Page 42 of Bitten & Burned
Cassian’s tone was final. He didn’t look at Vael again; instead, he turned his attention to me, taking the lantern from my shaking fingers. His eyes flicked down to the tremor, but he didn’t say anything. He gave the lantern back. Steadied it. Steadied me.
Vael turned his back to us, fussing with a latch on a trunk just out of view as if he hadn’t been rebuked at all. But I could feel the heat of his frustration. It felt like a weight on my back. Thrown on top of what was already there. I was very aware of my pulse as it ticked in my neck. The burning spread from my chest down to my ribs. The same old warning I’d become so attuned to.
The gradual buildup before the levy broke.
He began speaking once more—something about the river gardens near Evergreen, how the wisteria would be in bloom when we arrived. I recognized the shift for what it was: a change of tactic, not a change of heart. His voice was low, reassuring, and warm. Too warm. It verged on hot. Scalding.
He found another lantern, lifted it as if it were a prize. When I didn’t smile, he tilted it toward me like an offering. “I think we have enough now—but perhaps we’ll bring a few more? I’d rather you had too much light than not enough.”
I nodded. My mouth felt dry.
“And you see, Rowena,” he went on, “Moondale isn’t so far. We’d have Cassian and Dmitri with us, Quil, if he’ll behave—” He laughed, soft and brittle. “You’d have all of us.”
All of us. It should have sounded comforting. Instead, it pressed at my temples like an iron band. It gripped me like a vice, squeezing, squeezing, tighter than I thought possible. Gods, it hurt.
My ribs ached—that tiny, seizing pain that meant I should sit down, breathe, stop. But Vael was still watching me, waiting for me to agree with him so he could tuck this whole thing away, neat and settled. I wasn’t going to give him that.
“Why didn’t you tell me you don’t like living in Caer Voss?” I asked.
He blinked, as if confused. “I?—”
“If you gave up living here for a tiny apartment in Caer Voss, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Your work is there.”
“As is yours,” I countered.
“Rowena, I’ve done work all over. I don’t have to be in one spot. You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. You love what you do, and I want you to have it.”
“At least until it’s convenient for you to throw it back in my face to get what you want, right?”
My breath came faster. I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t keep up with how quickly my lungs needed to fill and be emptied.
Cassian was on the other side of the attic, pretending to sort through an old trunk. His presence was a dark pillar at the edge of my sight—I could almost lean against it if I let myself.
Vael touched my elbow. I flinched. He didn’t notice. Or if he did, he pretended not to. He adjusted his gloves instead, the leather smoothing over his long fingers. Perfect fingers. Perfect words.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His smile was gentle—so gentle I hated him for it, just for an instant. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that you were holding me back. I, of course, made those decisions on my own…”
I knew. The words just wouldn’t come. There was a buzz in my ears instead—the same distant hum that sometimes came before the worst of it. I pressed my palm to my chest. Breathe.
Vael saw that. He frowned, leaning closer. “Witchling, I’m truly sorry. Please… I implore you.”
Cassian’s boots creaked on the floorboards. He didn’t say anything—just stepped closer, a solid weight of warmth and iron scent. I didn’t dare look at him. I didn’t want to see pity in those ancient eyes.
Vael’s fingers pressed at my elbow again, the leather warm where it met my skin. His voice gentled further, almost coaxing. “I only want to see you well, Rowena—to see you strong again. And when you are… We’ll do this properly. You deserve to be honored. If you’d only tell me when you’ll feel well enough?—”
It was too much. I couldn’t form the words. He thought I was still upset about the argument, when I was fighting the hells to stay upright.
I swayed. Just a fraction. But enough that the lantern he’d passed me bumped my hip and clattered to the floorboards. The crash echoed up into the beams.
Vael startled. “Witchling?—”
Cassian was beside me before I could bend to retrieve it. He crouched, the floorboards creaking under his weight as he set the lantern upright, checking for cracks. Then his hand came up—broad, sure—to brace my waist. Not a question, not permission, just there.
