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writtenonreceipts · 1 year ago

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Rowaelin Month Day Ten: Co-Stars With Chemistry @rowaelinscourt

Find Part One Here Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Thanks for all the kind words on part one! I hope part two lives up to your expectations! Part three, and the conclusion, will come later this month. Bonus points if you spot the "against the tide" reference ;)

Warnings: None, right around 4k words

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The Words We Share-Part Two

<<Welcome to Terrasen! I’m your host Aelin Galathynius and this week we’ve got a special episode coming your way. We’ll be live with none other than Rowan Whitethorn to discuss his new book. Dead Man’s Game is his first step into fantasy and a twisted tale of pirates, curses, and of course a dive into Scottish history. Join us next week in a special LIVE episode. Until next time, readers.>>

It wasn’t the worst promotional Aelin had ever done in her life. But it also wasn’t the best. She’d written and scrapped over a dozen and so far, that was the one that hadn’t sucked the most. Somehow.

Aelin stared at the blinking square on her computer that asked if she wanted to publish the message or not. Technically she could still turn down the interview. She could tell Dorian off and ignore Whitethorn for the rest of his existence and move on with her life. And then she’d probably lose her job and end up homeless.

Wincing, she clicked the button and immediately spun away from her computer.

Her office, big and bright and vibrant, had a large window that overlooked downtown. In the distance the mountains were shrouded in a thick layer of clouds, not surprising but a little disappointing. She much preferred her summer months warm and clear. Still, she let herself admire the view and took a moment to appreciate the stillness of the day.

Until her gaze landed on her phone.

There were a handful of messages from Sam that she’d left unread. He’d tried calling her after she’d returned home, but she didn’t pick up. Rowan was still on her mind. Rowan and his stupid accent and his stupidly large hands. How was it that someone she hated (and who hated her in return) could treat her to the best date she’d been on in months? Years?

She didn’t know. And she didn’t want to call Elide to talk to her about it because Elide was a meddlesome little minx.

Now as Aelin stared at her phone, she found herself wondering if there was anything Sam could say that would have her forgive him.

Whoever stood you up is an idiot, Rowan had said.

And…maybe he was right.

A knock at the door was the only thing that snagged her attention. She looked over to see Dorian leaning against her doorway.

“Aelin,” he greeted. He had his usual grin in place, black hair in an easy disarray. His blue eyes shone with too much placating humor.

“I hate you.” It wasn’t an exaggeration either. He was really good at being annoying.

“Oh, c’mon, I’m doing you a favor,” Dorian insisted. He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “I guarantee this’ll get your viewership up.”

“Not even Chaol is this mean,” Aelin said. She slumped down in her seat, tilting her head back against the chair rest.

“You only like him because he brings in chocolate cake,” Dorian said.

“Yeah and he isn’t an ass like you.” Aelin continued glaring at her boss and friend, picking up her pen to scratch at the pad of paper beside her desk, just for something to do.

“Aelin, Rowan’s our best-selling author, not to mention the demand of getting more events from him like this.” Dorian picked an invisible piece of lint from his shirt and shrugged. “Hate him all you want, but our readers and your listeners have been begging for this.”

Aelin had seen requests forms on their website, she’d been to plenty of conventions and heard the reviews—she knew that Dorian was right. But…

“I like Whitethorn even less than you,” Aelin said. Though, the words sounded hollow in her own ears.

Dorian didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll take you out to dinner to make up.”

Aelin had had enough of men propositioning her for dinner. She waved Dorian off.

“Go be the big CEO man, I’ve gotta write this script and get the general outline to Whitethorn,” she said.

Dorian left with a wave of his hand.

Aelin rolled her eyes and pulled up a new document on her computer. A small notification bar in the corner of the screen indicated views on the recent upload. In the span of three minutes there were already over two hundred views and the number was rapidly rising.

She glanced at the large stack of paper still sitting in the corner of her desk. She’d gotten it just last week—the tell-tale mysterious new novel Rowan had written. Even Dorian said it was remarkable. Aelin had yet to view it since it was no longer a part of her job description to edit and critique manuscripts. But since she’d be interviewing Rowan, she got early access to the novel.

In truth, she’d enjoyed Rowan’s work. There was always something about it, even if she did mark up every page with as much red as she could manage. But, really? Most of the comments weren’t negative. Often, she even found herself praising the way a sentence worked or the callbacks he gave to earlier chapters.

Now, having the manuscript before her, Aelin couldn’t help but feel a little excited at having the book before her.

At least this would be enough of a distraction for her.

It wasn’t until the sun began to set and shadows crawled across the walls of her office, that Aelin finally looked up from the manuscript.

And to her phone that lit up with another message.

Cursing, Aelin opened the chat with Sam.

>>Sam: you can’t keep ignoring me.

<<Aelin: I told you I needed time.

>>Sam: It was one night. we’ll have dozens more.

Aelin scoffed at the surety in his words. Shaking her head Aelin sent one last message.

<<Aelin: I’m done. This is over. I can’t keep playing games and being a placeholder.

>>Sam: We’ll talk in the morning.

He could try calling her, but would find it difficult considering she was blocking his number that very moment.

It felt good to set that boundary, to tell him no, to feel like she was in control.

In all honesty, she was still caught up on spending time with Rowan Whitethorn and not tossing her wine on him. He’d been a gentleman, an ass, but respectful all the same. She would have to thank him for helping her that night despite how much she didn’t want to. He didn’t need to step in and give her an excuse to use against Kaltain. And he certainly didn’t need to pay for dinner and make sure she got into a cab safely. He hadn’t needed to do any of it and she hadn’t expected him to. But he had.

She wanted to be irritated at him for it. She wasn’t a damsel in distress for him to take care of or who needed help to begin with. She would have dealt with Kaltain on her own just fine.

Still, it was nice to have someone looking out for her.

Shaking her head, Aelin flipped through the manuscript to the first page once again.

She had a dream, once, years ago, where she would stand out on a rocky shoreline and stare into the ocean as she wondered just how far she could sail before the world swallowed her whole.

…

Between screaming Fall Out Boy lyrics, two impromptu dance parties, and chugging half an energy drink in the parking garage of the publishing building—Aelin finally found herself ready to face the inevitability of the day.

“It’s going to be fine,” she told herself one more time as she fixed her lipstick in the rearview mirror. “Everything is going to be fine.”

It had been her mantra that she prepared for the live podcast she would be filming that day. For the first time in a very long time, Aelin found herself nervous for the day. And she did not get nervous. No, Aelin prided herself on being confident, capable, and being able to keep her head on straight.

That was before she’d read Rowan’s book, though.

She got out of her car, energy drink and manuscript in hand, and headed up to her office to prepare for the interview.

She hadn’t had any issue in reading Rowan's book. In fact, she’d stayed up the entire night just to finish it. Everything about the book had captured her attention. From the magic to the world building to the romance—it had all been just what she loved most in a book. Even if the book wasn’t as spicy as Aelin preferred to get in her books, there had been something real about the way Rowan chose the write this novel.

And now she’d have to tell him.

She was not looking forward to it if she were being honest. For as much as she loved gushing about novels and diving into different worlds and characters…she’d never done so about one of Rowan’s books. And this book was so different from his other books.

Aelin felt far too jittery as she waited for the elevator. The usual crowds all milled about her, all too concerned with their own issues to give her much credence. She didn’t know if that was better or worse.

She hadn’t felt this way about an interview in ages. Only her first real podcast session had been as bad and that was only because she’d gone into in on no sleep and four shots of espresso.

The elevator slowly lumbered up to the proper floor while Aelin paced the small space. Thankfully no one else was in here with her. That would have just been icing on the cake.

“It’s going to be a great day and everything is going to be fine,” she told herself as the doors slid open to the proper floor. Dorian of course was standing right there, leaning against the far wall.

His black hair was styled perfectly out of his face, his smirk ever present. He gave one last twist to the new wedding band on his finger as Aelin stepped out of the elevator and began walking to her studio.

“You ready for today?” he asked, keeping stride with her easily.

“Of course, I am,” she replied. Her confidence was deceiving, but it was something she’d practiced ever since she was a child who wanted to get out of trouble. “It’s just like any other podcast.”

Dorian made a noise in the back of his throat. “This is potentially the biggest release our company—”

“I know, Dorian.” Aelin stopped outside her studio and handed Dorian the mess of energy drink and notes she was carrying so she could unlock the door. “I’m not an idiot.”

Dorian followed her inside and she caught a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry. I know you know. And I know you’ll take this seriously. Just…try not to hate on him too much, yeah?”

It was no secret really that Aelin and Rowan had a slight rivalry going on. At least, Dorian was the only one really aware of it. And Elide. But Elide was the best at keeping secrets herself.

“Can I tease him about the fated mates trope?” she asked.

“No.”

“Boo.” Aelin took her things back from him and rolled her eyes. “Do you want to read through my notes? Give me your approval, oh great one?”

He was already walking back out of the studio, waving a hand overhead. “Behave!”

Aelin snorted a laugh; she’d been granted honorary approval to go to his bachelor party three months ago; if anyone needed to behave it was him. She wondered partially if his wife actually realized what she’d gotten into.

No matter.

Aelin settled into her usual routine upon arriving at the office in the morning. If she kept things as normal as possible, they were bound to work out, right?

So she bounced between her actual office and the studio for the next hour, running through her questions and side comments she could make about various points and ideas she’d highlighted from Rowan’s book.

Elide stopped by a few times to give her a countdown to when the podcast would air. The other woman was technically an acquisitions editor, but Aelin was going to try and steal her to be her assistant. That would piss Kaltain off.

When there was ten minutes left until they were slated to begin. Aelin went to the studio to make sure everything was ready. She usually made sure the couch and chair were angled properly first with microphones at the ready before ensuring a blanket and a few pillows were easy to reach. Not that she thought Rowan would want to snuggle up with a puppy studded fleece blanket—it was the thought that counted.

She was just organizing her desk with her notes and her copy of Rowan’s manuscript when she heard Elide’s voice down the hall.

“She’s just down this way.”

Aelin gave everything one final look in the studio before deciding that was just as good as it was going to get. After all, everything was neat and organized. Except the bookshelves. Those were pure chaos. But in Aelins opinion, keeping bookshelves looking perfect was a useless task.

Elide rounded the open door, looking far too amused by what was about to unfold.

“Hey Aelin,” she said, leaning against the jam. Her black hair hung in loose waves and her expression was carefully impassive—though that gleam in her eyes was hard to miss. “I found your next interview in the halls.”

Sure enough, standing behind her was Rowan. He was dressed casually, far more casual than she’d ever seen him before. No dress shirt or tie, no slacks, no fancy shoes worth more than her car. It was a startling contrast to when he’d saved her at the restaurant. Even his hair was different. Not that it was bad. The man had good hair.

“Thanks, Elide,” Aelin said with a smile. She hadn’t been staring too much, had she?

“Let me know if you need anything,” Elide said. There was no mistaking her brow raise as she departed.

Oh, Aelin was certainly going to be interrogated later this afternoon. She stuffed that away far in the back of her mind.

“Come on in, Mr. Whitethorn.” Aelin gestured him into the room and swung the door shut behind him. “Have a seat on the couch, we’ve got a few minutes.”

She was going to keep this professional and dignified. All she had to do was get through the next forty-five minutes and then this would be over. Fifty if she took in time for ads and brief intermission in the middle.

“You can call me Rowan, you know,” he said as he took up an easy position on the couch. His silver hair was, as usual, perfectly styled and left his handsome face on display. “After the restaurant and everything.”

Aelin had to fight to keep from glaring too much at him. Though she did end up pursing her lips tightly enough that her lipstick was definitely going to smudge.

“I think we should agree to never talk about that night. Ever.” True nothing that embarrassing had come of it, other than a hit to Aelin’s pride, but talking about it would only lead to more people hearing about it. And she really didn’t trust Whitethorn not to tease her about it. Besides, talking about getting stood up by a guy she’d wasted too much time on, to Whitethorn of all people, was not something she wanted to do.

Especially considering she’d spent a great deal of time in the last week thinking about how handsome Rowan actually was.

Rowan only smiled as he watched her shuffle her notes and papers. Aelin knew if she met his gaze that she would let something slip so she avoided eye contact. She'd gotten good at that.

"If you need water, there's a mini fridge under that end table,” Aelin told him. “Or I can get you a coffee real quick?”

“Water’s fine,” Rowan said. He reached for the fridge and pulled out one of the plastic bottles chilling. “I'm curious though, did you forgive the man who stood you up? Or did he have a reasonable explanation?"

"It's none of your business," Aelin replied stiffly. This was a mistake. Maybe she could call Elide in here to act as a buffer. "Do you want a look at some of the questions I have planned or are you okay going in blind?"

Rowan shrugged. "I'm always up for a bit of fun."

Aelin didn't have a response for that so she spent the last few minutes until airing explaining to Rowan how the microphone worked. He could mute himself if he needed to cough or anything like that, but ultimately, she had control over sounds volume and everything along those lines.

"Do your worst," he told her as she opened the podcast.

"Welcome to Terrasen, listeners and readers alike," Aelin said, still glaring at Rowan. "As you know, today's session is going to be extra fun and special as we have Rowan Whitethorn with us for the first time. I know many of you have asked about having him on the show as well as have been interested in what he's been working on recently, so here we are."

She paused for a brief moment in preparation. "Rowan, thanks so much for taking the time to join us today."

"Thanks, Aelin," he said, leaning into the mic just a little. His accent lilted in that familiar way and he looked far too at ease sitting across from her. His watch clicked happily along on his wrist catching the light as he clasped his hands together. "It's good to be here. I've been a long-time listener."

Liar. "Really? What have been some of your favorite episodes?" She'd catch him out and not feel the least bit sorry for it either.

"Well, the series about what makes a romance book was rather interesting, I have to say. Especially your comments on smut," he grinned at her and Aelin flipped him of. At least this wasn't a video session too.

"I like a bit of fun," she dryly, throwing his own words back at him. "Good to know what keeps you entertained."

"Oh, I like hiking too."

"Right," Aelin snatched on to that with the sole goal of getting out of the current conversation. "Which is something you grew up doing a lot of right? You grew up in Scottland?"

"Aye, just outside of Edinburgh," Rowan said. "Moved to America when I was seventeen, but most of my summers I went back to stay with my cousins."

"Do you miss it?" Aelin asked. "From what I've read in your books the landscape the history, the people, it's all so beautiful and wonderful and rich."

"Aye," Rowan ran a hand over his chin. "It'll always be a part of me. My da taught me everything about the outdoors and nature and adventuring as he could before he passed, that's why I moved to America. So my mum could be near family. And growing up without him just left a hole in my heart, y'know? So writing and research just turned into a way for me to remember him.”

Aelin tried to ignore the effect of his words. She knew what that was like exactly.

“Right,” she agreed, “sometimes telling stories is the best way to remember someone, or something.”

Rowan met her gaze again and something flashed in his eyes as he nodded his agreement.

“Plus, it’s an easy way to relieve stress,” he added. “With all the research I’ve done, y’know I spent every day for three months training with a group of tae kwon do specialists just to learn how to describe one fight scene properly?”

From there, it was easy for Aelin to continue asking him about writing and research and why he’d chosen non-fiction to begin with. Just like the night at the restaurant—it was far to easy to talk to him. Far too easy to have this simple, easy-going conversation with him.

In fact, it had been a long time since she’d been able to talk like this to anyone. Which, maybe wasn’t a good thing. Most of this was scripted anyways not to mention Rowan had done plenty of other interviews and certainly had many of these responses memorized.

Hell.

She’d started reading too much into this.

“So,” Aelin said as they were nearing the end of the segment. “I’m still surprised you actually made the leap in to fiction—fantasy no less. And with a lead character like Celaena Sardothien.”

“You’re surprised I can write a female main character?” Rowan chuckled. He’d rolled up the sleeves to his shirt a while ago, one of his arms in a full tattoo sleeve. She couldn’t understand whatever language the majority of the tattoos were in but she did recognize a few Gaelin words and symbols in the mix.

“Well, yes.”

“C’mon, Galathynius,” he said, “even you have to admit you liked my book. I did a good job. Especially with Celaena.”

“Do I though? You should see all the marks I made on the manuscript.” In truth there weren’t very many, at least not as many as she had given in the past. But she would add some if it would shut him up.

“The book hits all your favorite tropes,” Rowan said. He wore that all knowing smirk of his that had been infuriating (and fine, fascinating) her for the last forty-five minutes.

“How do you even know what I like?”

Rowan chuckled, a sound that hit Aelin like a shot to the heart. “We’ve been friends for five years.”

“We’re not friends,” Aelin corrected, but there was no malice in her words.

“Please Galathynius,” he insisted, “you like me.”

“Shut up Whitethorn.” Aelin muted him as burst into laughter and she had to fight to keep her own voice even as she addressed her listeners. “We’ve just had a great conversation with novelist, Rowan Whitethorn about his upcoming high fantast adventure Dead Man’s Game which will be released on November fifteenth. Thanks for listening friends, we’ll see you next time.”

She made all the necessary clicks and flicks to shut the mics down properly and just like that the segment was over. Looking up, Aelin scowled at Rowan. She’d been doing that a lot hadn’t she?

“Seriously?” she asked.

“Are we really not friends?” Rowan finally leaned back in his seat. Even that small bit of distance was enough that Aelin felt she could finally take a breath of air.

The table between them wasn’t even that big but being close to him had put her heart in overdrive and made her mind feel like a pile of mush.

“Whitethorn,” she said, ignoring his small eyeroll at the use of his last name, “we both know the extent of our “relationship” has been insulting each other.”

That made him pause and another look flashed across his features, one Aelin couldn’t identify. But it made her squirm all the same. So, she launched herself out of her seat. She didn’t want to think about anything beyond being done with this segment and maybe having some peace of mind.

“It was a live session,” she told him, “so you can listen to it whenever. I think Dorian had a few extra things he needed to get you relating to your edits.”

Aelin needed to shut down whatever emotions were cutting through her. It wouldn’t do good to dwell on them or Rowan longer than necessary. This was just a passing occurrence. Eventually he would leave their publishing house—or get so big as a name that he couldn’t be bothered with her silly little podcast.

Not that she cared. Or that it mattered.

Slowly, Rowan stood from his seat, his eyes trained on her. “Do I get your edits?”

Aelin blinked. “What?”

“Your edits? All the notes and thoughts you had on the manuscript?” He didn’t move to leave like she expected him to. He just kept waiting for her answer.

“I—” she paused. “You really want them?”

“Of course,” he said, “your thoughts have always been invaluable to me.”

She’d never really understand that word: invaluable. Oh she knew what it meant and that Rowan said it as a compliment, but it had always struck her as an asinine and bland way of describing somethings true worth. Rowan regarded her with such sincerity that Aelin was already reaching for the giant stack of papers from where she’d left it on the edge of her desk.

For some reason, she was hesitant on giving him the pages. It wasn’t like she’d struggled with this before. As she held the manuscript out for him, however, she felt shy. And Aelin damned Galathynius was not shy. Mala above.

“Ignore what you don’t like,” she said, just as she always did.

“Thank-you,” Rowan said. He tucked the papers into his arm and, finally, retreated for the door.

“Wh—” Aelin paused mentally cursing herself, “Rowan?”

He turned, hand on the doorknob.

“Where did Celaena’s character come from?” she asked, it was the one question they didn’t get into during the interview, but the one that intrigued her most. “She’s brilliant, strong, and has to be inspired by someone. Who?”

A small smile quirked one side of his lips as he pushed the door open. “I thought it was obvious.”

And then he was out the door, swallowed up by a shout from Dorian calling him into his office.

Aelin could only stare after him. And just like the night of that insufferable date—she was left confused and uncertain about what his words actually meant.

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Tumblr is not allowing me to tag anyone right now, so if you could reblog to increase exposure, I would so very much appreciate it! <3

#rowaelin #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan

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mariaofdoranelle · 1 year ago

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Daydreaming About You

Rowaelin Month masterlist

@rowaelinscourt

Some of you may know this as the Teacher AU, the first fic I ever wrote! This story has a soft spot in my heart, but not its writing 🤣🤣 so I got tired of complaining and rewrote it. I still feel like something’s off HAHAHAHAH but the rewrite got worth sharing.

Warnings: mature talk, but SFW

Words: 1,6k

Rowan’s ass looked absolutely delicious today.

This classroom had a privileged view of one of the fields he used to teach his P.E. classes, and as the class’ monarch for the next forty minutes or so, Aelin decided to give her students an activity in pairs and subtly enjoy the sight.

His eyes were hidden by the cap, but she knew he was watching the students play like a hawk. The best part was when he ran along with them. His legs, as big as tree trunks, deserved all the appreciation Aelin gave them, and she couldn’t even begin to describe the sinful way his uniform’s trunks hugged his ass. His sweat was beginning to make Rowan’s shirt cling to his torso, defining his big, rock-hard muscles—

A throat-clearing made her jump on her seat, not expecting any student to seek her so soon.

“Sorry to interrupt, Miss G.” Evangeline’s smirk was way too wide for Aelin’s liking.

Feigning neutrality, she took the paper from the girl’s hand. “You finished that soon?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The girl waved her off. “Is it true that Mr. Whitethorn and Mr. Salvaterre are exes?”

“What? That’s ridicu—“ Aelin stopped mid-sentence, squinting her eyes at her student. “You know I shouldn’t talk about his personal life like this, Evangeline.”

She focused on another student who just got there, standing beside his classmate. Luca was looking out the window with wide eyes, his mouth ajar before he said, “When I grow up, I want to be just like Mr. Whitethorn.”

Aelin smiled, always pleased to see how much her students admired him, when she asked, “Reliable and efficient?”

”No. Jacked.”

Her mouth opened, then she snapped it shut, too afraid of voicing the things inside her head.

Aelin didn’t like to show to the students that her and Rowan were friends, let alone that she had a massive crush on him. Still, they caught up on it. Those little terrors always did.

It was no secret that Aelin and Rowan were best friends. Or that there were speculations about them. Some students even called them Rowaelin, for Mala’s sake. Rowan never expressed his opinion on the matter, and Aelin was secretly pleased people could see herself with him that easily, even though that kind of attention wasn’t appreciated.

The limits of what’s accepted inside a workplace gets far more flexible when it’s filled with teenagers, hence why some intriguing things tend to happen from time to time. For example, when they were the talk of the week because some students spread a picture of Rowan making poorly-interpreted heart eyes at her.

Truth was, Aelin’s love life would be a lot easier if Rowan was half as interested in her as people in this school suggested.

After the last class, she found Rowan and Fenrys, a math teacher, talking near the garage.

“Hey!” Fenrys greeted with his trademark grin on. “The Vaults tonight? I need a wingman.”

“You never really need a wingman.” Aelin wrinkled her nose. “And I have a bunch of papers to grade tonight.”

“But we had so much fun last time.” Fenrys leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a teasing gleam in his eye. “What about the guy from last week?”

“What guy from last week?” Rowan cut in, frowning with a strained expression.

"No one," she dismissed him before asking Fenrys about some school gossip. Guy From Last Week didn't get further than texting, and she wasn't in the mood to put up with Rowan's protectiveness over her love life.

Dating was easy until sophomore year of college. More precisely, until The Great Gatsbeer Party, when Aelin offered herself in a platter for him and was brutally turned down. But conversation kept going, and he soon became her best friend and favorite person.

She had been in love with him for years, so what? Aelin adapted, like she always did.

Rowan and Aelin were side by side, walking towards his car in the boisterous garage, loud with the chatter of students and parents who parked to get the little ones.

"I didn't know there was a guy from last week."

Aelin gave him a pointed look. "There was a guy from last week. We texted a little, he told me Taylor Swift is overrated, I ghosted."

"Okay.'" He darted a quick glance her way. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

She snorted, finding some sort of amusement in Rowan's unease. "Yes, you did."

"Wanna grade papers together, then?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Sure. And Mario Kart when we're done."

Aelin wasn't the biggest Mario Kart fan, but it became their thing over time. She was competitive enough to get a thrill when she's playing, and Rowan liked it a lot.

Rowan absolutely hated Mario Kart.

He wasn't as into video games as Aelin, but he loved to watch it when she shouted in front of the screen or threatened to end his bloodline when she's losing.

She's such a sore loser, his Fireheart.

A loud moan coming from the kitchen interrupted his thoughts.

“I love you."

Rowan closed his eyes, trying to calm down his boiling blood. He could deal with the love declaration, but not the moaning.

"Aelin, stop flirting with the cake," he shouted, making sure she'd hear him from the other room.

They'd decided she'd grab something to eat while he got the video game ready, and now Rowan was just waiting for her.

He wandered around her living room, analyzing her decoration for the millionth time, but only stopped when he got to his favorite piece.

A framed pamphlet of the party they met, his housewarming gift to her a few years back. Reminiscing about that life-altering day always brought a smile to his face.

“Aelin Galathynius. Hi.” She was swaying, but found her balance again by supporting herself against the wall. Aelin’s expression was earnest when she said, “I find we’re equally hot, and now I’m yearning to sing the passionate chant of the sacred nuptial rite with you.” Rowan was stunned silent, but she still extended a hand to him before announcing, “And I’d be honored to caress your one-eyed trouser snake.”

Rowan shaked his head, chuckling at Aelin's antics in college.

In his darkest moments, Rowan cursed himself for not making any kind of romantic advance, since he did nothing but talk to her and make sure she didn't do something she'd regret the next day. But at the same time, at least he didn't become one of the many men she got bored of after a few weeks and discarded.

She was so picky with the people she got romantically involved with, letting them go for the smallest reasons such as playing Mario Kart with Waluigi, Rowan probably ruined his chances with her at least twice a day.

He sighed, leaving her bookcase to sit back on the couch. There would be no getting over her with his daily dose of Aelin's tight skirts and sweet smiles, and Rowan was too weak to keep enough distance to not be in love with her.

If Aelin wasn't interested in him sober, he had no choice but to pine after her for the rest of his life.

His attention drifted to her coffee table, noticing her kindle didn't have its case on. Again. Typical Aelin. He grabbed the case to put it back on the device—

Rowan froze when he read the book cover.

Friends with Kinky Benefits.

With an increased pulse, he looked around to make sure Aelin wasn't close and turned the kindle on, curious.

It seemed to be just a story about a girl longing to find the dom of her dreams, who ends up having sex with her guy best friend—and lots of toys—over and over again, for almost 200 pages.

Holy rutting Mala, is this what she gets off on?

Rowan skimmed through the book, electrified with a newfound line of thought.

Is this something she daydreams about? Aelin could ask him if that's the case, no need to be shy. Rowan's feelings for her were deep and romantic, yes, but he was still a man. Even when taking a purely physical step with Aelin would inevitably break his heart

"Buzzard..."

He jerked towards her, barely breathing with the awareness that he was caugh red-handed snooping in her kindle. But Aelin looked stiff, her eyes darting between him and the kindle. "What're you doing?"

Rowan relaxed a little realizing a moment later that in Aelin's head, she's in a worse position than he is.

He smirked. "I always knew your books are steamy, but I never expected them to be so kinky too."

Those words were enough to make Aelin regain her movements, and she flung herself towards him. "Give me that!"

Rowan wasn't quite sure what made her so flustered, but he flailed his arm around, preventing him from getting the kindle back.

"But I was just beginning to understand how a cock cage works!" he mock-complained.

“Fuck you!”

With that, Aelin jumped at him on the couch while Rowan tried to hide the kindle behind him. To get the thing from behind his back, she pulled his hair and that's when time slowed down.

Aelin was straddling his thighs on the couch. One hand connected with his, both holding the kindle, and the other roughly grabbing a fistful of his hair.

Rowan's heartbeat became erratic, and Aelin didn't look much better. Her lips were parted, her skin flushed. She blinked, her eyes searching for him as he desperately looked for any cue in her. A hint, a green light, an invitation.

He leaned in, giving her time to recoil. She didn't.

A tiny bead of sweat broke from her temple, running down her jaw and throat in a path Rowan longed to trace with his tongue.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, another hint of his next step before he—

The crickets of Aelin's ringtone shattered their moment, and seeing who the caller was made Rowan's muscles tense.

He was going to kill Fenrys.

A/N: @leiawritesstories and I are probably the only people who care about this fic so far, so I sneaked an inside joke ours in there. So this A/N is a little nod to Leia. iykyk. Ily Leia.

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leiawritesstories · 1 year ago

Text

PART FIVE: MAY

First of all: the biggest, most heartfelt thank you to everyone who has been reading this AU. you have my heart, as angst-loving as it is, and your responses are everything to me :))

Second note: this chapter is ridiculously long, and I do apologize for the insanely long chapters... but also there is SMUT AHEAD!!! if you're not here for sexual content, stop at "Their exit from the archery range" and skip down to "It was May 25" and know that not wanting to read smut does not make any difference and i will always appreciate you reading :) okay I will stop rambling now

Word count: 10.4k (whoops...)

Warnings: swearing, weapons, crime talk, made-up police stuff, badly concealed horniness, fighting, flirting disguised as archery, SO much innuendo, and smut! NSFW!!

Enjoy!!

Masterlist

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Happy birthday, boss lady!” Elide cheered, pulling the blindfold from Aelin’s eyes with a flourish. “You can’t run back to your apartment now, so sit on down and enjoy a dinner that you aren’t paying for.”

“You’re the worst best friend, El,” Aelin complained, but she was beaming. “I thought I specifically told you nothing over-the-top.”

Elide shrugged. “You don’t turn twenty-seven every day, Ae, and it’s about damn time you took an evening off. Plus, Aedion would be griping all night if he got dragged out of work for you not to show up.” She wrapped her arms around the taller woman. “Happy birthday.”

“Fine, fine.” Aelin hugged her second-in-command fiercely. “Thanks, El.”

Gavriel was next in line, his hug stealing her breath. “Happy birthday, Aelin. Though I think I’m the one who deserves a present for getting my son here.”

She snickered. “I’ll buy you a drink or something. Thank you for being here.”

“Anytime.” He flashed her a cunning little grin. “I’d never miss a chance to see my beautiful, sharp-witted niece turn my best lieutenant into a tongue-tied mess.”

“Gav!” She swatted his shoulder. “You’re more meddling than Elide, Lys, and Ansel all together, I swear.” He just smirked and returned to his seat, leaving her to be swallowed up by Aedion’s embrace.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you without your lab coat in years, Aedy,” she teased.

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “It’s a special occasion.”

“Mhmmm,” she hummed, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at Lysandra.

Aedion blushed an endearing shade of pink. “So what if we happen to sit next to each other? It’s a private party, little miss birthday girl.”

“Not that private,” she snickered, dodging his outraged squawk and smack. “Love you too, Aeds.”

“You’re the worst.” He groaned, but he was grinning.

Lysandra raised a perfectly threaded brow. “Do I want to know what that was about?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Aelin smirked. “What? My birthday present can be you and Aedy fu—”

“No!” Lys clapped her hand over Aelin’s mouth. “If you get to say things like that, then I get to ask you when you and Whitethorn are going to bang. If you haven’t already.” It was her turn to wiggle her eyebrows.

Aelin’s face heated. “Pretend I never said anything.”

“That’s my birthday bad bitch.” Lys adjusted one of Aelin’s curls. “Now go say hi to the man who hasn’t taken his smitten eyes off you since you walked in here in a dress to bring him to his knees.” She patted Aelin’s ass as she walked away.

Aelin breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a few seconds.

“Done with the party already?” Rowan’s voice broke her out of her snatch of silence. “We can probably sneak out the staff door.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she replied, finally meeting his appreciative gaze. “Hi, Ro.”

“Hi.” His eyes trailed down her body, admiration lighting his face at the way her tailored gold sheath dress molded to every angle and curve of her frame. “That is one hell of a dress, Ae.”

“Thanks.” Just to tease him, she did a slow spin, reveling in his sharp gasp as he drank in the deep V-cut of the back that highlighted the ink flowing down her spine.

“I didn’t know you had a spine piece,” he said in a soft, gravelly rasp.

A dangerously lazy smile curved across her maroon-stained lips. “I keep it hidden while I’m at work. Professionalism and all that.”

“Oh, you mean the fire-breathing dragon screaming up your spine isn’t professional?” He chuckled. “It’s…incredible. Where’d you get it done?”

“I know a guy,” she said, deliberately cryptic.

He bit back a sigh. “Does this guy have a name and a place of work?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to arrest my tattoo artist for touching my back with my full consent while he did my tattoo.”

“I’m not.” A grin flashed across his face. “I’m just going to make him squirm a little.”

She chuckled. “You’re impossible. How about we make a deal? You overlook the simple reality that someone had to give me this tattoo, and you can see how lovely of a contrast it makes with my sheets.”

Rowan inhaled sharply, dark flames smoldering in his eyes. “The tattoo, or that dress?”

“I prefer not to wear clothes when I’m in my bed.” She smirked. “Don’t just stand there gasping like a fish, Ro. Escort me to dinner like the gentleman Uncle Gav thinks you are.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m not much of a gentleman, Ae.” His hand landed on the small of her back, its heat rippling deliciously up her spine.

“Good.” She lowered her voice to a whisper only he could hear. “Because I like it rough.”

Aelin barely had a chance to say goodbye to everyone after the absolutely delicious dinner, because Lysandra, Ansel, and Elide clustered around her as soon as she left the bathroom, shepherding her out the door and down the street. She only managed to wave to Rowan as she left, certain that she’d find more than one message from him waiting on her phone when she was able to look at it.

With Elide on one arm and Ansel on the other, Aelin found herself squeezed into an inescapable sandwich of her closest girls, and although she pretended to groan when Lysandra, three steps ahead, pulled open the door to the Vaults, a popular bar, she was beaming.

“Do you really think it’s the best idea to get drunk on a Tuesday?” she called over the thumping beat of the music pouring through the surround-sound speaker system.

Lys rolled her eyes. “It’s your birthday, bitch! You can decide tomorrow is a remote workday!”

“Shots!” Elide squealed, flagging down the closest bartender and rapidly ordering a whole string of drinks. “I’ve got this round, ladies.”

“I’m scared,” Aelin teased, sliding into the closest open booth. “If Ells is buying, I might just pass out now.”

“Fuck off,” Elide laughed, smacking Aelin’s shoulder. “We both know you’re only going to drink enough to get yourself ready to go jump on Whitethorn’s di—”

“Stop!” Aelin squawked, clamping her hand over Elide’s mouth. She composed herself and winked wickedly at the petite woman. “I don’t need liquid courage to do that, Ells.”

“My gods, you are the worst.” Ansel groaned dramatically. “Add that to the list of things your lawyer should never hear.”

“Thought you weren’t my lawyer for tonight,” Aelin shot back, grinning.

The redhead laughed. “Fair enough. Ooh, the drinks are here!” She took the tray from the bartender and passed the cocktails and shot glasses around the table. “Cheers, birthday girl!”

Aelin clinked her shot with the girls and tossed it back effortlessly, only grimacing a little bit at the burn of straight vodka. “Fuck, El! A little warning next time?”

Elide snickered gleefully. “Why?” The song changed, and she perked up, clapping. “I love this song!” She took a long pull of her cocktail, draining nearly half of it, and grabbed Aelin’s hand. “Come on, birthday bitch! We’re dancing!” She tugged Aelin out onto the crowded dancefloor without waiting for her to protest.

“You’re lucky I have alcohol in me,” Aelin giggled as she wedged herself into the sea of swaying bodies next to Elide. “God, I missed being able to do this.”

“All the more reason to—ah shit. Behind you, Ae.”

“What?” Aelin turned, following Elide’s dark brown glare, and found, to her unpleasant surprise, a rather drunk Sam Cortland less than two feet away. Burning hell.

“Hey,” Sam called over the music, surprisingly coherent for the glassiness of his eyes. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Because the stick up my ass is too big?” Aelin asked sweetly.

Sam coughed. “Well, um, because you—because it’s a Tuesday?”

“Liar.” She snorted. “A woman is allowed to go out on her birthday, y’know.”

“Happy bir’day,” he offered, trying his best to disguise his sneer.

“I’d say thanks, but you don’t really deserve my manners.” She flashed him an angelically sweet grin. “Fuck off, Cortland.”

“Bitch,” he grunted.

Aelin’s eyes flashed with a dangerous gleam. “What was that?”

Elide grabbed her arm. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she hissed, her command cutting through Aelin’s alcohol-loosened fury. “He’s not worth it, and you’re Aelin right now.”

Aelin blinked, snapping herself out of the thoughts of violence. “Right. Okay.” She turned her back to Sam—who had wisely chosen to slither away, hopefully leaving the bar—just in time for Ansel and Lys to appear with more shots, these ones electric blue.

“Cheers!” Lys yelled, tapping her small glass to Aelin’s and throwing back the shot. Aelin laughed and followed suit, exhaling sharply at the strength of the tiny glass of alcohol.

“Lyssie, if I’m hungover tomorrow, I’m blaming you!”

“Oh, calm down,” Lys snickered. “It won’t knock you out.”

Aelin snorted in disbelief, then caught Lys’s arm before she could head back to the bar. “It’s our song, Lys! C’mon, dance!”

Lys laughed and jumped into the knot of dancers, shaking her hips the way she used to back in college when she and Aelin would hit five different bars a night on the weekends. “Still got it!”

After so many songs that Aelin’s feet were starting to cramp, the women finally half-stumbled off the dance floor and headed out of the bar, gulping down the fresh night air as they stepped out into the street.

“Fuck, it gets so stuffy in there,” Aelin complained. She shivered. “And it’s cold!”

“It is not, you little wimp,” Ansel said, poking Aelin in the side. “You just wish that man of yours was here to whip his jacket around you like a gentleman.”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t mind that,” Aelin hummed, smirking wickedly. “You know what happens after a man gives you his jacket.”

“You are the worst.” Ansel shoved her lightly. “Again, things you should never fucking ever tell your lawyer: whose bones you plan to jump.”

“If I make it home,” Aelin grumbled.

“You ladies need a ride home?” Out of nowhere, Sam Cortland appeared in front of them, his eyes still glassy with alcohol haze and an oily smirk painted across his face.

“Fuck off, Cortland,” Elide retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “You aren’t anywhere near fit to drive, anyway.”

“And I wouldn’t willingly get into a car with you if it was the last option on Earth,” Aelin added.

Sam scowled. “Have it your way, then.” He stalked off, heading down the nearby alley. “Fuckin’ whore,” he muttered, thinking he was far enough away for her not to hear.

She heard. And she followed him, her heels clicking with dangerous precision against the sidewalk. “Want to repeat that, scumbag?”

He stopped, whirled around, and apparently decided he had a death wish. “I said, you’re a fucking whore.”

Her fist smashed into his smug little grin with an immensely satisfying crunch. “Take that, you sleazy bastard,” she growled.

Sam screeched, pressed his hands into his rapidly swelling face, and moaned pitifully. “You bit–”

She kneed him in the groin, and when he doubled over, whimpering, she slammed her knee into the side of his head. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. She and Elide—who had followed her, of course— maneuvered his limp, unresisting body into the shadows of the alley and left him there.

“No, Aelin, you can’t kill him yet,” Elide reminded her, catching the taller woman’s wrist.

Aelin sighed dramatically. “But it’s my birthday!”

“So what?”

“So no murder in plain sight.” Ansel cut in.

“You’re no fun,” Aelin sighed. “Fine.” She delivered one last kick to Sam’s groin. “I wonder if he felt that.”

Elide snorted. “And this is where I drag you off before you ruin your life by being hauled off to jail on your birthday.” Wrapping one arm around Aelin’s waist, she directed her back onto the sidewalk and away from the shadowy alleyway. “How about we finish the night at your place?”

Aelin perked up. “I’ll make margaritas!”

She was ordering an Uber before Elide could protest that they’d all already drunk half their body mass in alcohol that night.

Just birthday girl things.

Kaltain Rompier tapped her black acrylic nails against her iPad screen, idly waiting for the guy who’d texted her last night (after weeks of absolute silence) to show up. He said he’d be there right at eleven, and it was almost at the point where she was about to leave.

“Shit, sorry I’m late.” Sam Cortland dropped into the seat opposite hers as her office door closed with a soft click. “Didn’t get out of the damn meeting until ten minutes ago.”

“Mhmm, right, I forgot how important you businessmen were.” Her reply was acerbic.

He sighed, sheepish. “I’m really sorry, Kal.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” She picked up her stylus pencil and tapped it against the blank screen. “You’re here to give me a story, Cortland.” She glanced at him, noticing for the first time since he’d rushed into her office that he looked a good deal worse for wear. “Does your story have anything to do with the fact that you look like shit?”

“It’s because Aelin fucking punched me,” he griped.

Kaltain’s brows shot up. “Aelin…Galathynius?”

“Yeah.” Sam scoffed. “Dressed up like a fuckin’ slut last night. I ran into her at a bar; she was out with some people I didn’t recognize, and when I tried to buy her a drink, she laughed in my face.”

“Laughing doesn’t leave black eyes, Cortland,” Kaltain returned dryly.

“I haven’t got to the part where she punched me.” He scowled, the aggrieved expression drawing attention to the vivid bruising encircling his right eye and the scattered smaller bruises and little flecks of scratches on his face. “I left the damn bar before she did, ended up taking a call outside the place, and I was there when she and her friends left, all drunk and stumbling. So I did what any decent guy would do and offered to drive them home, and Aelin punched me in the goddamn face.” He was practically raving by the end of his little rant.

“You offered to drive Aelin Galathynius home?” Kaltain repeated, stylus flying over her iPad as she took notes. She chuckled. “Cortland, the woman probably has more than one driver. Not to mention that by all accounts, she’s so not interested in you that she bought your company.”

He shrugged. “Sounds like interest to me.”

“Yeah, for her bank account,” she snorted. “Anything else for the story, Cortland?”

“Just that I woke up in a goddamn alley like this.” His frown dug a deep groove between his eyebrows. “That bitch.”

“If you don’t have anything else for the story, get the hell out.” Kaltain set down her stylus, got up, and opened the door. “We’re not spending any more time together, or did you not mean it that way?” Her saccharine smile made Sam cringe.

“Kal–I–I didn’t–”

“Yes you did.” She pointed out into the hallway. “You’ve given me a good story, Cortland. Now get your fancy little ass back to Daddy’s office.” Pissed, Sam roughly stood up and stalked out of her office, muttering something about stupid bitch under his breath.

She almost pitied the man. Someday, his misogyny would get him into a tight little corner that he couldn’t crawl his way out of. But there was a column waiting to be written—a particularly sordid one, just what the public was craving—and she couldn’t let his chauvinism get in the way of her job.

The article dropped late that afternoon, and Kaltain came into work the next morning still grinning, still riding the high of an instantly viral article. Maybe being a gossip columnist wasn’t always the most rewarding job, but the times when she got to see her work splashed all over the internet were…euphoric. The short hallway leading to her office was quiet, as usual, and she was buried so far in the notifications she hadn’t read that she didn’t notice that the whole floor was also quiet.

Only when she strolled into her office and dropped her shoulder bag into someone else’s lap did she realize that she wasn’t alone.

“Good morning, Miss Rompier.” The voice was female, throaty, slightly raspy, and utterly devoid of pleasantry.

Slowly, Kaltain dragged her gaze from her desk to the lean, masked and hooded, black-clad figure lounging in the other chair, black combat boots propped carelessly on the low bookshelf beside the desk. “What is this? Who are you?” Instinctively, she reached for her belt, where she always kept a tiny can of pepper spray.

“Not so fast, Miss Rompier.” The masked woman lifted her chin, and Kaltain felt a hard, heavy hand close around her wrists in a vice-like grip. “We’re going to have a little chat about the article you just posted.”

“I–” Before Kaltain could protest, a needle pricked at the back of her neck, and everything faded to black.

She awoke in a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of mildew, sitting in a wooden chair with her hands bound behind her back. Her head throbbed, her neck was stiff, and her heartbeat raced with adrenaline and terror. Where the hell was she?

“Good to see you awake, Miss Rompier.” The woman who’d had her drugged and kidnapped sat across from her, the dim overhead light throwing shadows across her still-masked face.

“Who the hell are you?” Kaltain snapped.

The woman chuckled softly, a lethal, raspy breath that sent ominous shivers down Kaltain’s spine. “My name is Celaena.”

Fuck. “And why do you give a shit if one of those filthy rich people you supposedly hate is featured in one of my columns, Celaena?”

“Because it’s not time for that quite yet.” Celaena clicked her tongue. “Don’t ask questions you don’t actually want answered, Miss Rompier. Aelin Galathynius needs to stay out of the tabloids for now, but…” She trailed off, absentmindedly dancing a throwing star across her gloved knuckles. “But I rather liked how you didn’t hesitate to drag her through the muck.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Kaltain shot back, feeling defensive.

“It means that when it’s time, I want you to publish every dirty little detail that I send you.”

Kaltain narrowed her eyes, still suspicious. “You’re taking down Galathynius?”

Celaena shrugged. “Again, don’t ask questions you don’t want answered. The wrong things could get you killed, Miss Rompier.” She leaned in close enough for Kaltain to see the glint of steel hiding beneath her sleeves. “I wasn’t planning to kill you, but I’m not afraid to do it.”

“You–you’ll send me everything you want published?”

“Every single sordid detail.”

Slowly, Kaltain nodded. “Alright. What do you want me to do now?”

“All of them?” Rowan dropped his blue-light glasses on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt to stave off the headache.

“All of them, sir,” Luca confirmed. “Three years of tabloid history wiped clean, and it appears that practically every mention of the recent Galathynius article is being scrubbed from the internet.”

“How the fuck is that happening?” Rowan demanded. “The damn column should have left such a large footprint by now that we’d be able to find it even though the original publisher took it down.”

Luca chewed his lower lip. “I…I don’t know, sir.”

Rowan swore viciously under his breath. “Get me Kaltain Rompier’s address, Luca.”

“One sec.” Luca rapidly typed something into his laptop, then scribbled down a few words on a plain yellow sticky note. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Rowan grabbed the note, threw his jacket over his shoulder, snatched his keys from the wall, and strode out to the garage. His mind was whirling with a hundred different theories about why the viral gossip article about Aelin Galathynius’s recent, rather colorful, night out had abruptly vanished from the internet, along with the last three years of the columnist’s history.

Half-baked ideas churned through his brain with dizzying speed, and Kaltain Rompier was a crucial part of all of them.

Within twenty minutes, he had pulled up to the building where Kaltain worked, parked in a visitor spot, and made sure his badge was easily visible. He strode into the office, took the elevator to the floor where her tabloid was located, and pushed open the front doors with little effort.

“I’d like a few minutes to speak to Kaltain, please,” he said to the young woman at the front desk.

The young woman’s huge blue eyes grew wider, and her hand trembled as she pointed wordlessly down the hall. “Th–that way, Officer.”

“Thank you.” He knew he was being a dick, but he headed away without saying anything else.

Kaltain Rompier was sitting at her desk typing away on her laptop when he knocked twice at the half-open door and let himself in.

She muffled a shriek, hands flying to her throat. “What the hell?!”

Rowan raised his empty hands in a show of approachability. “Kaltain Rompier?”

The columnist slowly sank back into her seat. “That’s me.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you going to tell me why the goddamn cops are here?”

“It’s just me.” He sat down in the chair opposite hers. “I have a couple of questions about your most recent article, if you don’t mind.”

Her expression shuttered. “I took it down, Mr…what should I call you?”

“‘Lieutenant’ is fine. I’m not police, I’m TSF.”

She nodded. “I took down the article, Lieutenant.”

“Why?” He leaned slightly forward, waiting for an answer to the question that had plagued him ever since PD had received notice that Kaltain had gone missing. That was five days ago. He’d feared that there would be another victim in the never-ending string of homicides, but she was sitting there in front of him, alive and well if a little shaken from his sudden appearance in her office.

“It was…” Kaltain sighed. “I’m a gossip columnist, Lieutenant, which means that my job is to dig up people’s dirty little secrets and make them public. I’ve never seen the true ugliness of it until I wrote that piece on Aelin Galathynius and instantly hated myself.”

Rowan blinked. “You wrote a tabloid article on Aelin Galathynius, based on whatever source you could find, and that made you…guilty?”

“It made me realize how awful the tabloid industry is,” Kaltain murmured. “It’s not like I haven’t seen the tabloids about Ms. Galathynius that have floated around, but she’s so…so highly regarded, and the tabloids have always been obviously contrived. What I wrote…it wasn’t.”

“What was your source?”

“Sam Cortland,” she admitted.

Rowan froze, pieces clicking together before his eyes. “Who?”

“Sam Cortland of Cortland Advertising,” Kaltain repeated, a tinge of bitterness clouding her tone. “He showed up at my office with a hell of a black eye and a hell of a story, and I wrote and sold it without even thinking until it was done.”

“I see.” Closing his notepad, Rowan stood up. “Will you still be working here, or are you going to seek something else?”

“I’m trying to get a real journalist job,” the columnist replied. “I just…I don’t want to feel grimy like this all the time anymore.”

Rowan nodded. “Well, best of luck.” He moved towards the door. “One more thing. You were missing for several days, Miss Rompier. Why was that?”

“Family emergency,” she admitted, a haunted look flickering through her eyes. “I had a friend drive me to the airport. Didn’t trust myself to drive safely.”

“My apologies.” Rowan stepped out into the hallway. “Thanks for letting me drop in on you, Miss Rompier, and good luck with your job search.” With that, he left the office, got back in his cruiser, and headed back to PD with a whole new chunk of information ready to add to his theory.

Sam Cortland.

As much as Rowan wanted to deny the ease of the truth, it made so much sense. Cortland was a petty, unhappy little man who hadn’t taken well to Gal Inc. acquiring his family’s company, and while his father, the elder Cortland and current CEO of Cortland Advertising, was adjusted to the merger, Sam was not. Apparently, he’d deemed it best to go after Aelin like a jilted ex-lover–straight to the tabloids–in a vain attempt to see her thrown out of power and popularity.

It didn’t entirely explain why Kaltain (or someone else) had scrubbed the internet clean of all traces of her article, but it was a start. And if he was correct, Kaltain’s “family emergency” hadn’t been an emergency at all, but an intervention from a certain unseen criminal–the barely-noticeable needle mark on the side of her neck spoke of something other than running to the airport at the last minute.

It seemed that Celaena Sardothien had something to gain from Aelin’s current status, and she wasn’t afraid to resort to violence to keep her schemes running.

Aelin swept one final gaze over her reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the far wall of her expansive walk-in closet and nodded in satisfaction. Her dress–a casual but classy cap-sleeved sheath of powder-green linen that was perfect for the balmy spring evening–flowed gracefully down the lines and curves of her figure, her light makeup masked the dark shadows smeared beneath her eyes, and her hair was half-up in a wooden clip, the rest cascading in tamed waves down her back. Beige, wedge-heeled sandals added a few extra inches to her height (and cleverly concealed a pair of flat little knives), and a matching beige handbag completed the look.

If she’d agonized over every little detail of this outfit and this night for the last two weeks, it was only because she wanted to properly impress the man who should be about to knock on her door. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the increasingly filthy dreams she’d been having–featuring that very man–nor what she did when she awoke from those dreams.

As if her wandering thoughts had summoned the man, he knocked three times on her door, three firm, authoritative thuds of his fist against the thick, lacquered oak front door, and—though she would never admit it—the scrap of lace between her thighs dampened.

“You aren’t working right now, Lieutenant,” she teased as she opened the door, a grin unfolding across her face as she watched his face flicker through shock, nervousness, and anticipation.

“You’ll forgive me if it’s hard to get out of the work habits, Miss CEO,” he returned, emerald eyes glinting with humor.

“Fair enough.” She stepped backwards into her apartment. “Welcome to my humble dwelling, Rowan.”

“Humble,” he echoed, both incredulous and teasing. “This place’s rent probably costs more than my mortgage.”

Aelin flashed him a grin. “What good is my career if I can’t afford a comfortable place to live and still have some left to donate?”

“You donate?”

“I thought we’d established you weren’t working, Ro.”

He chuckled. “I’m…call it a first-date question or something. I didn’t expect you to say that.”

“Not many do,” she admitted, shifting her gaze out the window, where Orynth’s skyline was washed in gold and copper by the setting sun. “But nothing gives me more genuine pleasure than seeing the faces of every child who gets to go to school because I make more money than I can possibly spend.”

“You set up a foundation?”

“Have you heard of the Fireheart Foundation?”

Rowan’s face slackened in appreciative shock. “That’s you?”

“Well, my parents started it—‘Fireheart’ was Dad’s nickname for Mom—and I continue their legacy.” A soft flush crept up her cheeks, heating her face. “It’s not that big of a deal, Ro.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “And you distracted me so much that it’s after seven-thirty.”

“Hmm, we’d better get going, then. And by the way, it is a big deal, but I won’t bother you with that if you don’t want me to.” Easily, naturally, he laced his fingers with hers, and led her out into the hall, waiting for her to lock her door. “Close your eyes, Ae.”

“In my building?”

“Fine, as soon as we get to the car.” He pretended to sigh at her good-natured giggle.

As she clicked her seatbelt into place, she snickered. “Is it bad that I’m thinking this is some elaborate scheme to kidnap me?”

“I’m offended!” he gasped, mock-theatrical. “I’m the guy who rescues you from the big bad kidnapper, Ae, not the big bad kidnapper himself.”

“You can be the big bad something else,” she mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.

He spluttered out a cough, his tan cheeks flaring scarlet. “Aelin!”

She just smirked. “You heard me, darling.”

“Dinner first,” he grunted, his voice more raspy than he probably intended. He managed to compose himself, and he shot her a blazingly hot gaze in the rearview mirror as he backed out of the parking garage and drove into downtown Orynth. “Then I’ll give you big bad something.”

“We’ll see about that,” she purred, her voice like silk and sin. Then she closed her eyes, smothering a wicked little chuckle that rose in her at his frustrated, half-strangled exhale.

About thirty minutes later, he stopped. “Open your eyes, Ae.”

She did. “East Orynth Sporting Range? Are you sure this isn’t a kidnapping scheme, Lieutenant?”

“Funny,” he deadpanned, hurrying around the car to open her door for her. “Have you ever done archery before, Miss Galathynius?”

“Drop the title, Lieutenant, and yes. I took lessons when I was younger—you know, like a good little rich girl.”

“Let’s see how well this good little rich girl can still shoot, then,” he murmured, the low rumble of his words dancing deliciously down her spine.

“If I miss every target, I’m blaming the lack of flexibility…in the bow, of course.” She laughed softly at his muted blush. “Maybe you’ll have to come stand behind me and guide my position.”

“Oh, I’ll guide your position, alright,” he agreed, the simmering heat of his gaze searing right through the soft linen of her dress.

“Only if necessary,” she said, taking his hand as they walked up to the entrance. Like the gentleman he was, he held the door open for her. “Thank you, Ro.”

“Anytime.” He strolled up to the check-in desk and waved at the middle-aged woman sitting at the counter. “Hey, Philippa!”

The woman’s kind face split into a crinkled, joyful smile. “Rowan Whitethorn! I haven’t seen you in years, you little troublemaker!”

“He’s a grown-up troublemaker now,” Aelin joked.

Philippa’s smile widened as she took in Aelin’s appearance and closeness to Rowan. “And who might this be, Rowan? She’s far out of your league, that I can tell.”

“This is Miss Aelin Galathynius,” Rowan said.

Philippa reached across the counter and squeezed Aelin’s hands. “Lovely to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Aelin beamed at the maternal-looking woman. “Tell me, has Rowan really been coming here since he was a mischievous little scamp?”

“I still remember him being dragged away from the rock wall,” Philippa said, eyes twinkling.

Rowan sighed. “I suppose I’ll just go to the range while you spill all my life’s secrets, hmm?”

“I would never miss a chance to show off my little-rich-girl tricks,” Aelin returned. “Shall we?”

Philippa passed a clipboard across the desk. “Sign this, both of you, and then go on ahead. Rowan, you can show Miss Aelin everything; you know where it all is.”

Aelin signed and passed Rowan the clipboard, and he signed and handed it back to Philippa. “I’d be happy to. Thanks, Philippa.”

“Enjoy!” the older woman called, waving as the pair headed for the equipment room.

Rowan’s hand shifted to the small of Aelin’s back. “We have the range to ourselves for an hour; I convinced Philippa to let us in during what’s usually janitorial hours. Don’t worry, they don’t actually clean right now. They just use it as a built-in break.”

“How clever,” Aelin mused. “I…oh, wow!” She turned in a slow circle, sweeping her eyes over every piece of equipment that lined the neatly organized racks and walls of the equipment room. “Why didn’t my parents send me here?”

“Too afraid you’d never leave?” Rowan teased.

She swatted his shoulder playfully. “You think you’re so funny.”

“We’ll see who’s laughing when you shoot the floor.” His eyes glittered with challenge.

Aelin cracked her knuckles. “Bring it on, Robin Hood.” She perused the racks of bows, testing a few before settling on a lightweight but sturdy fiberglass recurve bow. She slung a quiver of the range’s standard blunt practice arrows over her shoulder and joined Rowan, quelling the surge of lust that flared between her legs at the sight of him with a bow slung over his shoulder.

“Satisfied with your choice, Ae?”

“Unless it performs poorly, I am.” She winked, dropping her gaze for a brief moment.

“I’ll show you poor performance,” he all but growled, leading the way into the range.

The expansive, high-ceilinged space stretched from one end of the long building to the other, with several rows of targets lined up at various distances across the turf-floored expanse. There were lines of chalk painted onto the turf, indicating where archers of different ages and heights should stand. Overhead fans blew with a low mechanical whirr, circulating the faint odor of leather and resin through the air.

Confidently, Rowan took a stance at one of the white lines, nocked an arrow, aimed his bow, took a breath, and released the arrow on the exhale. It sliced cleanly through the air and embedded itself in the tiny red bulls-eye of one of the mid-distance targets.

Aelin whistled. “Impressive.” She took her own stance three spaces away from him. “I’d tell you what that sight did to me, but then we’d never make it out of here.”

His next shot, which he’d been releasing as she spoke, shuddered and went wide, landing in an outer ring of the target. “Distraction is a cheap trick, Ae.”

“Who said this was a competition?” With a sweet smile, she shook out her arms and legs, planted her feet in a stance that her muscles had never fully forgotten—hell, who was she kidding? She’d maintained that skill, and it had come in handy more than once as she built the Boss’s empire—fitted an arrow to the taut string of her bow, aimed, and let it fly. The arrow whistled through the air and thudded cleanly into her target, exactly where she had aimed.

“Maybe it really has been too long,” Rowan teased, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looked at where her arrow had landed.

Smack dab in the middle of the wooden crossbeam from which the target hung.

“Aim a little lower next time, love,” he said, low and slow.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” she returned, a slow smirk curling her lips. She nocked another arrow and aimed again, fired on the exhale, and sent the arrow slicing straight into the bulls-eye of the target in the row behind the one she’d just shot into.

Rowan whistled in admiration. “How about a contest, Ae? A real one?” She raised her eyebrows in interest, and he continued. “We take turns picking targets, the one who’s closest gets the point, and whoever has more points at the end wins.”

“And what’s the prize?”

“Loser buys dinner.”

“That’s boring.” Her eyes sparkled with eager challenge. “If you win, you get to see what’s under this dress. Or not under it.”

He inhaled and exhaled slowly. Very slowly. “If you win, I’ll show you what you missed when you left me hard and leaking in that damn hallway at your gala.”

“Deal.” She held out her hand, he clasped it, and they shook hands, the warm heaviness of their contest settling between them with no small amount of tension. “You are going down, darling.”

“If I’m lucky, that’ll only be the beginning.” He smirked at her soft gasp. “Can’t wait to hear that sound again, love.”

“You wish.” She rolled her shoulders. “First target: the bulls-eye of that second-to-last target.” In one fluid motion, she nocked, aimed, and fired, and her arrow speared clean through the bulls-eye she’d pointed at.

Rowan whistled. “Haven’t practiced archery since you were a kid, my ass.”

“You do have a rather fine one,” she said lightly, snickering at his flustered cough.

“If you’re trying to distract me, try again.” Confidently—and dear god, the things that confidence did to her—he fired an arrow, sending it into the exact same spot she had hit. “Looks like it’s my turn to pick a target.”

“Choose wisely.”

His smirk was edged with something wild and challenging and deliciously dangerous. “Bottom left corner of the target at the hundred-meter line. Not the outer ring, the bottom left corner.” He rolled his shoulders, carefully aimed, exhaled, and released his arrow. It sang through the air and embedded into the lower left corner of the farthest target with a muted thunk.

“Impressive,” Aelin hummed. Narrowing her eyes, she carefully aimed, ignoring the sights on the bow and using her instinct to push her bow just a fraction to the right.

“You sure about that position?” Without warning, Rowan stepped up behind her and settled his hands onto her hips. “Looks like you’re aiming too far right, darling.”

She stifled the delightful tremor that shuddered through her at his closeness. “I know the path of my shots, Lieutenant.” With a bright smile, she loosed her arrow, which whistled through the air and cleanly skewered the lower left corner of the hundred-meter-away target, a good inch and a half closer to the juncture of the corner than his shot had been.

He inhaled sharply and stepped back just a smidge, but not before she’d felt the thick, hard evidence of what her shot had done to him. “I’ll have to pick a more difficult target,” he said, though there was no small amount of admiration in his voice. “Your turn.”

Aelin swept her gaze around the range, a wicked grin lifting her lips as she settled on a target. “See that target hanging up on the far wall?”

“Mhmm.” He moved to her side, sharp gaze calculating the distance. “That has to be two hundred, maybe two hundred fifty meters away.”

“There’s a chain at the top that anchors that target to the wall, which has to be padded for safety. Our target is the top link of that chain—land your shot through the chain so it goes into the wall padding.”

He stared at her in shock. “Are you insane?”

“Maybe.” She winked. “Why, are you afraid you can’t make it?”

“Why don’t you let me take the first shot to prove that I’m not afraid of anything?”

“If you want.” She stepped aside. “All yours, big boy.”

“Say that again.” His voice was a soft, gravelly rumble, laced with the kind of command that she’d only ever dreamed of hearing.

Rather than give into her fantasies and jump him right then and there, Aelin just smirked. “Make that shot, and I’ll say it again.”

“Fuck,” he murmured, mostly under his breath. He took his time lining up his shot, carefully aiming just a few inches too high to compensate for the arc the arrow would take at such a long distance. Finally, he drew back his arrow and let it fly, watching it like a hawk as it sliced through the faintly stale air of the range. The arrow arced up, then gently down, and landed with a clean thud three inches to the right of the chain suspending the target from the wall. He grinned, proud that he’d managed to get so close to the almost-impossible target. “Beat that shot, darling.”

She stepped up to the shooting line and rolled out her neck. “Let’s hope I can live up to the way I felt when I picked this target.” She took a good minute to line up her shot, her brows furrowed in deep concentration. After settling on her aim, she pulled back her arrow, took a deep breath, and released on the exhale. Her arrow whistled across the distance in a precise, beautiful arc and skewered through the second-highest link of the chain holding up the target on the far wall.

Rowan’s jaw gaped in complete shock, his eyes wide with incredulity.

Aelin sucked in a gasp, her eyes going wide as she realized that she’d made the shot. Two thoughts raced through her mind—one being fuck, what if he starts suspecting me now? and the other being I can’t fucking believe I made that shot!

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect you of being some kind of archery master,” he said, unabashed appreciation replacing the shock written all over his face. “That was fucking insane, Ae.”

She laughed quietly, still stunned herself. “I honestly don’t know how in the hell I made that.”

“I think that makes you the winner.” He looped his free arm around her waist. “And I recall something about the loser buying dinner.”

“And dessert,” she added, leaning into his side and looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

Their exit from the archery range was a blur of rapid motion and badly concealed desire, and she only blinked back into reality when they climbed into the backseat of his car and he practically lunged across the small distance between them and crashed his lips into hers.

She threaded her fingers into his hair and angled his head to deepen the kiss, her tongue tangling with his. A soft moan broke free from her throat, and he groaned in response, breaking the kiss and shifting his lips to her throat, tracking a trail of soft, hot kisses down her sensitive skin.

“No…no marks,” she managed to say. He hummed in assent and nipped lightly at her fluttering pulse point before working his way back up her throat and kissing her deeply again. She moaned into the kiss, her hips inadvertently rolling, shifting her body closer against him.

He groaned. “Aelin…” A short pause, their heartbeats so loud they could practically hear each other’s pulses. “I won’t take you in the backseat of a car this first time.”

“Why not?” She dragged one hand ever so slowly down his chest, almost reaching his throbbing erection before he caught her wrist with a growl.

“Because anyone could walk past and see us, and I don’t need an audience when I make you scream my name.”

She went silent, her slightly-swollen lips dropping in aroused surprise. “Then get me home, Lieutenant.”

A dark little smile crooked his lips. “Have I ever told you that I’ve dreamed of you using my title in bed?”

“Now you have.” She climbed into the passenger seat. “Lieutenant.”

He drove back to her apartment building with so little heed for traffic rules that she almost didn’t believe he was a cop. And when he parked and opened her door for her, the promise lighting his eyes made her knees turn to jelly.

“Nervous, Ae?” he asked as they stepped into the elevator.

“Hardly.” She pressed the button for her floor. “I recall you talking some big talk about showing me what I missed, so I’d only be nervous that you won’t last long enough to do that.”

His hands flexed against her waist, the heat of him seeping through her linen dress. “Keep saying things like that and we’ll see who doesn’t last.”

“Ah-ah, big boy.” She clicked her tongue. “Loser doesn’t get to call the shots.”

“Aelin,” he groaned, eyes fluttering closed.

“Rowan,” she echoed, giggling at his evident frustration. The elevator stopped with a ding, its door opening to Aelin’s floor. She threaded her fingers with his and led him down the hallway to her apartment, unlocked the door, and let him in. She’d just finished locking the deadbolt behind them when his hands circled her waist and his lips pressed against the back of her neck, soft but so intensely heated that she drew in a tiny gasp.

“Told you I’d hear that sound again,” he murmured into her ear.

She arched backwards, molding her body against his. “And I told you the loser doesn’t get to call the shots tonight, love.” Smoothly, she moved out of his embrace, bent down, and unfastened her heeled sandals, leaving them on the short shoe rack by the door. She strolled through the living room, mentally counting the seconds until he followed.

Five, six, seven. Seven seconds. Then Rowan kicked off his shoes, crossed the living room in four long strides, and backed her into the closest wall in another two steps.

“This doesn’t look like my bed,” she teased.

“We’ll get to that.” Cupping his hands under her ass, he hoisted her effortlessly up and kissed her, his tongue slipping between her parted lips. She groaned softly and tangled her fingers into his hair, unapologetically ruffling up the short strands as she kissed him harder, nipping at his lips, a challenge and a tease all at once.

“Gods,” she moaned as his lips worked down her neck, her hips grinding into his.

“Just me,” he mumbled into her skin.

She huffed out a breathy laugh. “How are you so funny and so hot right now?”

“Call it a special skill.” He chuckled at her wry laugh and abruptly pulled her away from the wall and down the rest of the short hallway to her bedroom, where he set her down on her feet. “Dress. Off.”

Faster than he could blink, she hooked her foot around the back of his legs and knocked him to his knees. “What did I tell you about giving me commands tonight, love?”

“Fuck me,” he breathed, cock straining at the front of his pants, probably leaving a permanent imprint of his zipper. “I didn’t know you could do that, Ae.”

“Now you do.” Her turquoise gaze trailed lazily down his body. “Clothes off, Ro.”

He yanked his shirt over his head and had his pants down to his knees before he looked up at her with a wry smirk. “Can’t exactly get my pants all the way off like this.”

She chuckled. “Here.” Leaning down, she pulled his belt out of his pants, looped it swiftly around his wrists—deliberately making the restraint very simple so that investigative brain of his wouldn’t suspect anything—and let him stand up. “Now get your pants off, love.”

“I…” His cock was practically shoving through his boxers. “My hands…”

“Don’t tell me you need your hands to get your pants off, my darling Lieutenant,” she hummed. With a wicked half-smirk, she pulled her dress up and over her head, revealing a lacy, golden bra and panties set.

It took him exactly ten seconds to kick off his pants and drop back to his knees, a desperate groan ripping from his throat as he drank in the sight of her in scraps of golden lace.

“Look at you already on your knees for me,” she cooed, sauntering across the room until she stood before him. She trailed her fingers through his hair and down his face, dancing across the intricate craftsmanship of his tattoo. “Good boy.”

“Aelin,” Rowan moaned, desperation bleeding into his tone, “please.”

“Please what?”

“Please,” he said, eyes wide and begging, “let me touch you. Let me taste you. Please.”

“Such pretty manners.” She dropped down on the end of her bed, conveniently stripping off her panties as she did, and let her legs fall open. “Only when I say so, Lieutenant.” He groaned but didn’t move, his whole body tense with the effort it took to keep in place rather than lunge for her and bury his tongue between her thighs. “Good boy,” she gasped, her head falling back as she circled her clit with her thumb, the soft touch lighting a fire in her blood. “Touch me, darling.”

She’d barely spoken the words before he yanked his hands free, launched himself forward, fell back to his knees at the end of her bed, and replaced her thumb with his.

“Fuck,” she gasped, hips jerking. “More, Ro.”

He circled her entrance with one fingertip before plunging his finger into her, the wetness that had pooled between her legs naturally slicking the digit. She moaned with pleasure, guiding him to add a second finger, and reached up to tease her nipples. His eyes went huge and pleading, and he struggled to find words before he managed to choke out a coherent thought.

“Let me taste you, Ae,” he begged. “Fucking please.”

She hummed, pretending to consider it. “Thank you for asking,” she finally said, running her free hand down his throat. “Go ahead, Ro. Put that filthy mouth of yours to work.”

Wisely, he kept his fingers moving, twisting and curling inside of her, as he buried his head between her legs and swept his tongue in a broad, strong stroke up her cunt. He circled her clit with his tongue, sucked the throbbing little bud between his lips, and groaned deeply as the taste of her exploded on his tongue.

Between his ridiculously fucking talented mouth and the headiness of ordering around the gorgeous man she’d been dreaming of since February, Aelin didn’t last long before she clamped her thighs around Rowan’s head and called out his name as she came all over his face. Her body shook as her orgasm subsided, ripples of bliss passing through her.

“Fuck me,” she sighed, her head clearing again. “That was so good, darling.”

Slowly, he lifted his head and withdrew his glistening fingers. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Oh, I want you to do much more than just that.” Languidly, she moved up the bed and stretched out against the multitude of pillows. “Take off the rest of your clothes and come here, love.”

It took him all of five seconds to tear off his boxers, revealing a thick, hard cock that made her pussy clench just thinking about how fucking amazing it was going to feel filling her up, and position himself atop her, his weight braced on his forearms so he wasn’t crushing her. “Here I am.”

“Here you are.” A softer light replaced the commanding glint in her eyes. “And here I am. What you do next is up to you, Rowan.”

He exhaled shakily, a warmth bordering on love suffusing his face. “I’ve dreamed of this since the night of that goddamn gala, Aelin.”

“Me too.” She draped one arm over his shoulder, tracing the defined planes of his upper back. “So do something about it.”

And Rowan did.

It was May 25, which made it, as Gavriel would probably scream, time to stop fucking around and start producing some concrete proof. Rowan knew he’d been putting off actually filing the evidence he’d collected, using the flimsy excuse of the amount of paperwork it would take, and he was finally having a calm enough week at Orynth PD to lock himself in his office and start the task.

He went through the homicide reports mechanically, having filed so many of them during his career that he had the process down to muscle memory. The only thing he had to consciously remember for these reports was to track the consistency of the victims’ MO’s, because that was one of the key things upon which his case rested. If he was going to get Celaena Sardothien convicted for her reign of shadow-cloaked terror—and he swore he would—he needed to make certain that he drove home the point about her preferred mode of torture-to-murder being the same.

The fact that his suspect had never been seen in person would be an obstacle, but not an insurmountable one. He had full faith that when his trap was set and baited, Sardothien would come right into its open arms.

He took a lunch break after finishing the reports, during which he allowed himself to open his personal cell phone and scroll through his and Aelin’s recent texts. He even managed to call and catch her during a break, which meant they could spend a few minutes talking. Which had him grinning like an idiot when he returned to his office.

Turning back to the evidence filing, Rowan picked up the small plastic bag containing the tiny piece of mysterious fabric. Aedion had left a copy of his analytical notes, as his explanation of the material would be just as crucial as the material itself when this case eventually came to court. Rowan flipped through the pages, noting down any key information as he filed the fabric scrap as evidence, when two separate details caught his eyes.

First, early in his initial observations, Aedion had noted that the fabric had “remarkably straight, cleanly squared edges.” Rowan turned over that thought in his head, jaw dropping when he realized the implication—the fabric had not been torn, but cut out of a larger piece.

Which left the distinct possibility that it had been planted at the explosion site.

“Fucking hell,” Rowan swore, jaw ticking as he added that note to the evidence report.

The second thing that caught his eye was towards the end of Aedion’s notes, an otherwise ordinary note about the place of manufacture. Developed at Galathynius, Inc. Laboratories. Rowan shook his head, blinked a few times, and reread the note five more times to make sure he was reading it correctly. Each time, it said the same thing.

The mysterious foreign fabric had been developed at the labs of Aelin’s beloved company.

Rowan’s mind raced a mile a minute through the possibilities of that one little note. On the extreme end, it implied that Aelin had created the fabric—which was impossible, because she’d told him herself that she had an engineering team. So perhaps her engineers had developed it? Without her knowing? But that would make no sense, since Aelin was clearly invested enough in her company to be fully aware of what was developed in her labs. So…a secret project?

Or, as Rowan began to suspect, if Celaena Sardothien was using Aelin Galathynius as a cover-up, it followed that she would have been able to use the lab and develop some kind of near-impenetrable material for her nefarious schemes.

All the more reason to end the Shadow Assassin before she decided Aelin was no longer useful.

On the unseasonably warm evening of May 30, Aelin—clad in the form-fitting black suit of Celaena Sardothien—wove her way through the shipping district, darting from shadow to shadow like a breath of nighttime breeze. A few days ago, Nox had left her a note that there had been a suspicious figure seen lurking around Warehouse 4, and because she needed to let off some steam, she’d decided to go investigate it herself. With the SecondSkin covering her true skin and her suit snug against her body, she blended into the dark little nooks and crannies of the industrial sprawl of buildings, and she made it to Warehouse 4 undetected. At the perimeter of the security cameras’ field, she tapped her boot twice against an innocuous-looking crack in the unkempt pavement, disarming the cameras temporarily.

Footsteps silent, she crept up to the steel-sided building and paced a careful lap around the structure. She’d just started a second lap when there was a faint rustle from the cluster of nearby shrubs, and a knife sliced through the night and embedded itself in her arm.

Or it would have, had she not caught it before it could make contact.

Thick, tense silence stretched across the short distance between her and whoever the fuck was hiding in the shrubbery like a damn coward.

Then, with a muffled “fuck,” a tall, muscled, black-clad male figure exploded out of the shrubs and rushed at her.

She dodged his initial brute rush, kicking out as she sidestepped and managing to get the man in the back of the leg. He grunted, reversed direction, and swung a powerful right cross punch at her, which she blocked with one forearm and returned with a left hook. He swatted away her strike, so she launched into a flurry of rapid-fire punches and strikes, distracting him enough that she was able to get in close quarters and drive one knee into the juncture of his leg and his groin. He swore viciously and retaliated with a brutal punch to her side, which made most of her breath whoosh out of her lungs.

“Dick move,” she huffed.

The man scoffed. “Says the woman who literally just kneed me in the dick.”

“Obviously you have no knowledge of anatomy.” She landed a punch to his shoulder joint and followed it up with a boot to his thigh. “Or you’d know that I kneed you in the thigh joint, idiot.”

“Nobody told me the Boss was such a smart-ass.” He smacked the small knife out of her left hand. “Now who’s not playing by the rules?”

“What rules?” With a vicious grin, she ducked his roundhouse swing and thrust her elbow into his stomach. He folded over with a groan, though he recovered rapidly. Not rapidly enough to fully dodge the high, sweeping kick she directed at his face, hitting his jaw enough to bruise and send his head jerking sideways. “There aren’t rules in this world.”

“No…shit,” he wheezed. He dodged her sudden rush and whirled around to meet her head-on again, flicking open a switchblade.

“Nice blade.” Aelin’s smirk flashed white in the blue-black darkness as she whipped twin serrated daggers from her thigh sheaths. “Little bit thuggish though, don’t you think?”

“Says the goddamn Boss.”

God, but it was fun to go into combat with someone who wasn’t afraid to dish her sarcasm right back at her. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, hmm? Pity I won’t be able to listen to it much longer.”

“That’s what you think.” He swiped at her thigh, gasping shortly when she whipped her leg up to avoid the blade. Gasping in a more strangled manner when she wrapped that leg around his neck and half-threw, half-strangled him to the ground in a single fluid, brutal maneuver that was some kind of unholy cross between martial arts and street fighting. “Fuck!”

She stomped on his wrist, forcing him to release his knife, and swiftly immobilized him, though he was a good deal taller and heavier than she was. “Any last words?” The tip of her dagger touched his pulsing jugular, eager to rip open the skin.

“Only–”

“WAIT!”

Aelin muffled a particularly colorful curse. “What the fuck, Con?!”

“Boss, wait!” Con sprinted around so he was in her view, glancing quickly at the man she had pinned to the ground. “I know him.”

“You have fifteen seconds to explain.”

Con yanked the man’s dark mask and hood off, revealing tawny skin, blonde curls, and an oddly familiar face. “Long time no see, brother.”

“Brother?”

“Boss, this is Fen.”

The blonde–who, Aelin noted, was indeed Con’s mirror image, but blonde–grinned. “Fenrys Moonbeam, at your service.”

She snorted softly. “I’ll be the judge of that. Con, is he safe?”

Con shrugged and addressed his brother. “Where have you been, Fen?”

“Evading authority, like usual.”

The dark-haired twin rolled his eyes. “He’s safe. Good eyes, good ears, talks too much but knows when to shut his stupid face.”

“All right, Fen, you’re hired. I could use another pair of eyes, and your brother could use a break, if he knows what that is.” Aelin released Fenrys and stood up, brushing off her hands.

Fen pushed himself to his feet with a groan, shaking out his cramped, sore limbs. “So the interview consists of almost dying. Got it.”

She threw him a vicious grin. “And if I decide I won’t hire a candidate, the ‘almost’ part goes away.”

“Terrifying.” He gulped. “Well, then I’ll count myself lucky.” He shook her offered hand. “Thanks for the opportunity, Boss.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing how your particular skills can be an asset.” She winked, relishing the way he shuddered ever so slightly at the obvious hint of her scheming. “I’ve been in need of a decent trespasser since the last one had an unfortunate run-in with a bullet.”

“Unfortunate, huh?”

“Very unfortunate.” She chuckled, low and dark. “He went two steps too far.”

Fenrys grimaced. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, Boss.” With a lazy mockery of a salute, he limped off beside his brother, headed for Con’s truck.

Back at his apartment that was little more than a shitty, rundown box with paper-thin walls, tucked into one of many nondescript brick apartment buildings bordering the industrial district, Fenrys Moonbeam stretched his aching body out on his crappy couch, settled an ice pack on his throbbing knee, and picked up the cellphone lying on the side table. Opening the short list of contacts, he scrolled for a moment before tapping on an icon and letting the phone ring.

The call connected just after the third ring. “Moonbeam?”

Fenrys knew better than to waste words. “I’m in, Cap.”

“Wrong title.” Rowan Whitethorn’s grunt dripped with acerbic sarcasm.

“Apologies, Lieutenant,” Fenrys simpered. “Anyway, I’m in.”

“Good.”

Click. The call went dead.

Fenrys sighed. He really should have expected Whitethorn to be as terse as his reputation suggested; the man had sent him an actual paper printout of his instructions, for fuck’s sake. At least the assignment was fairly simple.

Infiltrate Celaena Sardothien’s ring of criminals. Check.

Get into Sardothien’s good graces enough to go with her when she inevitably committed her next murder. Check…right?

Collect as much evidence as possible of the Boss’s numerous heinous crimes so the TSF could convict her and end her rampage of villainy. He was working on that.

And preferably don’t fucking die in the attempt. That last part had been spoken in Rowan Whitethorn’s famously dry voice.

No sweat.

Aching from the unexpectedly brutal fight, Fenrys Moonbeam stretched out on his shitty couch, wincing at the unpleasant feeling of every goddamn spring in the bloody couch digging into his body, closed his eyes, and dropped into shallow sleep, hyperaware that he laid exactly twelve feet atop the equally rundown, mildew-ridden apartment of Boss Celaena Sardothien.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@sunshinebingo

@hiimheresworld

#my writing #until proven guilty #criminal/investigator au #aelin the crime boss au #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass au

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highqueenofelfhame · 2 years ago

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rowaelin // 5.5k words // ciwyw masterlist // masterlist

AN: If your at starts with @secondstartorightand can you please comment on this so i can fix your tag? it somehow got cut off in the creation of my tag list and i can't find your blog lolol. ALSO, i'm sorry i update in the middle of the night. i'm nocturnal i'm sorry.

The car was barely put into park before she was throwing herself out of the driver’s seat and sprinting around the front. Aelin launched herself at her cousin, happy tears sparkling on her cheeks while joyous giggles flowed out of her. Aedion didn’t budge an inch when he caught her. His arms wrapped tightly around her middle and he squeezed so hard she thought her lungs might collapse altogether, but it didn’t matter.

“What the fuck? I thought I was picking up Lysandra!” She cried, scowling over her shoulder at the police officer shouting at her.

“You can’t park here.”

“I’m not parked, I’m picking up,” she argued, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Aedion’s hands came down on her shoulders, lightly pushing her toward the other side of the car so they wouldn’t wind up with a ticket thanks to her smart mouth. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Once they were back in the car, seatbelts on and pulling out of the maze that was the Varese airport, Aelin said, “What are you doing here?”

“Lys said you needed me. She booked my flight instead of hers. I’ll go home when she gets here next week.” Love and appreciation swelled inside her for her best friend. Of course it would have been amazing to have Lysandra here early, but the relationship she had with Aedion… the two were on a different wavelength. Save for finding out about the pregnancy, the first call she had always made upon getting big news was always him. The only reason he hadn’t been her first call when she took the pregnancy tests was because if they were positive, it felt too important to tell him over a phone call. They needed to be face to face.

“I do. I do need you,” she confessed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. Telling him about the baby settled over her body like a heavy weight. It wasn’t that she was dreading it, but she was nervous about how he might react. It could go in a million different ways, starting with Aedion hunting down Rowan Whitethorn and beating him senseless for knocking up his little sister.

“What’s going on, bub?” Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shift so he was facing her more, eyes zeroing in on her face, scanning her body. Making sure she was okay. Strings plucked at her heart like a guitar and she had to swallow the crescendo of emotions that wanted to burst out.

“I’d rather wait until we get home to get into it. But, Gods, I am so happy you’re here.”

“It’s not like, a major illness is it?” The humor was gone from his face, replaced by stern determination to fight whatever it was that plagued her.

Aelin smiled. “No. I’m okay. I’m… mostly good. There’s just so much to catch up on. Apparently a lot can happen when we’re apart for three months.”

Aedion snorted in response as he ruffled his fingers through his hair. “I’ll accept that until we’re home. After that, all bets are off and you better start talking.”

Aelin swore she would, patting his knee to placate him.

The drive back to her apartment was short and quick. Even though she lived in the historic part of downtown, Aelin had quickly discovered that she was no more than twenty minutes away from everything she would need. The airport was the furthest, but all the stores, restaurants, and nightlife a girl could want were in that radius. Not that she was in the market to have a nightlife anymore. These days she found herself tucked into bed by ten or earlier.

After the hike up the stairs to get to her door, the exhaustion from the last forty-eight hours was starting to creep into her muscles, her bones. All of her limbs were made of lead. After she broke the news and they settled in a little bit, she would reward herself with a nap. Aedion wouldn’t complain about it either after she told him about the baby. In fact, he would probably insist on it.

Aelin gave him a quick tour of the two bedroom apartment, showing him the room he would be staying in for the week. They would have to share the one bathroom, but they had shared many spaces over the last decade. It wasn’t anything new.

“Just don’t leave your hair stuck on the shower wall,” was his only request, as if he wasn’t guilty of the same crime. Long and thick hair that had a tendency to shed was hard to wash off when it adhered to her skin while wet.

Evidently, the girls had been a little too tight-lipped. The only thing Lysandra had told him was that he was needed, and Aelin hadn’t given him much to go on. By the time they settled onto the couch, the man looked like he was ready to crawl out of his skin. His hands were constantly flexing into tight fists that relaxed into flattened palms with drumming fingers, then back again. The foot that was on the floor was bouncing so hard it was shaking the couch and threatening to send Aelin into a bout of motion sickness from hell. She put her hand on his leg to make him stop, brows raised pointedly until he obeyed.

“Can you please tell me what the fuck is going on?” Every word was wrapped in distress, the waiting game spiraling him into madness. A million and one scenarios had probably been flying through his mind from the time he found out he was coming to Wendlyn. There was one thing she needed to say first, though. He could wait a few more seconds.

“I want you to know that the only reason you weren’t the first person I told is because you were the one person I needed to tell face to face. Well. There were two of you, but I’ll get to that.”

“Aelin,” he whined, leaning forward and taking her hands in his. When he noticed the tremor in them, his entire demeanor changed. Gone was the impatience, replaced by his protective nature.

Aelin’s eyes were snagged on their hands. Her’s looked so small between Aedion’s, and she wondered how tiny the baby’s would look when he held it for the first time. The thought of him holding something so tiny and pure had her eyes brimming with tears all over again.

“Hey,” he said softly, drawing her eyes back to his face with a knuckle beneath her chin. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. We’ll deal with it.”

Aelin laughed a little because it would be okay. Not just her and the baby, but Rowan, too. All of them would be fine. The road through the woods was just a little scary, is all.

“Okay,” she nodded again, using her shoulder to catch a tear that escaped. Ripping the band-aid off was the easiest route. Dancing around it would only drive them both crazy, and they were each antsy in their own way already. On the exhale of a deep, steadying breath she said, “Aedion, I’m pregnant.”

“Bullshit,” he blurted, jerking back from her. His hands never left hers, if anything his grip tightened. But he was leaning so far away that his back hit the plush armrest of the sofa. Aelin tugged until he was sitting up straight again, mouth parted in a wide ‘O.’ With shaking fingers, she reached over and pushed up on his jaw until his lips were closed.

“You’re going to drool on my pretty couch.” Though she tried to sound serious, there was no bite to her words. In fact, it was getting hard to keep her face neutral.

“You’re– you’re fucking serious?” With eyes wider than the moon he took her in, pulling their arms out to look directly at her stomach.

“You aren’t going to see anything, it’s still stupid early. And I’ve been so sick I’m probably losing weight, but… yes. You’re going to be an uncle.”

The tears he had been trying to hold back broke free of their invisible cage, sliding down his face as he pulled her to him. One of his hands cradled the back of her head as his lips pressed soft kisses to her hair over and over again. Aelin’s arms snaked tightly around his waist, her face burrowing into his shoulder.

Aelin tried not to think about it, but until she met Rowan, nothing ever made her feel more safe than being with Aedion. They grew up so close that half the time they referred to each other as their siblings. Both of them were only children and had been each other’s best friends since the day she was born. According to their parents, the first time three-year-old Aedion held Aelin when she was merely a few hours old, he made her promise after promise to always be there for her, to protect her.

When her dad taught her to ride a bike at age four, Aedion had been there, too. When the training wheels came off, he ran alongside her with one hand on the middle of the handlebars for a little extra insurance. And when she had toppled over a bump in the concrete and skinned her knee, Aedion had picked her up and carried her back to the house while promising she was going to be okay.

At age nine when she was tall enough to ride her first big roller coaster, he was the one that rode with her. The entire time he kept her hand tightly in his, reassuring her that it was going to be so much fun, that she would feel like she was flying, and if she was scared she didn’t have to let go of his hand. They spent the rest of the day running ahead of their parents to get in line for everything she was tall enough to ride and if it only sat two at a time, he sat with her and their parents fell in line behind them.

When she was sixteen and experienced her first heartbreak, he drove home from college that weekend. They laid in her bed until she had it all cried out, Aedion making violent promises to break all of the boy’s bones if he ever so much as breathed in her direction ever again. There was a steady supply of chocolate truffles and popcorn while they watched every silly rom-com she wanted. When he left to go back to school, he’d promised her she was going to be okay.

At age twenty-two, when he found out the depth of her college sweetheart’s mental and emotional abuse, Aedion managed to keep his emotions under a careful lock and key when she showed up on his doorstep with nowhere to go. As she grieved over the loss of herself and the relationship, he was a steadying presence that refused to let her tumble into darkness on her own. On the bad days, he was there to make it better. Nearly every day for several months he promised she was going to be okay.

It took some time, but she was okay. Even on the days she felt like she might completely crumble, his pinky promises when they were children held true. Aelin was going to be okay. It didn’t matter what happened, what life threw at her, she was going to be just fine.

Aelin tried not to think about Rowan, how the safety of his arms had felt impenetrable the way that Aedion’s did. Not even her father had made her feel quite as protected as Aedion had. It wasn’t to say that he wasn’t a good father– Rhoe was the best father a girl could ever dream of having. There was just something different about the connection she had with Aedion. Now it was extended to Rowan, and she didn’t know what that meant.

When they finally pulled away with red faces and puffy eyes, Aedion was smiling so widely it was making her cheeks hurt because she wore a grin to match. His thumbs brushed her tears away, both of them exhaling so shakily it resulted in laughter.

“This is good?”

“It’s good. It’s… scary as all hell, but I think it’s good. It still doesn’t feel real. I haven’t had any scans yet, just a blood test because I was so sick. Lys made me go to the hospital for fluids when I couldn’t keep anything down. Then there’s the two dozen pregnancy tests under the bathroom sink. The throwing up has been the worst, though. Which shouldn’t even be called morning sickness, by the way. This shit hits me at all hours of the day without being provoked.” Aelin hadn’t thrown up since the day before, but she wasn’t going to jinx it by saying so out loud. It had a mind of its own and a vengeance against her.

The depth of how badly she wanted to tell him hit her then. The way the words just poured out of her lips in a steady stream made it so glaringly obvious that this was exactly what she needed. She wasn’t sure she could have gone much longer with a secret so hefty.

The muscles at his jaw rippled beneath his skin from the force of his clenching. Even the grip he had on her hands tightened further, almost to the point of hurting while he made peace with himself that he couldn’t protect her from being sick because of the baby. Something flickered through his eyes and it made her sigh as she said, “Go ahead and ask.”

“Who is the father.” The short, clipped tone had her fighting off another smile as he added, “And what is his degree of involvement, because if he isn’t–”

“Relax, bub. We had a moment after I told him where things were… rough to say the least. Yes, he upset me. No, he didn’t mean to.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” His lips were bracketed with tension.

“You know that soccer player from Doranelle, Rowan Whitethorn?” She tried to make it sound nonchalant and dismissive. Partially because he wasn’t really soccer’s most famous athlete when they were together. He was just Rowan.

“What the hell does a living soccer god have to do with this?” The genuine confusion cloistered amongst his features made her bite her lip to keep from smiling. Gods, it was so good to have him back.

“I’m going to let you sit on that and connect the dots while I get some water.” Aelin patted his knee as she rose and walked to the kitchen. She was halfway there when he gasped.

“No fucking way!”

“Yes fucking way. That’s how it happened actually,” she called, swiping a bottle from the fridge and returning to the couch. His face was torn between pure excitement and disbelief. For the thousandth time in the last hour or so, she laughed.

“Rowan Whitethorn is one of the best soccer players to ever live, Aelin. I know you don’t care about it but he’s– I had posters of him on my dorm walls in college. I met him before the game I played against Doranelle and told him that he’s my hero, and– wait.” The excitement dropped from his face, eyes narrowing slightly. “What the fuck did he say that upset you?”

Aelin sunk back against the cushions with a heavy sigh, taking a long drink before getting into that mess. Her brother’s gaze didn’t once waver from her face, looking for any indication that he needed to get in her car and go kick somebody’s ass. It was sweet. Funny as hell, but sweet. Part of her would pay to see that fight, though. It could go either way depending on who wanted the win more.

“I found out yesterday that he had a situation a while back where someone he was sleeping with got pregnant and tried to milk him for all he was worth. And then told him she miscarried, and he found out weeks later that she lost the baby well before she even told him about it. It’s even more convoluted than it sounds, but when I first told him he asked if I was doing it for money. Whether he meant if I’d gotten knocked up or was lying about it, I still don’t know. He knew the truth when I told him, but went into self-defense mode. Anyway, I–”

“Why the fuck would you be doing it for money?”

“Well… He didn’t know who I was. Obviously I did it on purpose the first few times we hung out, but after that it just got to a point where it didn’t come up? So he didn’t know. But don’t worry, I plan on giving him shit about it for the rest of my natural life. Once I die, I’ll give him the occasional spook, too.”

“This isn’t funny, Aelin,” Aedion said flatly, lips pressed so tightly together they had disappeared.

“It isn’t,” she agreed. “But I’m pretty sure he’s willing to grovel for my forgiveness until we both die. Don’t worry, I’m going to make him work for it.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, bumping their knees together.

“I didn’t even know who he was until after he accused me, and–” Aelin was cut off by an abrupt cackle that startled her so badly she splashed water on herself. She scowled at Aedion, smacking him in the shoulder.

“What the fuck do you mean you didn’t know who he was?!” Incredulity dripped from every letter and matched his expression perfectly. Aedion was gaping like a fish. “He’s the most famous soccer player– no, forget soccer. The man is probably the most famous living athlete right now, period.”

“He told me he was a high school soccer coach! I didn’t think we were both lying about who we were!” She cried. Aedion’s whole body shook as he laughed at her. Even as she hit him again, she was fighting off laughter of her own.

“How did you find out the truth?”

“Lys wanted to know what he looked like. So she just googled a few key words hoping for a news article about his team or something. Lo and behold, it was him in his stupid blue jersey looking fine as hell even while drenched in sweat.” Aelin chuckled, shaking her head. ��I’m sure mom, dad, and grandpa will all be thrilled I’ve made my way back into the soccer world.”

“If your baby isn’t a soccer prodigy by the time they can walk, Rowan should request a paternity test.” Aelin punched his bicep as hard as she could. Aedion howled with laughter as he rubbed at the hurt. She was hoping to leave a nasty bruise.

“He’s the only guy I’ve been with in…” Aelin puffed out her cheeks, eyes narrowing as she stared out the window to backtrack on her love life. When she came up empty handed on a time frame her lips morphed into a frown. “That’s so embarrassing I’m not even going to go down that rabbit hole.”

“Have you talked to him about Sam?” All of the joy from the morning was blown to tiny pieces. The blood in her veins thickened, turning into ice and making her shiver.

“I’m going to need a nap if we’re going to talk about that,” she declared, rising to her feet and heading toward her bedroom.

“We’re talking about this later,” he shouted after her, and she merely waved him off with the flick of her wrist. For that discussion, she needed to be fully rested with a full belly of chocolate hazelnut cake.

Just before she rolled over to go to sleep, Aelin checked her phone. A text was immediately fired off to Lysandra reading BITCH! I’m too hormonal for a surprise like this!!! Which was quickly followed up with I love you. Thank you.

Before allowing herself to drift into the waiting arms of unconscious bliss, she opened her message thread with Rowan. A text had come through an hour ago, likely just after he woke up. The idea that he texted her to start off his day did things to her that she wasn’t willing to face.

>> Just checking in. You didn’t let me know you got home safe last night.

It was hard to ignore her emotions when he did shit like that. They hadn’t parted on the most outstanding terms. She could have forgiven him and they could have gone back to how things were. Instead she told him she needed space, told him not to touch her in that way because it had sparked things that she wanted to ignore for now. There was so much to process and there was no room for error.

It was such a casual intimacy, him brushing her hair out of her face. In another world where he hadn’t stomped on her trust like a twig, he would have been kissed for it. Everything about the way he just looked at her, for gods sake, sent sparks exploding through her. Aelin knew she couldn’t let her emotions lead her on this. It had backfired before, and she couldn’t let it happen again. Like she had told Lysandra, she just needed to be sure about him.

Still, she felt a little guilty for not telling him she made it home okay.

<< Hi, sorry. Safe and sound, don’t worry. Had an early morning and now I’m going back to sleep for a bit. I’ll let you know if I start dying.

<< That was a joke. I’m entirely fine. Please don’t speed down here like a bat out of hell.

Her thumbs hovered anxiously over the screen, the blinking cursor mocking her. It was weird how quickly things had gone from amazing to awkward between them. Making jokes seemed weird when they still had things to work through and talk about.

Worse than the awkward tension that had settled over them like a fresh winter’s snow, she wanted to tell him that Aedion was in town. That she wanted them to officially meet. Not as two athletes, but just as people. Maybe crowded around a table at the Neon Moon, the two of them spouting off soccer stats and reliving match highlights from World Cup games.

That scared her. It made her stomach turn and her ribs constrict until it hurt. It filled her muscles with sand and made it hard to move. Aelin didn’t want to think about what that meant, so she didn’t tell him about Aedion, didn’t mention how much she wanted them to meet and get along. Instead, she sent a much simpler text before she rolled over and fell asleep.

<< I hope you have a good day.

~*~

The sun was setting and casting a beautiful golden glow over the city as Aelin and Aedion walked arm in arm down the street. What was supposed to be a few hour nap turned into a full seven hour sleep, but her cousin didn’t complain. After freshening up with a shower, she made quick work of a little makeup and an outfit she felt good about herself in. Lately all she had been wearing to the office was leggings and oversized shirts.

Aelin dragged Aedion down the sidewalk with their final location just around the corner. Tonight the pair were taking on the Neon Moon. She knew that he was going to love everything about it. The gritty but slightly sophisticated feel of it reminded her so much of the Staghorn back home, and Aedion loved finding hidden gems like this one. On the rare occasion that they had been able to travel together, their main goal was always finding the coolest bars and cocktail lounges in every city. The only difference was that tonight, and for the next several months, Aelin wouldn’t be running up the tab with him.

It was a good night to be here. The crowd was to be expected on a Sunday evening, but it wasn’t too noisy. There was a small table back in the far corner that she was quick to grab while he gathered their drinks at the bar. Aedion would no doubt come back with some sort of bourbon cocktail for himself and either a water or a mocktail of sorts for her to sip on while they waited for food.

A pretty waitress swiftly stopped by the table and Aelin immediately put in an order for soft pretzel nuggets and beer cheese. It had always been one of her favorite snacks, and over the last few weeks she found that she could almost always keep the pillowy bites down. Baby seemed to like those, which was great, because they were her favorite thing at the Neon Moon.

“You’re right about the Staghorn vibe,” Aedion said as he slid into the chair across from her. “I definitely get that.”

“This is where I met Rowan.” She pulled the fruity looking beverage from his hands, smiling a little when the flavor of lavender exploded across her tongue. It was nothing crazy, just a simple ginger ale with lavender syrup added, but it had become her go-to when she stopped in. Something about the lavender and ginger soda soothed her rioting belly. Plus, it was absolutely delicious. Connall must have seen her come in with Aedion if he knew to make it for her.

“What was he doing in Varese?”

“Friends. He has an apartment here, too. He says it’s easier to be low-key here than it is in Doranelle,” she shrugged and took another drink. “Fenrys Moonbeam’s twin brother Connall owns the pub. We’re friends, I think.”

“You and Fenrys or you and Connall?” Aedion’s eyes were scanning the room, checking out all the decorations that lined the walls.

“Connall. I’m assuming he made the drinks because I ask for this every time I come in.”

“I knew he looked familiar,” Aedion half-mumbled to himself. Aelin smiled, but it faltered when his eyes widened in the direction of the bar. Her stomach flipped and she started silently praying to the gods that she wasn’t going to look over and see Rowan sitting at the bar.

But it wasn’t Rowan that caught Aedion’s attention. It was a golden-haired man who looked just as surprised as Aedion did, though his full lips were starting to twist into a smirk. His long curls were wild, falling around his shoulders in ringlets. One side was tucked behind his ear, completely exposing one half of his perfectly chiseled face. The man was beautiful. There was no other word in the dictionary to describe him.

He looked so much like Connall, Fenrys’s coloring seemed to add a little more life to his face. She had ample time to take him in as he made a beeline for their table, an amber beer bottle in hand. While Connall was all dark shadows and whispered promises in a dimly lit room, Fenrys was life that came directly from the sun. His skin was a darker shade of brown than his brother’s, probably from spending so much time outside soaking up the sun’s rays during practice. And though his eyes were just as dark of an onyx as his twin’s, Fenrys’s seemed to glow as they settled on her face.

Before she had time to fully process what was happening, Fenrys had grabbed a chair and pulled it right up beside hers. He plopped down, their thighs nearly touching. The table shook when he dropped his elbow onto it, his chin resting on his first as he looked directly at Aelin.

“I have been absolutely dying to meet you,” he drawled, eyes jumping over every inch of her face. Aelin couldn’t help it. She started smiling, too.

“Fenrys.” Not a question. This was definitely the fair side to Connall’s dark coin.

“The assistant coach, at your service,” he winked, that cocky smirk never leaving his mouth. Her laugh was involuntary, lighting up the dim corner they sat in. Aedion looked lost, but Fenrys’s dark eyes pulled from her just long enough to look at him and extend his free hand. Everything about the man had a relaxed and almost giddy air about him. “Aedion Ashryver, it’s a pleasure to meet you. How’s your knee these days? I was bummed as hell about your injury.”

Aedion shook his hand, shrugging one shoulder, “Twinges when the weather is bad and gets achy in the winter, but doesn’t give me too much trouble. The pleasure is mine, by the way. Huge fan.”

“And I of you.” The interaction made her feel lighter somehow. There were times when Aedion still got extremely upset about his knee, especially if it was brought up in the context of how great his career could have been. This was one of the times where she didn’t sense an impending doom spiral. She would have to thank Fenrys for addressing it tastefully when Aedion wasn’t listening.

Fenrys’s eyes turned back to Aelin, cheek still squished against his fist. Up close she noticed little wrinkles around his eyes like he spent so much time laughing that it carved little canyons and valleys into his skin. Rowan always called him a pain in the ass, but she had a feeling it had more to do with jokes and teasing comments than anything else. Good. Rowan needed that in his life, even if it was in the form of annoyance.

“Whitethorn has been gatekeeping you. I’ve been begging for an introduction because anybody that can draw him out of his constant state of brooding is worth meeting.” Fenrys paused, his eyes dipping down to her fingertips that rested against her belly. “Congratulations, I think?”

“Thank you. I’m happy about it. A little more every day,” she confessed, brushing her thumbs in abstract shapes over her t-shirt.

“I know he said something stupid–” Aelin cut him off with a snort. Calling it stupid was an understatement, but the mirth in Fenrys’s eyes told her that he was well aware. “How much are you going to make him pay for it?”

“I’m nowhere near done, if that gives you any indication.” It wasn’t that she wanted to be mean to Rowan. It was just that there was no parallel universe where she wasn’t a little brash. Teasing was her second language. Aedion had frequently called it her love language, and he wasn’t wrong. It was almost like a test of sorts. An initiation. If he couldn’t weather the jokes and smart-ass remarks, they weren’t meant to have a relationship beyond co-parenting their child.

One of the biggest red flags she ever ignored was Sam not understanding or approving of her humor. The way he had made her swallow everything down and bottle up her personality until she was merely a shell of herself and couldn’t even pretend around her family anymore had been a mental battle she lost. It wasn’t the worst of everything she went through with him, but Aelin wasn’t going to lose herself again. Not for a man. Not even because they had to raise a baby together. That could be done at arms length with minimal contact unless necessary.

Fenrys was grinning at her, completely ignorant to the dark spiral she had just been on. Something like mischief danced in his eyes as he said, “What would you say if I had an idea to make him squirm?”

“For your own enjoyment, or ours?” Aedion asked warily. Always the protective big brother making sure nobody was laughing at Aelin’s expense.

“Why not both? I’m team Aelin. And if it’s a hard divorce, she wins my custody. Whitethorn was a dumbass and a little joke won’t kill him. It might take a few years but he’ll start laughing about it eventually.” Fenrys gave a dismissive wave through the air. The relaxed nature of him made her lean back a little in her chair. While Connall was easy going in all of their interactions, Fenrys was the amplified version. What would it take for him to snap about something? Going off first impressions, it seemed like a lot.

Fenrys was looking at her expectantly, almost hopefully. Like he somehow knew about the sass and swagger she liked to carry for a security blanket. He felt like a kindred spirit, and Aelin liked it. If things went sideways she just might have a shiny new friend to get her through it when her family couldn’t be by her side.

So Aelin smiled at him and leaned forward, bracing her arms on the table. Across from them, Aedion swore quietly. He’d been on the receiving end of her bullshit for twenty-five years. By the looks of it, she had just met someone that would stoke that fire into a roaring flame. Whether he was cursing the chaos the pair of them would bring upon Rowan, or hoping that it didn’t turn on him eventually, she wasn’t sure.

Either way, Aelin was so in.

“What do you have in mind?”

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