Page 97 of Song of the Dark Wood

Rowan welcomed the noise. It was the first sign that he felt anything at all.

“You know I’ve heard you play before,” she said.

“Of course—when you were spying,” Conor said dryly.

“So why are you nervous?”

“Because this matters. It’s—” He licked his lips. “I’ve never been good with words, but you asked what you were to me.When I see you, this is what I hear. This is what I think of. This is what my fear sounds like, Rowan. You told me that I sound like stillness to you, but this is what you sound like to me.”

He started to play.

Rowan didn’t realize she was holding her breath until he’d been playing for a full minute and her chest began to burn. The music was beautiful—lovely and tinkling in some moments and loud and bold in others. It swelled and crested and soared, all while a strange melancholy thrummed through it. There were lines that sounded like the frenzied longing in the breathless kisses they shared, the sharp fury she felt when she first stood up to him in the garden, and the true contentment she’d felt when he danced with her in the greenhouse. It was a song of joy and hurt and savage longing.

Beyond the song, Conor looked pained as he laid all of his feelings bare. She could clearly hear his struggle in the music, and she was stunned at how closely it mirrored her own. She didn’t realize she was crying until he stopped playing and looked at her, startled by the sight of her wet cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Rowan closed the space between them and pulled his lips to hers. She kissed him with everything in her, climbing into his lap and running her fingers through his hair. He only hesitated a moment before wrapping his arms around her, crushing her against his body.

It felt so good to be held like that—like he never wanted to let go. If he kept doing it, she might never want him to—she would lose herself.

She could not afford to forget who he was and what he meant to her—destruction.

Rowan brushed a hand over the sheath on her thigh. She brought his hands to her breasts so he wouldn’t notice it. She didn’t want to give him any reason to stop kissing her.

Conor pulled back breathlessly. “I take it you liked the song? I must admit this is the best review of my music I’ve ever had.”

“Yes, you could say that.” She cupped his face in her hands. “Conor, it was so beautiful.”

His face grew solemn, and he looked at her with reverence. “I know—” He swallowed hard. “I know what you think—that you’ll disappear…but Rowan, I’ll remember you. Rest assured that you’ve left a permanent impression on me. I’ll never stop hearing that song. I’ll never stop playing it. I’ll never stop wanting to hear it.”

Rowan blinked away tears. It was so beautiful and personal. He spoke directly to her deepest fear. It was far from a profession of love, but it was, perhaps, the only kindness the god of death could offer her. They were who they were. He could no more stop wanting to devour her than she could stop being drawn to him.

It’s just magic that weaves us together. That makes me feel this way,she tried to remind herself. But still, her heart raced as he kissed the tears from her cheeks.

She needed to end this now. She needed to kill him tonight. If she got any closer, she’d never be able to detangle herself. Even as she tried to convince herself it wasn’t the case, she felt herself growing roots in a life there in Wolf’s Keep.

She liked the quiet darkness of the space. She loved her garden. She loved Conor’s music and playing chess with him.

But Conor had said it himself: the only thing there for her was death. She couldn’t build a life where everyone else’s ended, and she could not protect Aeoife unless she killed Conor and the Mother made a new bargain with a new god of death.

Her hands trembled where they rested on Conor’s chest, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to summon courage. She needed to end him before she lost her nerve.

She blinked her eyes open. “Take me to that bed right now.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Rowan, I?—”

“Don’t say no. I want you to. I want this. I get to choose nothing about my life. Let me choose this. I want you. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” he gritted out.

“I know, but I have to choose to trust someone eventually, and you’ve been nothing but honest with me.”

Conor squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers digging into her hips, then opened them and laughed. “Demon’s breath, you are stubborn.”

She had to push it. She hiked up her dress and unsheathed the dagger. “I want?—”

Conor sucked in a breath and froze, his gaze trained on the blade. His eyes became incandescent. “Whatdoyou want?”

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