"Nobody asks for Hollow Vale," he said, leaning in closer. His shoulder brushed mine, and the contact sent a jolt of electricity through me that made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. "But you're here. And the shadows are already starting to gather around you like they recognize the scent of your grief."
I swallowed hard, my throat feeling tight and dry despite the whiskey. "You talk like the town is alive."
"It is," he whispered, his face so close I could see the individual flecks of grey in his irises. "And it's hungry. You shouldn't be here alone. Not with whatever you brought in your luggage."
I didn't know him, didn't even know his name, but I could feel the pull of him, a magnetic force that was stronger than my fear. He reached out, his hand resting on the bar inches from my own. I watched the way the shadows seemed to bleed from his skin onto the wood, creeping toward me.
"I'm Rowan," he said, the name sounding like a warning. He looked at me, waiting, and the silence stretched until I realized he was asking without asking.
"Oleander," I said. It felt like handing a stranger a knife and trusting him not to use it. The way he repeated it just once,under his breath, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It sounded like a violation and a prayer all at once.
"You're going to want to finish that drink, Oleander. Because we're leaving."
I looked at his hand, then back up at his face. The part of me that wanted to survive, the part that Liliana kept trying to reach over the phone, told me to run. To get out of the bar, out of the town, and never look back. But the part of me that was tired of being numb, the part that was drowning in the silence of that empty apartment, was already reaching for the glass.
four
ROWAN
I noticed him the second he stepped through the heavy timber door of the bar. He wasn't loud or aggressive. He was just a man in a dark coat with hair that looked like he’d been fighting the wind, but the moment he crossed the threshold, the air in the room didn't just shift.
He sat at the far end of the bar and ordered whiskey and drank it with a focus that looked like erasure, like he was trying to dissolve his own edges until there was nothing left for the world to snag on. I stayed in my corner, watching him through the veil of my hair for the better part of an hour before I moved.
Up close, he smelled like rain and the faint, cloying scent of expensive cologne that didn't belong to him. It was a dead man’sscent, a ghost’s perfume, clinging to the wool of his coat like a desperate hand. And when I all but told him we were leaving, I didn't have to look back to know he was following me.
The air in his apartment was stagnant, thick with the smell of old paper and that same sweet, suffocating cologne. As soon as the door clicked shut, the silence felt like it was waiting for us to make a mistake.
He stood in the middle of the small living room, his coat still on, looking like a man standing on a ledge. I didn't give him time to think, to rationalize, to let the guilt catch up with his heartbeat. I stepped into his space, my hands finding the lapels of that heavy coat and shoving it off his shoulders until it hit the floor with a dull thud.
"Rowan," he whispered, and it was the first time he'd said my name. It sounded like a prayer and a curse. I grabbed the back of his neck, my thumb tracing the line of his jaw until I forced his head back, making him look at me. He was shaking, a vibration that went right into my palms, his breath hitching in a way that told me he’d been starving for a touch that didn't feel like an anchor.
I kissed him then, with the kind of bruising intent that demanded he stay right here, in this moment, instead of drifting back into whatever grave he’d been digging for himself.
He tasted like cheap whiskey and expensive grief. His hands fumbled with my shirt, his frantic movements uncoordinated, as if he couldn't get close enough fast enough. I stripped him at the same time, my hands leaving heat behind on his pale skin.
He was lean, almost fragile-looking in the dim light of the room, but there was a resilience in the set of his shoulders that I hadn't expected. I guided him to the bedroom and pushed him back onto the bed, his eyes going wide as he took me in. He looked at my body like he was seeing a storm front approaching,and for the first time that night, the shadows in the room didn't just pool; they began to crawl.
"Look at me, Oleander," I commanded, pinning his wrists above his head. I needed him present. I needed him to see me, not the memory of whoever had owned this room before. His chest was heaving, his brown eyes dark with a desperation that was almost painful to witness. I slid my hand down, my fingers fisting in his dark curls before moving lower, tracing the line of his ribs down to where he was already hard and leaking, his body betraying his mind’s attempt to stay numb.
He let out a broken sound when I touched him, a sob caught in the back of his throat that he tried to swallow down.
"Don't," I muttered against his neck, my teeth grazing the pulse point there. "Don't hide it. Give it to me." I let go of his wrists, and he immediately wrapped his legs around my waist, pulling me in with a strength that surprised me.
I moved my hand between us, my thumb circling the head of his cock, and he arched off the bed, his back bowing as he gasped my name into the crook of my shoulder. He was so wet, his cock already slick and aching. Gathering up the precum there, I dipped my fingers lower to circle around his hole, knowing full well that this was going to be rough and fast.
I paused, waiting for his permission, Oleander pushing back against my barely slicked up fingers. “Please.”
I started by pushing just one finger inside of him, roughly openly him up. By the time I was able to slide two fingers inside him, he came undone, his head thrashing against the pillow.
I watched him as I worked my fingers into him, stretching him slowly. I wanted him to feel every inch of the intrusion. I wanted to be the only thing in his head. He was tight, clenching around me with every shallow breath, his ass pulsing with a need that felt like it was echoing through the floorboards. I added a third finger, and he cried out, a raw, jagged sound that filled theroom. The shadows on the wall seemed to ripple at the noise, thickening into shapes that weren't quite human, but I couldn’t look away from him.
"I want you inside me," he choked out, his nails raking down my back. "Please, Rowan. Fuck, just... make me forget. Make it stop." There was a frantic edge to his voice, a begging for oblivion that I recognized all too well.
I reached over the side of the bed into my pocket for a condom, before ripping the packet open with my teeth, and sliding it down my cock. Then I guided my length to his opening. He gave in easily as I pushed in, slowly at first, wanting to feel him give way under me. He was so fucking tight, his ass stretching to accommodate the thickness of my cock, and I groaned as the heat of him swallowed me whole.
I buried myself in him, inch by agonizing inch, until I was fisted against his pelvis. A thin groan pulled from him that broke into a moan as I stayed still, letting him adjust to the weight of me. He was trembling so hard I thought he might shatter, his eyes clamped shut, his hands fisting in the sheets until the fabric groaned. Then, I began to move. I pulled out nearly all the way before slamming back into him, my cock hitting his prostate with a force that made his back bow off the bed
"Yes," he gasped, his legs locking around my back, pulling me deeper. "Right there. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
