Page 43 of Bitten & Burned
“She needs to sit,” Cassian said, voice calm, almost too calm. It made me angry too, the way he could be so calm as if this pain wasn’t something that could touch him.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically. My throat felt raw. I needed to leave. Needed to head downstairs to lie down. I should never have come up here. Not while I was upset with Vael.
Cassian ignored me. He studied my face, my shoulders—the way I leaned just slightly into his hand without meaning to. My weakness gave me away.
Vael’s mouth twitched. “She said she’s fine,” he said, the words clipped as if saying them might make them true.
“She’s not,” Cassian said. He was still looking at me, not Vael. “It’s flaring up, isn’t it? The wound?”
The attic felt too hot. Or maybe I was cold—I couldn’t tell which. I hated the word flare. It made me sound like a lantern too, guttering out at the edges.
“Rowena,” Cassian said, softer. “You need rest. And you needblood. You know that, I’d like to offer mine, it may provide more relief?—”
Vael bristled at that. “She doesn’t need your blood.”
Cassian’s eyes cut to him at last. “She needs someone’s. She’s burning through what she’s got left trying to keep up with you.”
“I can give her mine,” Vael snapped, too quickly. “I’ve always given her mine. She doesn’t need?—”
“She needs strength, Vael. Not another hour-long lecture about tradition and Evergreen Conservatory.”
Vael’s jaw tightened. “You overstep, Cassian.”
Cassian turned back to me, his hand still steady at my side. He lowered his head slightly, meeting my eyes the way one might approach a startled animal. “Do you want it, little bird?” His voice dropped, the words a private promise. “A sip. Just enough to keep this from getting worse.”
I swallowed. My lips felt numb. I could smell him—the iron and cedar, older than any forest I’d ever touched. My pulse fluttered at the thought.
Vael stepped forward, voice sharp now. “No. Not from him.”
Cassian didn’t look away from me. “It’s not his choice. It’s yours.”
His words echoed in my head as I looked between them. Vael, trying so hard to hold onto me, as if I were floating away from him. As if he wasn’t pushing me away with his need to plan and control every little thing. Cassian, so calm, it infuriated me. Both of them were arguing over me, over what I needed. As if either of them knew me better than I knew myself.
“I don’t wantyourblood,” I said to Cassian, my tone far sharper than I intended. “I don’t want yours either,” I said to Vael.
Vael’s brow furrowed, ready to protest and argue more. I could not take it if he did. Cassian looked calm. Too calm.
“I want to lie down,” I said. “Away from you and your incessant badgering, Vael, and both of you arguing over me. I’ll handle my own body, thank you very much.”
The attic went very still.
Neither of them moved. Cassian looked slightly amused at my outburst, as if it were a sign I was better; and worked faster than a dose of blood from either of them. Vael looked wounded. I hated that I’d put that look on his face…Neither tried to follow me as I went for the attic stairs. I forced my feet to be steady. Each step down was a victory, a step closer to my room, where I could lie in my bed and deal with this in my own way.
I could breathe. And keep this for myself.
Seven
THE UNCHOSEN BOND
Kravenspire, Sol, Verdune
14 Ebry, Year 810
It had beenthree days since I’d walked out on them in the attic.
Three days of quiet from Vael. No more questions about Moondale, no careful needling to get me to agree. He still hovered—always nearby, always watching—but the sharp edges of his persuasion had been blunted. I couldn’t decide if that was restraint or if he was simply biding his time.
Cassian hadn’t mentioned the attic either, though I caught the faint curve of his mouth whenever I passed him in the halls, as if my stubbornness were some private joke he was replaying.
