Page 184 of Bitten & Burned
The pain eased.
Not gone. But dialed down. Enough that I could breathe. Enough that I could move my fingers.
I coughed hard, the effort stealing what little air I had left.
“There we are,” he said softly. “You’ll find I’m quite reasonable, Rowena. I don’t wish to torture you. And I won’t, so long as you, too, are reasonable. To do otherwise would be… distasteful. Cruelty for cruelty’s sake has never been my style.”
He paused.
“I’m here to give you time.”
My voice scraped out of me like rust peeling off iron. “Time for what?”
“To think. To rest. To heal, if you like.” He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. “All I ask is that you sit with the truth for a while. Really feel it. Those vampires you’re so devoted to? They’ll move on. Or they’ll destroy each other. They’re animals, Rowena. Not humans. They don’t love you, and never will. Not like I love you.”
I clenched my fists.
He didn’t notice. Or pretended not to.
“When you’re ready to see sense,” he added, glancing at the door, “all you have to do is say it.”
“Say what?” I whispered.
He smiled again, smug and serene in the way it frustrated me. “That you chooseme.”
I snorted derisively, almost laughed in his face. “You torment me so I’ll choose you? I’d rather you throw me to the Ashbornes.”
He tutted, shaking his head. “So crass, so unreasonable. I’ll fix that too. So, do you?”
“What?” I asked.
“Choose me?”
“Fuck no,” I hissed, spitting at him.
He tapped the stone once more, and the pain surged back like a tide. I arched off the floor with a cry.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe a night like this will cure you. Or maybe I’ll give you what you want and let those addicted mongrels have you first. Either way, you’ll choose me, Rowena.”
Then he left.
The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
And I screamed.
The silence that followed was the worst part. Not the pain—not even the fear.
It was… nothing.
No footsteps. No voices. No wind against the windowpanes.
Just the sound of my own ragged breath. The pulse of agony was flickering low and hot in my thigh. The weight of helplessness was curling tighter and tighter around my chest.
I bit down on the second scream building in my throat and turned my face to the cold stone. If I screamed again, I knew it wouldn’t stop. I would become something feral, and I needed to hold on to what scraps of dignity—and sanity—I still had.
But gods, I needed someone.
Not anyone.
