Page 29 of Bitten & Burned
“Is that why you stayed up all night? To make demands?”
“Didn’t sleep. Didn’t want to,” he replied.
I couldn’t help it. My eyebrows rose in mock disbelief. “Quil Ashbourne. Insomniac philosopher. I’d have never guessed.”
He looked as if he wanted to snap at me, but instead, he screwed up his face before softening it again. As soft as he got, anyway.
“I’m not good at this,” he began. His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it all night. Or had used it too much. “I don’t want you to stay, but I don’t want you gone either.”
“That’s not exactly comforting, you know?” I said, folding my arms in front of me.
He made a noise in his throat, frustrated, helpless. “You do smell. You know? It’s true. Something’s wrong… with…that…” he glanced down at the table, but it almost appeared as if he was staring at my leg where the wound raged.
“What?” I asked.
“It makes me want to… Want to…” he trailed off again, his head dropping in front of him before he continued. “Makes me want to fix it.”
“Fix it?” I echoed, trying not to let the quaver in my voice betray me.
He made a noise in his throat that wasn’t a laugh, but wasn’t not a laugh either. “Yeah. Fix it. Burn it. Tear it out. Rip it out with my fucking teeth if I have to. It’s rotting you. From the inside out.” His voice cracked a little at the end.He wasn’t speaking in metaphor. There was a predator’s panic in his words, the kind that comes when the kill smells spoiled.
A chill ran down my spine, and I wanted to run, but I didn’t. Because of the crack at the end. I could hear… maybe I was imagining things, but I heard something like… sorrow?
He wasn’t warning me. He was warning himself.
I swallowed thickly, and he began pacing. Back and forth on the other side of the counter. “And you stand there smelling like sugarplums and death, with your… big eyes and your…” he trailed off here, his eyes dragging down to my lips for a long moment before he looked back up again. “And you think you’re so brave for makingmethe bad guy. So I don’t get to decide. They don’t get to decide. You do.” He slammed both hands on the countertop. “So decide,Rowena.” He said my name like it was a curse, spat it out like it tasted bad.
“So what? I decide… what? To stay and make you miserable? Or leave so you can sleep?” I asked, my voice caught right behind my teeth.
“It’s not about sleep,” he argued. “It’s aboutyou. And if you stay here, that’s it. You’re mine… to protect.” He faltered a bit there, and I wondered if I’d heard what I thought I heard. He continued.
“Fine, Theirs. But still mine. To protect.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he turned abruptly, as if looking at me would make him break apart.
“And I can’t...” He began, clenching and unclenching his hands. “I can’t stand the thought of letting you down.”
I took a step closer, words soft on my tongue. “Quil?—”
“Don’t.” He cut me off like a blade. His eyes were flint again, shuttered, the softness gone as if it had never existed. He didn’t look at me. “Just… stay away from me. Don’t sit in my chair. Don’t follow me around. Don’t—” His jaw tightened, words forced through gritted teeth. “Don’t come near me. ”
It stung worse than I expected. But I nodded anyway. “Okay.”
“You’ll stay?” he asked. This time it was actually a question.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He didn’t react, just turned and left. Left me standing there with Fig rubbing around my legs expectantly. I couldn’t think about Quil right then. I had to feed Fig.
Feed Fig.
That’s what I had to do.
Stay. And feed Fig.
Five
THE SHAPE OF HALEMONT
Kravenspire, Sol, Verdune
