together and keeping a clear head. He was going to be ready for whatever Celaena threw his way next.
“You make up with Lyria?”
“No,” Rowan sighed. “That’s over.”
Lorcan shrugged as if to say, Whatever. “She was too sweet for you.”
Rowan couldn’t decide which one of them he was insulting with that statement.
“You got someone new?”
“It’s …” Even if he weren’t already lying to Lorcan, Rowan wouldn’t know how to begin to explain the relationship he had with his mate.
“You know what,” Lorcan decided as their drinks arrived, “don’t answer that. I don’t actually care.”
Rowan snorted. He’d never been more grateful for Lorcan’s loose definition of friendship. But his relief was cut short as Fenrys walked through the doors, his expression darker than the shadows on the empty dance floor.
Their friend slumped into a seat beside Rowan, hand going straight to his untouched beer. Nobody stopped Fenrys as he drank the whole thing in one go. Nor did they flinch when he slammed the glass back down onto the table.
“I know you’re both thinking it, so why don’t you just say it?” Fenrys grumbled. He already sounded drunk. Smelled like it too.
Rowan exchanged a tense glance with Lorcan. He asked carefully, as instructed, “Connall couldn’t make it?”
The other Moonbeam twin had been released from hospital last week with only a small scar remaining where excision had taken place. Even Yrene Westfall hadn’t been able to heal it away, and in the end, it was darkly fitting because the visible scar was as real as the mental.
According to Fenrys, Connall was barely talking. Barely even moving from where he’d taken up by the TV. He’d only left the apartment once to visit Elide, and even then, from what Lorcan had recounted, Connall hadn’t bothered to look her in the eye.
“He didn’t want to come.”
Rowan’s heart sank. “Has there been any change?”
“No.” Fenrys crossed his arms on the table and settled his chin upon them. “As the experts keep saying, it’s permanent.”
Lorcan smartly ordered another round of drinks.
“Did Yrene give you any advice on how we can help him …” Rowan struggled for the right word, “… adjust?”
Fenrys nodded bleakly. “She said we should treat it like any other traumatic injury—you know, good support system, talking it out, the usual shit.” He laughed to himself. Not a happy sound. “Yrene recommended a therapist, but Connall flat out refused to consider it.”
“It’ll take time,” Lorcan offered. “It’s only been a few weeks.”
“I know. That’s what Yrene said too. But I feel … helpless. There are all these things I want to do to help him—things that will work—and he just won’t let me.”
“You can’t help someone until they’re ready, Fen,” Rowan said quietly. He knew that better than anybody. “They have to decide they want to get better.”
“Yeah.” Fenrys’s eyes softened, perhaps remembering the very same years that Rowan was. “I’ve been thinking,” he started and then stopped, looking them both over with hesitant eyes. “I’ve been thinking of taking him back to Doranelle.”
Lorcan loosed a long whistle. “That’s extreme.”
“Believe me, I’m aware,” Fenrys said to the beer that had just been placed before him. “But we still have family there, and the change of scenery might do him good.”
“That’s a bit more than just a change of scenery,” Lorcan laughed—and rightly so.
Powerful as it was, the Fae realm stood apart from the rest of the world. While other kingdoms became democracies, and cities of stone became cities of glass, Doranelle remained unchanged, frozen in time. It was the seat of the Fae monarchy and a relic of the Old Ways. Not necessarily because the country wasn’t interested in advancement, but because old-as-hell immortals took a while to catch up.
But ancient practices aside, it was glorious too. Rowan was born there, as were Lorcan and Fenrys. Many of the younger Fae had emigrated over the last few hundred years, wanting a taste of the modern world, though it wasn’t unusual to move back.
Doranelle was wild and unchecked in a way that other countries could never replicate. It called to the more primitive parts of him—the Fae heart that yearned for the woods and mountains, to live amongst nature rather than see it from a window. He’d even chosen Terrasen as his home because of how untamed it was for a developed country.
Rowan had been tempted to move back several times over the centuries—and figured he would eventually. But when that day came, he was pretty sure that nobody from the outside world would ever hear from him again. Doranelle was the type of place where people could easily disappear and he wasn’t quite ready for that.
“I swear to the gods, Fen, if I have to ride a rutting horse to visit you guys, I’m not going to trouble myself,” Lorcan threatened.
Rude as it was, it brought a small smile to Fenrys’s face. “Is that a promise?” he chuckled. “I don’t think I’d stay forever. Just long enough to get Connall settled.”
“You’d be okay with that?” Rowan asked. “With the separation?”
Fenrys just shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
Having become all too familiar with those words himself recently, Rowan didn’t press.
Lorcan didn’t either, sending a grim smile around the table. “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but Elide is working late tonight, and I am going to take this opportunity to get extremely drunk.”
Rowan made his judgement known. “It’s Tuesday.”
“And I have tomorrow off,” the chief said with an unconcerned nod. He raised his glass. “Might as well make the most of it.”
______
Sam brought her to a restaurant that she’d never heard of before, located on the trendy streets of Brannon Hill. It was the kind of place you couldn’t be under or overdressed for, with diners wearing everything from glittering dresses like hers to men in plaid shirts. Aelin had to admit she was intrigued.
The waiter brought them to a table near the back window, offering a clear view up to the mountains, even as thick snow fell. There would be one last winter chill in the coming weeks, and then Spring would take hold to melt it all away.
Sam pushed in her chair and then sat down himself. He smiled at her over the tea lights and ignored his menu.
“You’ve been here before?” Aelin assumed.
“Many times. It was one of my favourites when I was still with the Guild. Arobynn never would have paid for me to go to university, but coming here made me feel like I was part of it—even if just for a little while.” He looked around the restaurant fondly. “It allowed me to meet a lot of interesting people.”
Was it really going to be so easy? Would Sam really just start talking about Arobynn while she perused the menu? Though if he was lying to her still, she wasn’t sure how useful the information would be.
But Aelin, noticing the emphasis of his last sentence, asked, “What kind of interesting people?”
“Just the usual university stereotypes.” Sam smiled mildly. “You should try the taco salad.”
“Good enough for me,” Aelin agreed, shutting her menu. Her parents wouldn’t believe she was about to eat something that was both taco and salad, but she wasn’t about to waste valuable time trying to understand strange foods. “What would you have studied if you’d had the choice?”
Sam shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. After my mother died, I’m not sure I would have taken an academic opportunity even if it had been offered to me. I was dedicated to the Guild.”
“But you came to Brannon Hill anyway?” Aelin asked.
“I think I came here to see if I could find people like me. People who wanted to fight for change.”
And once again, some instinct pulled taut in her chest. “Change that the Guild couldn’t give you?”
A nod. “Arobynn is … Let’s just say he doesn’t get involved. He isn’t emotionally invested in anything, which means he doesn’t care about injustice or suffering. All the shit that’s going on right now? With the Reformists and Maeve? None of that bothers him as long as he comes out richer.”
Aelin sorted through the words quietly. When the waiter returned, Sam gave their orders, and just as she was debating how far she could prod before it got suspicious, her date asked, “What about you? Did you study anything?”
Her insides immediately tensed with an indignant clench.
Aelin had a creative writing degree that she’d completed online at an international school. Her parents hadn’t wanted her in the public eye of a university, but Emrys, her caretaker had helped her enroll discreetly during her time in Wendlyn. Her parents shoved so much money at them that they didn’t notice any of it going toward tuition.
She’d loved studying. It had been one of the better parts of her time across the sea. But when it came to her education, the official answer was, “No.”
Aelin swore she heard a patronizing, pitying edge to his voice when he said, “I suppose you had other things on your mind.”
Like drugs. He was referring to her supposed drug addiction.
“Yes.” Aelin forced a tight smile. “Rehab keeps you busy.”
If her aggravation was noticeable, Sam didn’t acknowledge it. He pushed past the painful awkwardness with ease. “Have you thought any more about what you’d like to do with Gala?”
She raised an inquisitive brow. “Do with Gala?”
“When you take over, I mean.”
Aelin had no intention of taking over Gala. Not now and not ever. She’d deliberately run it into the ground if anyone dared to give her the reins.
“You’ll have a very powerful, multi-million dollar company at your fingertips,” Sam continued. “There’s a lot you could do with that.”
“Sounds like you have some ideas.”
“Maybe a few.” His expression fell into one of solemn focus. “Gala could influence the governing council a lot if it bothered to try.”
“You think lobbyists will be able to interrupt Councillor Maeve’s agenda?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw at the sound of Maeve’s name. “No … but I think you could.”
Aelin didn’t hide her skepticism.
“You could be a symbol if you wanted to.”
She looked down at the bare tablecloth, wishing she could stuff her face with food to delay her answer. Sam had said these things to her before, and it gave her the exact same feeling of unease now as it had the last time.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a brightening laugh, “I’m talking politics when we’re supposed to be on a date.” He waved away the conversation with a limp hand. “Let’s talk about something lighter. Tell me about your childhood.”
Light indeed.
______
“Wait,” Fenrys slurred, resting his drunken head on Rowan’s sober shoulder. “Why aren’t you working tomorrow?” He pointed a finger in Lorcan’s face and spun it in whimsical circles.
Lorcan, who did not get sillier when drunk, only more succinct, replied, “Protests.”
“No—Lor—nobody is protesting your”—a hiccup—“absence.” Fenrys shook his head. Confused with himself and the conversation. “Butwhy will you be absent?”
“Protesters. Tomorrow,” Lorcan snipped. “At the station.”
Rowan’s eyebrows popped up. It was the first he’d heard of this. “People are protesting the police?” he confirmed.
Lorcan nodded. “Connall.”
With a roll of his eyes, Rowan groaned, “I realize that you get monosyllabic when you drink, but could you please try to string together a coherent explanation?”
The chief rolled his eyes back at Rowan with exaggerated childishness. “People are mad that Connall got fired. So they’re going to yell at us.” Not too drunk for derision, he added, “If you hadn’t taken so many sick days, you would know all this.”
“I’m not sick,” Fenrys whined unhelpfully.
Rowan ignored his stupid friend. “But why do you specifically need to stay home?”
“Because,” Lorcan guffawed, leaning back into his seat and spreading his arms in a flailing gesture of frustration, “they blame me.”
At that, Rowan shoved Fenrys off his shoulder. This conversation was too serious for cuddling. “But Maeve made the call. You had nothing to do with it.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m the chief and they want me gone.”
“They’re demanding you step down?”
“Rowan. Why are you just repeating everything we say?” Lorcan scrubbed at his face, massaging it into a glare. “Yes, they want me to step down.”
“That’s insane.” Lorcan was the person fighting hardest against Maeve’s tyranny in the police force. It was ludicrous that people would blame him for Connall’s dismissal.
Sure, Rowan understood being frustrated with the system at large, perhaps wanting a clean slate, but removing Lorcan from his position wouldn’t accomplish that. In fact … if Lorcan did step down …
“You’re not going to, right?” he asked with a hint of panic now.
“Gods, no,” Lorcan snorted. “You know who Maeve would replace me with.”
Rowan did. All too well. If those protesters thought Lorcan was bad for Orynth, they had no idea what Cairn could do to their city.
Cairn had attached himself to Maeve after unfortunately surviving the Great War. Nobody knew exactly what he did for her and his responsibilities seemed to change over the decades, but Rowan was certain he at least managed her private security.
And that “security” included a lot of things Rowan would rather not imagine.
Thinking the same thing, Lorcan said, “I’m keeping this job until either I’m dead or he is.”
“Cheers to that,” Fenrys garbled through a sip of beer.
______
To Aelin’s delight, the taco salad made a lot of sense. It was weird and totally delicious. Which was good because the conversation with Sam was onlyweird.
She’d stumbled through an overview of her childhood, fielding excited questions about her “cool” parents.
Sam worshipped them for having built Gala. He believed it must have been positively inspiring to grow up under their influence. How he came to that conclusion while also believing she’d become a pre-teen drug addict under their watch, she wasn’t sure.
“We’ve talked so much about me,” she said when Sam finally took a breath. “What was your mom like?”
She wasn’t really sure if the question was polite, but Aelin figured he’d spent enough time poking his fingers into her dead-parent-wounds. Why couldn’t she do the same?
While she shovelled chocolate cake into her mouth, Sam smiled sadly. “She was gentle. But sassy too. I think that’s how she put up with my dad for so long—and then Arobynn after he left. She was so warm, but she never failed to put men like them in their place.”
Aelin cocked a brow. “Sounds like my kind of woman.”
“She was amazing,” he said, still smiling that melancholic smile. “We didn’t have a lot, but she was the best parent I could have asked for.”
Jealousy panged in her chest, but Aelin quashed it, knowing she’d finally found her segue back into useful conversation. “A tough act to follow, I’m guessing?” she prodded.
Sam caught her meaning, and his eyes fell darkly onto her cake. “A very tough act to follow.”
“What was he like?” Aelin said, taking the plunge. “When you were growing up?”
“I don’t think you want to know.”
There was a genuine shake to his voice, a truth to his eyes—and damn, if she wasn’t familiar with that feeling.
“It must be a relief,” Aelin said softly after a long silence, “that’s he’s not in your life anymore.” She took Sam’s hand, hoping physical touch would keep him talking. He interlaced their fingers.
“Arobynn is never really out of your life,” he admitted with a cynical sigh. “He’s always planning things. Pulling strings. Working on some bigger picture that nobody else can see but him.”
Like the Reformists’ master plan, perhaps?
“Should I be worried?” she asked, encouraging him on.
“About yourself?”
“About Gala,” she corrected—though she was honestly starting to wonder about herself too. “He’s my head of security. If you think he’s planning something nefarious for my company, I’d like to know so I can fire him now.”
A shake of the head. “No, I don’t think he’s got anything like that planned. Arobynn values that contract too much to mess it up. In the end, he’s always about the money.” Sam laughed to himself. “If he knew that his client was on a date with me right now, he’d probably get upset that I was putting an important business relationship at risk rather than just being happy for me.”
“Because if we broke up, I’d what? Fire him in retaliation?”
“Who knows.”
“Why would it matter to him? You guys don’t even talk anymore, right?” She wanted to see every flicker of Sam’s reaction.
But he just said, “Nope. I haven’t seen him in years.” He didn’t even blink.
And to stop herself from calling him out on the lie, Aelin had to take a very big bite of cake.
______
“What about that one?” Lorcan said with a clumsy jerk of his beer bottle. He was pointing at a group of females.
“No.”
“What about the waitress with all the colours?”
Rowan snorted. “You mean the rainbow hair?”
“Colourful,” his friend agreed happily.
“Still a no.”
Lorcan and Fenrys were officially drunk enough that they wouldn’t be able to crawl in a straight line if their lives depended on it. And for some reason, after declaring that he didn’t care about Rowna’s love life earlier, the police chief had taken up matchmaking.
“Why?” Lorcan whined. “Why don’t you like any of them?” He gestured to the whole room.
Fenrys snickered like he might say something, so Rowan punched him in the ribs.
“I’m not in the mood for a random hook-up,” he explained.
Lorcan looked personally offended by that. “But you’re so stressed. El says you’re too stressed. And she knows everything in the world.”
Rowan just pushed a glass of water into his friend’s hands. “Drink.”
“Always stressed,” Lorcan chided, but did accept the glass. “That’s why your hair is sad. And why you need the rainbow lady.”
Rowan frowned and lifted a hand to his head. “My hair isn’t sad—”
“Rooooooooooo,” Fenrys chimed in. “Ro. Ro. This is important.” He pointed at Lorcan. “He can’t—he can’t say it because he’s our boss and that would be HR, but I can tell you.” A loving hand fell over his heart. “You need to get laid.”
“Okay, Fen—”
“No, no. Ro. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t not true.”
Lorcan nodded solemnly.
“We are your friends of yours, so you have to listen.”
Rowan just sighed.
“It’s—Rowan—it’s true love,” Fenrys whispered. “Go and get her.”
“Fen,” he warned. If he mentioned Celaena, Rowan was going to order them shots until their brains melted.
“Rainbow is still here!” Lorcan agreed, completely unaware of Fenrys’s real meaning. “I just saw her! Go!”
Fenrys shook his head angrily. “No. Not Rainbow. True love—”
“Alright. I get it, you guys. My love life needs some work.” And was absolutely not up for discussion. “Now can you both please drink some water so I can stuff you into taxis and pretend this night never happened?”
Lorcan cut him a scathing glare. “You’re mean when you’re drunk.”
“I’msober—”
“Moonbeam, you had a date with the princess.” It was more of a declaration than a question, and to Rowan’s surprise, it seemed to sober Fenrys up.
“It was just … drinks.” He said it like he was admitting to a crime.
“Wait, you actually went on a date with Aelin Galathynius?” Rowan laughed, piecing it together. “That weird confrontational pickup strategy worked for you?”
Fenrys shrugged. Sank down into his seat actually. “It wasn’t a good date.”
“Were you mean to her?” Lorcan growled, leaning across the table with surprising feist.
“No, she just doesn’t like me.”
That soothed the police chief, who settled back into his chair. “Good.”
“Good?” Fenrys repeated.
“I don’t know Aelin well, but Elide likes her a lot,” Lorcan explained. “Which means she’s too good for you.”
Rowan laughed, even though he was extremely confused by this whole conversation. Lorcan was being defensive—and for Aelin Galathynius of all people. Lorcan didn’t like anyone. And Elide wasn’t exactly handing out stamps of approval either.
Fenrys’s eyes slid to the side, giving Rowan a weird look. “I think she’s interested in someone else.”
Rowan patted him on the back. “Tough luck, man.”
Fenrys just frowned, and they fell into a strange silence.
“Okay, I think I’ve had enough of you two, and some of us actually have to work tomorrow,” Rowan said eventually, getting to his feet. To his relief, his friends took the hint and stood as well. He smiled fondly at each of them. “Let’s get you guys home.”
______
“This was really fun, Aelin,” Sam said from the driver’s seat. He had finally taken her home, and they were parked outside her front door. Which was good because she was really looking forward to sleeping off the awkwardness of this date.
“Yeah, it was great.” Could he hear how unenthusiastic she sounded?
He gave her a conspirator’s smile. “I’m sad that it has to be over.”
Okay. “Look, Sam. It was nice having dinner with you, but I’m not comfortable inviting you in—“
“Oh gods! No!” he gasped. “I wasn’t trying to—no, Aelin.” Sam’s cheeks had turned to flame. “I was just thinking if you’re not too tired, there’s one more place we could check out. But we don’t—it’s up to you.” His throat audibly bobbed at the end of his ramble.
“Oh.” Aelin turned in her seat, regarding him with curiosity and a healthy dose of suspicion. “What sort of place?”
He perked up. “Place might not have been the right word. It’s more like a party with those people I met in Brannon Hill—like I told you.”
“The university stereotypes?”
“Yeah. I think you’d like them.” Sam looked her up and down. “I think you’d have a lot in common if you’re interested.”
It was those words that finally flipped a switch on the very thing she’d been considering for a while. In the back of her mind, she’d wondered. Of course, she’d wondered. Sam himself had been leaving clues for her to pick up for weeks.
“Okay … sure.” Her voice was light but her blood was pounding. She wondered if she’d just agreed to be abducted.
Sam grinned wide and restarted the car. “Aelin, do you remember what I said about how you could be a symbol? I think these people can show you how.”
______
It was well into the night by the time Aelin saw anything close to a party on the horizon. They’d driven South through the city and onto the plains—about twenty minutes away from Orynth.
And she’d been spiralling into her magic the whole time.
“Don’t be nervous,” Sam encouraged, reading the tension in her shoulders. “We’ll just slip in, and if you feel like talking to anyone we can, but there’s no pressure.”
“Right.” He’d given her a hoodie to wear. A hoodie. “How well do you know these people again?”
“Some of them I know very well, and many of them are … new acquaintances, I guess you could say.”
“Okay.” Oh, gods. Why had she agreed to this?
She wanted to text Rowan, but there was no way she’d be able to do it without Sam noticing. Why hadn’t she called him to begin with? He could have shadowed the entire date in his hawk form, ready to jump in if anything happened to her.
Now she was probably about to be vanished into a basement, and her mate wouldn’t even know where to start looking for her. The thought made her flames so hot that she was sweating through her hoodie and her wool winter coat.
It didn’t matter that she was a sun goddess given form. It didn’t matter that she was confident she could dispatch Sam without a second thought. Something instinctive was rearing its head. Female intuition that a male was leading her into something bad. All the training in the world couldn’t still the trembling in her hands.
And yet, she couldn’t turn back now.
A cluster of industrial buildings came into view, and then the car was rolling to a stop on a snowy curb.
“Sorry, we’ll have to walk a bit.” Sam winced. “We’re late, so all the good parking spots are taken—”
“It’s fine.” Her eyes strained to map out her surroundings. Escape routes, avenues for attack.
A too-warm hand closed around her own—wrong, wrong, wrong—and she found Sam peering into her face with a glimmer in his eyes that threatened to slice the skin off her bones. “I think you’re really going to like this, Aelin.”
They shuffled out of the car, and then her hand was in Sam’s again as he towed her toward a large warehouse—the only building around with lights in the windows.
“It’s a pretty big event tonight,” he explained. The door got closer and closer. “Something everybody’s been working on for a long time. I’m really glad you’ll get to see it. Oh—remember, hood up.”
She did as instructed with a mute nod, forcing her breaths to be steady. Cheering filled her ears, and the creak of metal scratched at her nerves as Sam finally pulled open the door.
Aelin was stumbling into the crowd before she could make sense of what was happening. There were so many males, so many angry voices. Everyone was hooded like she was—even the man at the front of the room yelling into a microphone on a stage.
It wasn’t a party.
It was a rally.
Aelin pulled her hoodie closer, trying to hide in the shadows of Sam’s body. If anybody recognized her, she’d be fucked, magic or not.
Her date gripped her elbow, leading her away from the door—the only exit she could see—but kept them toward the back of the room.
He whispered into her ear, a snake slithering down her spine, “Just wait. They’re about to get to the best part.”
Effectively captive, Aelin turned her attention to the speaker.
“—it has gone on too long!” the man shouted, rage woven into every heinous word. “We have suffered under their thumb for decades, and I am here, standing in front of each of you today to say, enough!
Enough! the crowd repeated.
“No more unjust rule! No more corruption! No more executions in place of due process!The day of reckoning has arrived!” The man prowled across the stage, working the crowd up into a frenzy. “And how shall we punish those that have kept us down?”
Kill them! the audience screamed.
“Holy shit, Sam,” Aelin gasped.
He pulled her closer. “Just wait.”
“In thirty minutes, all of our planning comes to fruition. In thirty minutes, the people who have ruined our city—our beautiful country will finally get what’s coming to them.”
Aelin couldn’t breathe.
“Eleven targets! Eleven teams loaded with Gala tech! That is all it will take to wipe out the worst of the corrupt magic users in Orynth. Tonight, we take away their power. Tonight, we take our city back! Are you with me?”
The crowd of Reformists exploded, and Aelin was nearly knocked back by the force of it. People jostled her back and forth. The speaker howled through a sadistic smile, “They all die tonight!”
The gleeful scream that Sam loosed nearly made her throw up her chocolate cake. But even that was nothing compared to how she felt when they started chanting the names of the targets.
Aelin wasn’t in a particularly good mood that Friday morning when Sam ushered her into the elevator with the mail cart. Nor did it improve throughout the day when the best piece of gossip she heard was that Clarisse from marketing thought her boyfriend was cheating on her. And Aelin was positively fuming by the time she was finally allowed to leave. Working with mail had proved absolutely useless, and the worst part was that her suffering for the day had only just begun.
She’d been working amongst Gala’s employees long enough to know that the job wasn’t bringing her any closer to the Reformists. Even as people got used to her presence, started to disregard her and open up again, it was only ever to share tidbits about their personal lives. It seemed ridiculous now, looking back and thinking an employee might just announce themselves as a terrorist by the water cooler. To think she’d receive an envelope labelled Reformist Manifesto, DO NOT OPEN. Whoever had assisted the terrorists with their heist was too careful—or not here at all. And whoever her parents had trusted with knowledge of the mystery weapon wasn’t exactly waving a flag around either.
The only person Aelin had a specific interest in was Arobynn Hamel, her leader of security, but despite having been back in Orynth for three months now, the two of them hadn’t crossed paths. She was still holding out hope that he would make an appearance in Elide’s labs, perhaps to check in on his men or walk around arrogantly in a suit, but so far, nothing. She had a feeling that if she wanted to observe the Guild of Steel’s leader, she’d have to go to him.
But not tonight. She was busy tonight.
“You look really nice, Aelin,” Sam said quietly as she packed up her stuff.
She looked down at the sparkly red dress Lysandra had insisted upon, having just changed into it in the bathroom a moment ago. “Thanks,” she said to her colleague as she threw her bag over her shoulder. Hard metal jabbed into her side—stolen shield prototypes. Aelin had swiped a few more yesterday, satisfied that Elide still hadn’t noticed. The engineer would have raked her over the coals if she had.
“Big night?”
Aelin tried to sound pleased. “I have a date.”
That’s what Fenrys insisted they call it, but really it was a business meeting. The kind where a list of demands was whispered into the romantic glow of tea lights. According to him, having this conversation in public would be safer. For him.
He was probably right.
“Oh.”
Aelin glanced up at Sam, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. His cheeks were stained a gentle shade of pink.
“I didn’t realize you were seeing anybody,” he said.
“I’m …” Being black-mailed. In love with the guy’s best friend. An emotional bomb about to go off—and yes, I’m taking everyone with me. “Keeping things casual.”
Sam’s face hardened. He didn’t like that answer. “Is it someone I’ve met?”
“I doubt it.” Aelin decided to ignore the possessive edge to his voice. “His name is Fenrys Moonbeam.”
“The cop?” Sam asked, surprise washing away whatever the heck he thought he was doing. “Connall Moonbeam’s brother?”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s the one. How do you know them?”
“I don’t. But I read an article that Connall was “retired” from the force because he doesn’t have magic anymore.” Sam shook his head angrily. “It’s unbelievable how blatant they were about it. The second you lose your magic, you’re worthless to them, no matter how many years of loyalty you give. It’s such bullshit.”
“Hey, I’m the last person you have to convince that Councillor Maeve is an evil demon.” Aelin looked down at her phone. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I really need to go.”
“It’s not just Maeve,” he mumbled.
“I know,” she agreed, thoughts already on other things. Fenrys had warned her not to be late. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”
Aelin barely caught his somber whisper of, “Have fun.” And Sam likely didn’t hear her reply, “I won’t.”
______
Rowan took a step back from his whiteboard, not sure whether to be proud or disturbed by its progress. What had once barely hosted a few photos of supermodels (courtesy of Fenrys) and a single front-page newspaper clipping was now sprawling with evidence and inference.
He’d nearly retired the evidence board while working with Celaena, had forgotten it in hopes that she would find the courage to share her identity by now. But after last week, after they’d kissed and left things as complicated as they’d found them, Rowan knew what he had to do.
She expected him to wait.
She should have known better.
He was tired. He was done being patient. At a dead end with the Reformists for now, Rowan had called in sick and spent the entirety of the last two days sorting through everything he’d learned. Celaena had let a great deal of information slip over the last few weeks, and he had hopes that if he put the pieces in the right places, he might finally get a lead. Because when he actually stepped back and stopped missing the forest for the trees, he knew a lot.
Rowan knew she had a day job because she’d admitted to thinking of him while she was at work. He knew she had water magic because she’d used it to save Fenrys’s life. He knew that she somehow had access to Gala’s technology, whether sourced through theft, the Reformists, or employment there—something to ask Elide about. Rowan even knew how she tasted, though that wasn’t as useful for narrowing things down.
Details upon details were there. He just needed to listen to them. And when he did, when he figured out what the evidence was trying to tell him then he’d …
Rowan didn’t know.
Maybe he’d confront her. Or maybe he’d feign ignorance until she trusted him enough to come clean. He supposed he’d decide once he knew who she was and after he had an idea of how complicated her identity would make things. No matter what, it wouldn’t change how he felt or what he wanted from her.
And he wouldn’t sleep or stop or rest until he found what he was looking for.
Another hour disappeared. His laptop was starting to blur, or maybe that headache was finally putting its foot down. Rowan scrolled and researched and puzzled until the moon was high. Photos and sticky notes joined the board, sketches and podcast quotes and newspaper clippings. He was a male possessed. Time ticked into oblivion. He almost didn’t bother answering when the pizza guy knocked on the door.
But even just pausing to consider it gave his stomach enough time to loudly rumble its protest, and so Rowan dragged himself to the front door, his muscles screaming as he finally moved from his perch.
“Lyria,” he squeaked, finding his ex-girlfriend instead of the pizza guy.
She was holding a cardboard box—not shaped like a pizza, and she frowned as she looked him over. “What the hell are you wearing?”
Rowan glanced down, confused by the question. “A t-shirt? Sweatpants?”
“Okay, let me rephrase.” Her voice teased, but her face was all concern. “When did you get dunked in a deep fryer?”
“Funny.” He cut her a sardonic smile. Though he probably should take a shower. “What are you doing here?”
Lyria shouldered past him, kicking off her shoes and walking into the apartment before he could object. “I found some of your stuff at my place. Thought you might want it back.”
“Oh. Um, thanks.”
She took the box into the living room, Rowan nervously following on her heels. The whiteboard was out in the open but not visible when you first walked in. There was no way he could move it without her noticing. Even his magic would make the board creak and whine. So his only chance was to make sure she didn’t look in that direction at all …
“It smells different.”
Rowan stood as far from the whiteboard as he could, keeping her focused on him. “Huh?”
Lyria looked around, wandering into the living space near the couch. “Your apartment. It smells different.” She stroked a hand over the throw blanket he’d wrapped around Celaena’s shoulders, idly trying to figure out the source of the change. “It smells like a campfire,” she decided.
Rowan gulped.
Embers. The smell was embers.
“Fenrys brought a scented candle over the other day.” It was the stupidest lie he’d ever told. “You know what he’s like.”
“Hmm.” Lyria put the box down on the coffee table and turned around. “I went by your work on my lunch break. To bring the stuff.” A nod at the box. “They told me you were ill. You don’t look ill. I mean, aside from the outfit—woah.”
And Rowan knew then that he’d been caught.
“Woah,” Lyria repeated as he ran to the whiteboard, trying to shield it with his body. But she got there first, holding up a hand and staring at it with eyes wide as saucers. “Oh my gods.”
“It’s for the Flame Girl case,” he tried to explain.
“Rowan …” She looked back at him with renewed concern, assessing the state of his clothes and probably his hair, which he kept running his fingers through. “This is … Does Lorcan know you’ve been doing this?”
“Lorcan,” he said carefully, “assigned me to this case.” At that, Rowan finally spun the whiteboard around, hiding it from Lyria’s prying gaze, and rushed away. Fleeing the scene of the crime.
She followed him into the kitchen and pointed back at the board. “You know that’s not what I mean.” Her stare landed on the pile of newspapers on the kitchen counter, his laptop glowing with blurry police photos of Celaena’s car. “This is so beyond anything you did with your other cases.”
Rowan shrugged, dismissing the thought. “I’ve never had to solve a case this complicated before.”
“Yes, but—” Lyria shook her head, words failing her. “Is this necessary?” She gestured to his clothes, his face, likely the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Is running yourself ragged necessary?”
“I’m fine,” Rowan said, failing to keep the flash of anger from his tone. “This is what detective work looks like, Lyria.”
“It is not. This is—Ro, this is unhinged—”
“It’s my job. I don’t know what you want me to say. This is the most important case of my career.” Of his life.
Her face hardened. “So this is what? Your way of getting a promotion? Seriously?”
“Just leave it alone,” he warned.
“No, not until you tell me what’s going on! Gods, you wrote the words Galaclone on that board like eight times, and you’re expecting me to believe that this is normal? You’re expecting me to see all of this”—she waved her hands at him—“and not worry about you?”
Rowan crossed his arms, forcing unwavering resolve to his face. “Look, I know that you don’t understand what you saw—”
“Then explain it to me! Are you in some kind of trouble? Please, just tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help—”
“I told you,” Rowan said, sharp and firm. Level and cruel. “I’m working on theories about her identity. This is part of the investigation.”
“This is obsession,” she said quietly.
Of course, it was. It was his mate. He was looking for the female that had strung him along for months, that had his heart in her hand and was squeezing it to the point of agony. Rowan needed to find her. If that made him unhinged in Lyria’s eyes, then he didn’t give a shit. It was nobody else’s business. This only concerned him and Celaena.
“Let it go.”
“I can’t.”
“Lyria.” Rowan couldn’t take one more word of this.
“I’m worried about you—”
“That’s not your job anymore!” he shouted. “We broke up, remember?”
Her expression fractured as those words echoed between them, battering at old wounds and new. When her eyes started to shimmer, he felt like an even bigger asshole than he’d thought possible.
“You’re such a dick, Rowan,” she whispered before hurrying back to the front door.
“Shit, Lyria, I’m sorry.” He followed after her, coming to stand at her side as she struggled with her shoelaces. “I didn’t mean to—look, I appreciate your concern, but I have everything under control.”
She didn’t answer, just stood and opened the door.
“Please look at me. I’m sorry that I yelled at you—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Finally, Lyria met his stare with eyes harbouring more hurt than could be accounted for by this fight. “We broke up, remember?”
He was sort of glad that she slammed the door in his face.
______
Aelin made sure that Hellas Lounge shuddered with every high-heeled step she took.
Nobody stopped her as she bypassed the hostess, knowing exactly where to go and that she had the authority to move as she pleased. She strutted past the tables, turning heads, forcing staff to jump out of her way. Tonight she was power, unyielding and unbreakable.
Elegant velvet curtains parted, allowing her entry into the more exclusive section of the restaurant. It was partly why she’d chosen this location. Because even though she’d been photographed walking into the establishment, nobody would dare raise a camera at her inside. The other reason she’d chosen it? Because Fenrys didn’t have the social status to get in by himself. And she wanted him to know it.
She ascended the staircase to the upper floor where private booths lined the wall, each fenced in with sheer drapery that obscured its occupants. She counted them all the way down to the end, to the one she had booked. Fenrys had already been escorted there as per her instructions—a staggered entrance made even more effective by the fact that the staff were being paid to keep his presence a secret. Aelin got to walk through the front door, but he’d been smuggled in through the back. Fenrys may have believed meeting in public was safer, but he had no idea how much influence she could exert over their world.
Aelin didn’t consider it a burden to remind him.
His shadowed body shifted as he felt her approach, and with a push of the curtains, Aelin slipped into the booth.
“Already drunk?” she smirked, noting the half-empty bottle on Fenrys’s side of the table. “How professional of you, Detective.”
Fenrys returned the threatening smile and spun the bottle around with a large hand. “It’s just the human stuff,” he informed her, pointing at the label. Too weak for Fae. “I wanted to make sure I was myself tonight.” He cocked his head. “Can you say the same thing?”
“I can set that fancy suit of yours on fire if you need proof of who I am,” Aelin offered. But she let her eyes fill with flames, rose the candle on their table to a towering height.
A chuckle. “I believe you.” Then he added, “So hostile.”
Aelin spread out her limbs, hooking an arm over the back of the seat. She wouldn’t be small for a male tonight. “I’m not exactly partial to people who threaten me.”
“Threaten?” He lifted a mocking hand to his heart. “I’m hurt that you took it that way. I see myself as more of a counsellor in this situation.”
Bullshit. “A counsellor that wants something from me.”
Fenrys waved off the comment and poured her a drink. “Will this get you drunk?” He gave the bottle a little shake. “Or are you Fae too? I’m not totally clear on how it works yet.”
It was worded plainly, delivered so casually that someone might have missed the question for what it was.
Fenrys’s first demand.
He grinned wide and wicked as her nostrils flared. With a smooth motion, his phone was retrieved from his jacket pocket and laid on the table like a gun. “Shall we ask Rowan what he thinks?”
“I’m demi-Fae,” she confessed with tight, controlled anger. “I have a human form and a Fae form.”
Genuine intrigue lit up his dark eyes. “That’s unusual.”
“We are not here to discuss your opinions of the facts.”
“Right,” he laughed. “Of course. Forgive me.” Fenrys took a long sip, studying her with a look that burned. “And your scent?”
“To spare you the science, which you surely wouldn’t understand, I have a … perfume of sorts. It makes me smell human.”
“And it makes your shifter smell like you too.”
Fuck. He knew everything.
Her silence had him tapping his phone’s screen and pulling up his contacts. A finger hovered over Rowan’s number.
“Yes,” she said through her teeth. “It can change anyone’s scent. If you were to put it on right now, you’d smell exactly like me.”
Fenrys gave her a triumphant grin. “Who did Rowan interview at the police station the other day?”
“I’m sure you know the answer.”
“The shifter then,” he mused. “Because if it was you, Rowan would sense the bond?”
Aelin nodded. “There is nothing I could change about my appearance that would stop him from knowing I’m his mate. Switching Aelin Galathynius out entirely was the only way to keep the secret.”
His brow creased. Perhaps from the way she’d spoken about herself in the third person. “And why does it need to stay secret?”
“Why does the cop tasked with hunting me down need to stay in the dark about my identity?” she condescended. “Surely, you’re not so stupid as to need an answer to that, Moonbeam.”
“Rowan isn’t going to arrest you.” He looked honestly surprised.
“Perhaps I’ll believe that when he’s no longer being paid to look for me.”
“And here I thought you two were getting closer,” Fenrys said, throwing back the remainder of his drink and pouring another.
Aelin arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You kissed him didn’t you?”
So they had caught up. “He kissed me—is petty gossip really what you’re trying to get out of this?”
A shrug. “I’m just finding it difficult to understand why you won’t tell him who you are when you’re also trying to climb into his bed. Seems like opposing goals to me.”
“You are ascribing far more manipulative intention to my actions than is actually there.” Aelin swirled her glass. She wouldn’t drink a sip of it. “Rowan is my mate, and he is also my enemy. Anyone would find that a tricky dynamic to navigate.”
“Yourenemy?” Fenrys repeated, mouth hanging open with disbelief. “He would die for you.”
Her chest squeezed. “Is that something he told you, or is that something you’re just pulling out of your ass?”
“Perhaps I’m embellishing an observation,” he admitted with a mild smile, “but he certainly isn’t your enemy.”
Not yet, Aelin thought to herself. Whether that would still be true after he learned her name, though …
“You’re rather well-spoken for a woman who has apparently been struggling with addiction since she was thirteen years old.”
“You act like people who drink can’t be well-read.”
Fenrys rolled his eyes, unimpressed by the deflection. “You act like that was my real question.”
Translation: Why were you in Wendlyn? Why does the world not know you’re demi-Fae? Why have you been hiding?
She suddenly had the urge to reach for the entire bottle of whatever the hell Fenrys was drinking. “You might be enjoying the counsellor title you’ve appointed yourself with,” she said sternly, “but I don’t have any interest in getting into my background with you. It doesn’t change the here and now.”
“Fine.” He pressed his lips into a tight line. “Shall we discuss why we’re really here then?”
Aelin’s neck stiffened with dread. But she wouldn’t let him know he was rattling her. She just reached into her purse and pulled out her chequebook. “How much do you want?”
Fenrys’s eyebrows lifted. “You think I want money?”
“Everybody wants money,” she informed him, clicking her pen. “It’s merely a matter of finding the number that will break you.”
Fenrys was gaping at her. “Aelin, that’s not what I’m here for.”
The name slid over her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Too much. He knew too much.
“I was thinking twenty million,” she continued, writing his name onto the cheque. She would leave the number blank until they settled on an answer. “I would offer you more, but having saved your life, I think I’m owed a discount.”
“You can’t buy my silence.”
“I can buy anything.”
He laughed openly at that. Then he snatched the pen from her fingers and ripped the cheque in half. “I do not want your money.”
Frustrated, Aelin slammed the cover of her chequebook closed. “Are you serious?”
“Areyou?” he laughed. “Do you think Rowan won’t kill me if he finds out I protected your identity for money? We’ve been friends for over a hundred years.”
But Aelin only heard the first part of his objection. The crux of it all. “Then exactly what are you protecting my identity for, Detective Moonbeam?”
Her mate’s best friend settled back into his seat like they’d finally reached the moment he’d been waiting for. He said with renewed calm, “I’m not.”
The bench, the floor, the restaurant—everything—fell away from beneath her, hurtling Aelin into a deadly calm. “You told him?”
Fenrys shook his head. “Not yet.”
“But you’re going to.”
“Yes.” He leaned in, matching the vengeance in her eyes with a dominance of his own. “Unless you do it first.”
Aelin felt the wood of the table start to burn away beneath her fingers.
“You have two weeks to tell Rowan who you are, or I will put an end to this sham myself.”
The ultimatum bounced around in her head, echoing off the walls and flooring her again and again.
Two weeks.
Her voice was nearly a growl. “I saved your life. Connall’s too.”
“And I am grateful for that.” Fenrys’s eyes were sincere. “But in doing so, you bought yourself time, not loyalty.”
“Fifty million,” she blurted, desperation reducing her negotiation tactics to nothing. Money always worked. Money always worked. “You’ll never have to work another day in your life. The interest alone will make you a billionaire before your 500th birthday—”
“No.”
“One hundred—“
“Aelin. No.” He gave her a pitying look. “You’ll thank me one day.”
She doubted that very much. “You know what Rowan thinks of me,” she spat. “You are going to ruin everything.”
“Is that what you’re worried about? That he isn’t going to like you anymore?” Fenrys chuckled and tipped his head back. Like he needed a break from looking at her. “Rowan has lots of negative opinions on public figures—and people in general,” he said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“The way he feels about me means everything.”
He just sighed. Then Fenrys tilted his gaze back down to her, uncompromising and final. “Two weeks, Miss Galathynius.”
It was the lid of a coffin slamming closed.
He made to leave. She stopped him with an invisible wall of flame.
“I could kill you,” Aelin whispered, wrapping that heat around him. Promise and intimidation.
“You could.”
There was no fear in his tone, nothing but patience in his gaze. Like he wasn’t waiting for her to do it, just to admit to herself that she wouldn’t.
Aelin had never killed anyone before. She wasn’t about to start now.
“Whatever you decide,” Fenrys said, standing as her magic faltered, “there’s no need to contact me again. I’m sure Rowan will pass on the news if you make the right decision.”
He lifted a hand to the curtain, and Aelin almost gave in to the urge to kick him out of the booth like a child, but she froze when she heard footsteps approaching. A familiar voice too.
She grabbed a fistful of Fenrys’s suit and pulled him back into his seat. Then she peeked through the curtains just in time to see Arobynn Hamel reaching the top of the stairs followed by—
Sam.
“What the hell?” she whispered.
She knew, of course, that Arobynn had acted as an adoptive parent to Sam after his mother had died. But Sam had told her they’d lost touch. He said they didn’t talk anymore.
So what the fuck were they doing sneaking through the shadows at Hellas Lounge together?
Fenrys stood again, trying to look. “Who is it?”
“Sit down. They’ll see you.”
He did as he was told, flipping from black-mailer to ally in the blink of an eye.
“Aelin,” he said, matching her volume this time, “what are we looking at?”
She strained her ears, even took the risk of shifting into her Fae form to overhear them. But only a fading murmur remained as the two men went to the opposite end of the floor.
“I … I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe nothing. But maybe …”
“Maybesomething?”
She nodded. “I can’t hear what they’re saying.”
Fenrys peaked through the curtains for a second before coming back into the darkness. “Which booth did they go to?”
“The last one.”
“Then let’s go.”
“What—“ But Aelin didn’t get a chance to finish the thought before Fenrys grabbed her hand and the world around them disappeared. Her body was pinched and squeezed through darkness, stretching through a place unlike anything she’d ever seen, and then they were back in an identical booth. Almost exactly the same except the glasses on the table were missing, and now she was nauseous.
Fenrys raised a finger to his lips, not that Aelin needed the helpful hint. They were now one booth away from their target.
“I thought we’d moved past the days where you tried to dictate my actions,” Sam was saying with quiet bitterness.
A warm laugh answered, as liquid as the alcohol being poured into a glass. “I’m always watching out for you, boy.”
“We have very different opinions on what that entails.”
“Of course,” Arobynn replied, “mine comes from experience, yours is the delusion of a lovesick fool.”
“I’m not lovesick.”
“Oh really? Is that why you’ve been spending so much time with Miss Galathynius?”
“I understand your fixation with her,” Arobynn sympathized. “She’s been stunning since she came of age, but she is not for you.”
Aelin’s nausea multiplied exponentially.
“I don’t value her for her beauty,” Sam argued, sounding equally repulsed. “She is intelligent and funny. And stronger than people give her credit for.”
“She is Rhoe and Evalin’s daughter.”
“That’s part of what makes her perfect.” A glass slammed down onto the table. “She understands. Not just what I’ve been through, but that the world needs change. She is fiery and down to earth—and fuck. Yes, she’s beautiful too. Who wouldn’t be interested in that?”
“You misunderstand me again, Sam. I am not faulting you for your interest, I am telling you that she’s off-limits.”
Sam said nothing, and Arobynn’s pleasantries ended.
“Sam,” he snapped like an adder. “Do you understand what I am saying to you? Stay away from Miss Galathynius, or you will answer to me. I’m sure you remember how the Guild handles defiance.”
It was a very long time before Sam mumbled, “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” The smile in Arobynn’s voice had returned. “I’ll see you soon.” There were no more words spoken between the two men.
______
Monday came too quickly on a normal week, but now that every day was a countdown, Aelin hated her weekly schedule even more.
She and Fenrys had parted on strange and silent terms, neither of them knowing what to make of the conversation they’d overheard. Despite their brief truce, they hadn’t discussed it. They’d just fled as quickly as they could without being noticed.
But Aelin had mulled it over all weekend.
She’d suspected Sam’s interest on more than one occasion, but for it to be serious enough that Arobynn was monitoring it, and for Arobynn to have an opinion on who she dated at all was … strange. No less strange, though, than the fact that Sam had lied about his relationship with his adoptive father.
And though she was worried about what that meant, she couldn’t help but see Sam in a new light. No longer her passionately human coworker in the mailroom, but as an in with Arobynn Hamel. It was just a matter of whether she wanted to use it or not.
But it seemed that Sam had made the decision for her. He ignored her all day, keeping conversation to short instructions, and eliminating eye contact entirely. She could feel him simmering every time they passed each other by, but still, he remained silent, all the way from the morning through to the moment she packed up her bag.
Aelin wasn’t going to even bother saying goodbye after the day they’d had until she heard her name just as she reached the office door.
Sam was standing at his desk, finally looking at her, desperation finally breaking through his cold features. “Aelin, wait.”
“Oh, now you’re speaking with me?” she said darkly. Maybe she was angrier with him than she’d thought. “You know you had all day to acknowledge my existence—“
“Don’t go out with Fenrys Moonbeam.”
That … was not what she expected him to say.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t go out with him,” Sam repeated, voice slipping into a plea. He walked around his desk, approaching her like she might spook and run.
She crossed her arms tightly. “Why not?”
“He’s not right for you.”
Tell me about it. But Aelin laughed. “Oh, and you’re the one in charge of these decisions, are you?” She shook her head. “Why is every male I know a prehistoric meathead—”
“Go out with me.”
“What?” She knew her eyes had widened to cartoon proportions, but she couldn’t help it. “What did you say?”
“Go on a date with me,” he said again, softer this time. “I know I don’t have money or power … but I see you. I see everything you are, and I’m never going to stop seeing it. I know you said you’re keeping things casual with Fenrys, but he’ll always be immortal—different from us. They always leave people like us behind in the end. You’ll never be more than a fleeting interest to him … and you deserve more than that, Aelin.”
Unease settled in the back of her throat. He had no idea how wrong he was about her. “And what is it you think I deserve, Sam?”
“You deserve someone who can grow old with you.” He took her hand, squeezing gently. “You deserve someone who wants you so much, he’ll stop at nothing to be with you.”
I have that, she thought. I have both of those things with Rowan.
“Just one date, Aelin,” Sam begged. “Give me a chance to show you what it could be like.”
There was no question of what she wanted. She wanted Rowan. Always and forever. No exceptions.
But this was a way to Arobynn Hamel—and she hadn’t even had to summon the man or pull strings with Aedion to get there. She’d never get a more natural or inconspicuous chance than this.
So though nothing about Sam appealed to her, not his speech or his promises or his offer, Aelin said, “Okay.”
AN:To warn you in advance, I’m going to take next week off so that I can focus on the next chapter (which will be a lot of work to write) and When in Wendlyn. So the next update will be posted June 25th.
And you know how I feel about cliff-hangers …
______
It went against every instinct Aelin had to let Sam pick her up for their date.
Handing over power to men she didn’t quite trust wasn’t exactly one of her favourite things to do, but he’d claimed he had an evening of surprises for her, and hell, Aelin wanted to see what Sam would do if he felt he was in control.
When he showed up at her door with a bouquet of roses and a crooked tie, though, she realized that maybe she was letting her vigilante mentality get the best of her. There was nothing threatening about the way Sam was jittering with boyish nerves, nor the way he grinned at her when she pulled open the door. His arm shot out, pushing the roses into her hands as he stumbled through his, “Hello.”
