Chapter 111: An Hour of Now
The walk back to the Mikaelson Inn felt different. The city's night sounds, the chill in the air, the weight of the imminent dawn and all it would bring, they were still there, but they were background noise. A dull hum behind a single, bright, thrumming thought.
Gwen. One hour.
I pushed through the familiar door. The common room was moderately busy, a low murmur of conversation and the clink of Erik's bottles. He was at the far end, talking to a supplier. He caught my eye as I entered, gave me a slow, appraising look that seemed to take in my slightly less-tense posture, and then a barely perceptible nod. He knew. Of course he knew. The man missed nothing in his own domain.
I went straight upstairs, my boots heavy on the wooden steps. My room was as I'd left it, simple and spare. The bed, the small table, the washbasin, the pack in the corner already half-stuffed with the generic travel gear I'd collected. I looked at the pack and for a moment, the shadow of Fort Defal, the twins' smirking faces, the glowing countdown, all tried to crowd back in.
I shut them out.
I lit the single oil lamp on the table, casting a warm, wavering circle of light. I poured water from the pitcher into the basin, splashed my face. The cold water was a shock, washing away the last of the Guild Hall's dusty, tense atmosphere. I ran wet hands through my hair, not caring how it looked, just needing to feel present, in this room, in this moment.
I straightened the rough blanket on the bed. I moved the pack into the corner, out of sight. There was a nervous energy in my hands, an anticipation that had nothing to do with dread and everything to do with a different kind of pulse.
Then I waited.
Time, usually a tyrant measured in survival percentages and mission clocks, became a slow, sweet torture. Every creak of the floorboards in the hall, every distant laugh from below, made my heart jump. I sat on the edge of the bed, then stood, then paced the few steps the room allowed.
When the soft knock finally came, it was so precise and quiet I almost didn't hear it over the beating of my own heart.
I crossed the room in two strides and opened the door.
She stood there, no longer in her guild receptionist's neat attire. She wore a simple, dark dress that clung to her curves, and a light shawl was draped over her shoulders. Her crimson hair was down, a waterfall of fire against the dim hallway, and her face, free of its professional mask, was lit with a small, knowing smile.
"You made it," I said, my voice softer than I intended.
"I said I would," she replied, her green eyes holding mine. "Are you going to leave me standing in the hallway? Scandalous rumors start that way."
I stepped back, holding the door open. She slipped inside, the scent of ink and parchment replaced by something lighter, like night blooming flowers. I closed the door and turned the simple lock. The click was final, sealing us in our own private world.
The room felt smaller with her in it, charged in a way it never had before.
"So," she said, turning to face me, leaning back slightly against the edge of the table. "First light."
"First light," I echoed.
"And you're packed?" She nodded toward the corner.
"Mostly."
"And your… charming companions?"
"Hopefully getting lost on the way to the gate."
She laughed, a real, warm sound that filled the small space. "I'd pay to see that. Neralia trying to navigate by the stars, Lashley blaming the map."
"It's a comforting fantasy," I said, taking a step closer. The lamplight caught the gold flecks in her eyes. "But probably not the reality."
"No," she agreed, her smile softening. "Probably not." Her gaze traveled over my face, seeing the tiredness, the lingering strain. "You look like you could use a distraction."
"I can think of one," I said, my voice dropping to a murmur.
"Can you now?" She didn't move, but her posture shifted, an invitation. "And what would that be?"
"Something that doesn't involve monsters, nobles, or ancient artifacts." I closed the last of the distance between us, stopping just short of touching her. I could feel the warmth radiating from her. "Something just for me. For tonight."
Her smile turned playful. "Just for you? That seems a little selfish."
"Okay," I conceded, leaning in so my words were a breath away from her lips. "For us, then."
Her eyes searched mine, the playfulness giving way to something deeper, more intense. "For us," she whispered.
That was all the invitation I needed.
I closed the final gap, my lips meeting hers. It wasn't the frantic, desperate kiss from the storage room. This was different. Slower. Softer. A deliberate exploration, a savoring. Her mouth was warm and sweet, and she tasted of the mint tea she always kept at her desk. Her hands came up, one tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck, the other resting on my chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of my tunic.
I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her firmly against me. She was all gentle curves and hidden strength, and she fit against me perfectly. The shawl slipped from her shoulders, puddling on the floor, forgotten.
We broke apart for air, foreheads resting together, breathing each other's breath. Her eyes were half lidded, dark with desire.
"You know," she breathed, "I spent weeks wondering if that first time was just the adrenaline. A mistake."
"And now?" I asked, my hands tracing the line of her spine.
"Now I'm thinking I should have hunted you down sooner." She pulled my head back down and kissed me again, this time with more heat, more hunger. My control began to fray at the edges.
I walked her backwards the two steps to the bed, and she sank onto the edge of it, pulling me down with her. We tumbled onto the rough blanket in a tangle of limbs, laughter mixing with kisses. The world outside, with its countdowns and its curses and its deadly assignments, ceased to exist.
There was only this room, this lamplight, this woman. Her hands on my skin, my name on her lips, and the slow, building fire that promised to burn away everything but the feeling of being alive, and wanted, and here.