Page 144 of Their Blood Rite

‘But-’

‘She’s not yours to look after, Kieran! She’s ours. Our witch. Our responsibility.’

I’m carried away, feeling awful that Kieran was treated so rudely when all he was doing was trying to help. But I have no strength to argue.

‘It’s a mistake,’ Kieran calls after us, making Dorian’s stride slow to a stop. ‘And you know it is.’

‘Is that so?’ I tense hearing the warning rumble of the shadow master lurking beneath.

‘I respect all you have done for us. For the haven you have made. But whatever you intend to do with your…earth witch… it’s a mistake. Whatever you have downstairs… it’s wrong.’

Dorian growls. ‘Noted.’

His strides resume, and we’re soon heading upstairs.

‘Dorian?’

‘Yes, Pixie?’

‘He knows, doesn’t he? Kieran knows what I am.’

‘Don’t concern yourself with it.’ He continues to climb the steps. ‘Kieran likes you. More than he should. He won't say anything.’

‘Who attacked? The castle… the fire…’

‘The earth coven Grimoire is gone, Pixie,’ he tells me. ‘Cole sent his little mud bastards to attack as we were away, and theygot it back.’ He tenses as cold dread swirls in my stomach. ‘Now. None of that panic, please. Feeling you all in a flutter is not what I need nor want.’

‘The fire was my fault.’

‘You started the blaze, did you?’

‘No. But Cole would have sent them to attack. Ordered them to get the GrimoireIstole.’

I’m unsure what has me feeling worse. The fact that the castle was attacked or that the grimoire is gone. I wanted to learn more about my earth magic. It may have been the only way to save my soul.

He carries me along the hall. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Doesn’t matter? The fire? The earth coven stealing from them? Kieran, suspecting or even knowing what I truly am?

I peer up at him. He stares dead ahead, seemingly distant and far calmer and composed than I would expect.

I’m surprised to see Archie and Shaw already there when we enter the bedroom. Both look utterly dishevelled and covered in soot. They stop speaking as soon as the door opens, and both stand as Dorian carries me in.

‘How are you feeling, Pixie?’ Archie asks.

‘Her head is hurting, and she needs sleep,’ Dorian replies on my behalf. He lays me on the bed, carefully resting my head on the pillow.

They all look down at me.

‘I’m sorry,’ I tell them. ‘The fire’s my fault.’

Again, they share a look, sharing some silent understanding that makes the back of my throat burn.

‘Why don’t you care?’ I ask. ‘You tore off a man’s hands for touching me, yet they burn down your home, and you do nothing?’

Shaw leans down, holds out his palm, and blows.

I try to stop inhaling his sleep dust, but it’s a task too impossible to achieve. The scent of lavender fills my nostrils. It fills my head. The pain fades, which is a welcomed relief.

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