Page 232 of Bitten & Burned
“I’m fine,” I said softly, breath still ragged. “Thank you.”
It was quicker then. There were fewer Ashbornes to cut through; most of them had already come upon us and met their end. The few that remained seemed at least a fraction smarter than the first because they retreated. They were regrouping, not leaving—but for now, the pressure lifted enough that we had a clear path to the door.
“By Camarae’s shadow,” Vael muttered when he caught sight of me, closing the last steps between us. His hand came up, fingertips brushing over my cheek in a gentle sweep, like he needed the reassurance of contact. “Are you alright?”
I nodded, though my own hand rose, fingertips finding the swelling in my lip and the tacky, half-dried blood painting my skin. Only then did I realize my entire face was streaked with it. “I’m fine,” I promised, even if the words felt thin in my mouth. Dmitri’s fingers brushed over my back, and I felt myself relax.
Vael studied me for a heartbeat longer, then gave a single nod, and we moved together again.
The closer we drew to the heavy double doors of Dun Drummond, the more my leg burned, each step sparking a dull ache deep into the bone. But we didn’t slow down.
From the corner of my eye, Anton appeared, falling into stride beside us. His coat was torn, his skin spattered, his hair and face nearly drenched in blood. It glistened in the lanternlight; some of it his, most of it not, and the sight sent a shiver straight down my spine.
Quil was limping, though I had no clear guesses as to why. His stride was uneven, his weight shifting slightly to the left, but he didn’t seem inclined to explain.
Cassian was flexing his hands as we walked, rolling his wrists and shaking out his arms like he was trying to cool down.
Dmitri rolled his shoulders and practiced a few swings with the axe, crossing in front and behind, stretching out his shoulders.
And Vael—Vael was still right at my side. Exactly where he’d promised he would be.
“Quil, are you alright?” I asked, my voice carrying over the crunch of boots on the gravel.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re limping.”
A short huff of laughter. “You should see the other guy.”
That earned an actual laugh from the others, the sound ragged but genuine, and, for a brief moment, it felt like the battlefield was somewhere far behind us.
We moved toward the porch, slowing before the first step. Vael’s hands came up, warm against my chilled skin, running lightly over my face, brushing my mouth, his touch searching for injuries I might have missed.
Anton moved closer and examined my face, swearing under his breath. “I hope you got them back.”
“I did,” I replied, smiling. “They all died alone and in pain, in the dark.”
“Good,” Anton said, tucking a strand of hair out of my eyes. “So many treats for you when we return to Halemont, my wicked darling.”
Cassian dropped to a knee beside me, his gaze narrowing as he examined the sigil, before we finally regrouped and began the last few steps toward the porch.
The wards were flickering with faint ripples in the air, already noting our presence. The hair along my arms lifted, the magic brushing over me in soft, deliberate passes. It was not as if Silas wouldn’t know we were here anyway. There was no true element of surprise to be had.
Vael’s gaze swept the entryway, sharp and restless. “That’s not the real door.”
“What?” Cassian asked, his tone clipped.
I frowned, narrowing my eyes and following Vael’s line of sight. At first, I saw nothing unusual—just the heavy frame and the ornate wood—but then I caught it. The glimmer. The faint, unnatural sheen that didn’t belong. It wasn’t a real door.
“It’s not,” I echoed, my voice low. “That’s a trap.”
“What kind of trap?” Cassian pressed.
Quil groaned as if annoyed with the lot of us. He turned on his heel and strode back to where a body lay cooling on the ground. He bent, then hefted it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. Carrying it up to the entry, he swung it forward and hurled it into the glimmering door.
The body vanished without a sound—and so did the false door.
I nodded. “Trap door. Probably ends up in the basement.”
