Chapter 5

POV Liora 

I woke to breathing that wasn’t mine.

It was slow. Too slow. Each inhale sounded like a decision rather than instinct, like his body had to be reminded to keep going.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I stared at the cracked ceiling while early night pressed against the windows, the city’s glow bleeding faintly through the curtains. My apartment smelled like iron and ash and something old—magic that didn’t belong to me.

Then I heard it again.

A shallow breath. A pause. Another.

He was awake.

I sat up quietly and crossed the room, my heart pounding so hard I was sure it would give me away. The cot creaked as he shifted, iron chains whispering softly against the frame.

His head turned.

One eye opened.

Not bright. Not furious.

Dim.

That terrified me more than anger ever could.

His skin had gone ashen, the sharp planes of his face hollowed, as if something vital had been carved out from the inside. The wound in his abdomen no longer smoked, but the bandages were soaked through with blackened blood. His lips were cracked, dry.

Starving.

He looked at me like it took effort.

“…Where,” he rasped, the word breaking apart in his throat, “am I?”

“In my apartment,” I said quietly. “In Kraithan.”

Confusion flickered across his face before instinct snapped back into place. His gaze sharpened just slightly. He tugged once at the chain on his wrist—not hard. Testing.

It held.

A breath escaped him. Almost a laugh. “Of course.”

Mae stood behind me, silent and rigid, ready to bolt or stab—possibly both.

He swallowed. It looked painful.

“How long?” he asked.

“Long enough for you to still be alive,” I said. “Barely.”

His eye drifted to my hands. Then to my throat.

The hunger hit the room like a pressure drop.

I stepped back without meaning to.

He noticed.

His eye closed slowly, jaw tightening as if he were physically forcing something back inside himself.

“…Blood,” he said.

Not a demand.

A fact.

Mae sucked in a sharp breath. “Absolutely not.”

He didn’t look at her. His focus stayed on me, heavy and unsettling.

“If I don’t feed,” he said hoarsely, “I won’t heal. And if I don’t heal… I die.”

I crossed my arms. “That’s supposed to make me care?”

His mouth twitched faintly. “No. It’s supposed to make you practical.”

I hated that it worked.

“What kind of blood?” I asked.

His eye opened again, surprise flickering before he masked it. “…Human.”

Mae hissed. “Liora.”

“I’m not agreeing,” I said quickly. “I’m asking.”

His gaze dropped briefly, something like shame—or calculation—passing over his face.

“Animal blood would slow the bleeding,” he admitted. “But it won’t restore me. Not like this.”

“And you expect us to just offer a wrist?” Mae snapped.

Rowan exhaled shakily. “I don’t expect mercy.”

For the first time, he looked… tired.

Not weak.

Worn down.

“I expect a bargain,” he said. “Because you didn’t drag me out of the street just to watch me die.”

Silence stretched between us.

My pulse roared in my ears.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He hesitated.

Long enough to matter.

“…Rowan.”

The name settled into the room like a weight.

I studied him, then nodded once. “You want blood?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t touch anyone without permission. You don’t hunt. You don’t lie.”

A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth. “You’re not in a position to make rules.”

I stepped closer, close enough that he could smell my fear—and my resolve.

“You’re chained to my bed,” I said softly, “bleeding out, and asking me for help.”

Our eyes locked.

Finally, he nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “Name your price.”

Outside, Kraithan breathed on, unaware.

Inside my apartment, I stared at the monster I’d dragged home and realized something terrible and undeniable.

This wasn’t just an opening.

This was the moment everything started to change.

Mae broke the silence first.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, already pulling on her boots.

I turned. “Mae—”

“Relax,” she added, flashing me a grin over her shoulder. “I’m not bleeding for him.”

The door shut before I could argue.

Rowan watched it close.

Then he looked at me.

“You trust her,” he said quietly.

“I trust her to survive,” I replied. “That’s not the same thing.”

His mouth twitched faintly. “It usually is.”

Minutes stretched thin. The city hummed beyond the walls, distant laughter, carriage wheels, magic flickering somewhere far below. Rowan lay still, conserving what little strength he had left, his breathing shallow but controlled.

He was starving.

I could feel it in the air.

When the door finally opened, Mae slipped back inside like she’d just completed a casual errand. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, eyes bright with something close to triumph.

She held something behind her back.

“You’re not going to like this,” she told me cheerfully.

Then she stepped forward and revealed it.

A rat.

Big. Gray. Very much alive.

It squirmed weakly in her grip, pink tail flicking, tiny heart beating fast enough that even I could hear it.

Mae smiled like she’d brought home flowers.

“Found him near the trash bins,” she said. “Bold little bastard. Tried to bite me.”

She crossed the room and held it out toward Rowan.

“Dinner.”

For the first time since he woke, Rowan’s control cracked.

His breath hitched. His eye darkened, hunger flashing sharp and ugly across his face. His fingers twitched against the chain, nails biting into his palms.

Then he stopped himself.

Slowly, deliberately, he looked away.

“Animal blood,” he said, voice tight. “You didn’t have to.”

Mae raised an eyebrow. “You asked for blood. You didn’t specify quality.”

I snorted despite myself.

Rowan glanced at me, something unreadable in his gaze. “You’re offering me scraps.”

I met his eyes. “You’re still alive because of scraps.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, carefully, like accepting an insult with dignity, he nodded.

Mae stepped closer, placing the rat gently into his free hand.

“Don’t worry,” she said lightly. “If you puke, I’m not cleaning it up.”

Rowan almost smiled.

Almost.

He closed his eyes, jaw tightening, and fed.

The room filled with the sharp scent of blood—thin, animal, nothing like the hunger clawing inside him—but color returned faintly to his skin. His breathing steadied. The worst of the edge dulled.

When it was done, Mae took the remains without comment and wrapped them away.

Rowan opened his eyes again, exhaustion heavy but no longer drowning him.

“…Thank you,” he said quietly.

Mae shrugged. “Don’t make me regret it.”

I watched him closely as the hunger settled back into something manageable.

It wasn’t mercy.

But it was enough.

For now.