Page 55 of Bitten & Burned
It was wellpast noon when I opened my eyes the first time, the light in the room muted and warm, sliding in low through the curtains. When I finally managed to push myself upright and leave the bed, it was almost sunset—the sky outside dimming into shades of violet.
I felt… bruised. Not in the way a body does after a fall, but somewhere deeper. Emotionally battered. Hollowed out. Worn thin.
Sad didn’t even feel like the right word, but it was the only one I had. It sat in me like a stone, heavy and unmoving. I missed what I thought I’d have today.
Vael’s hand clasped against me.
His lips on mine.
His warm voice flowed like honey overmy tired body?—
—but not tired the way I was now.
Tired in the good way. The well-used way.
Not like this.
Never like this.
A small sound tugged me from my thoughts—Fig’s bright trill—and I turned toward it. He was stalking a moth that had wandered into the patch of late sun spilling across the floorboards. His little furry body darted and twisted, leaping into the air as though gravity were a mere suggestion. Nothing in his small, sunlit world was wrong.
He caught sight of me then, as if only just realizing I’d woken. His meow was louder this time, more insistent, and, in a few light steps, he was in my lap, warm paws pressing into my legs as he rubbed his soft face against my chin. It felt like his way of saying,Finally, you’re awake.
A laugh—small but real—escaped me, and I reached up to scratch behind his ears. His purr rumbled deep, vibrating through his tiny frame. He gave one more bright, pleasedmrrpbefore hopping down again, tail high as he returned to his hunt.
I lingered there, watching him for a few minutes, letting his darting little leaps and exaggerated pounces pull me out of my head. When he skittered sideways and crouched low, shimmying back and forth, I knew the zoomies were coming.
A knock on the door pulled me back, the sound abrupt in the soft quiet of the room. My attention shifted from my cat to the source of the noise.
I looked over—my heart leaping into my throat, the air snagging sharp and unsteady in my chest, like the moment before a fall—when I saw him.
Vael. His silhouette cut clean against the daylight, coat collar turned up, shoulders tense as though holding something back.
Standing at the door, looking like he wanted me to join him.
He couldn’t come in. Not with the sun still out. The slanting light pooled at his feet, an unspoken line he couldn’t cross until the day surrendered.
The sight of him stirred something in me. Nothing good. A low, sour coil twisted in my stomach, the kind that made my hands want to curl into fists.
I wasn’t… angry at him. Anger would have been simpler—burning, decisive. Instead, the weight I felt was heavy and shapeless, harder to set down.
But I wasn’t overjoyed to see him either.
I hadn’t forgotten what he’d done yesterday. How he’d dropped me on the floor. The echo of cold stone under my palms and the sting in my knees flickered up unbidden.
I swallowed hard, the motion scraping down my throat as if the words I wouldn’t say were caught there.
“Hi… Rowena, can I… can we… I wanted to talk,” he began, his voice lacking its usual velvet; it sounded worn at the edges, hesitant.
I rose slowly. Walked to the door even slower, each step dragging the weight of yesterday with me.
I didn’t want to talk.
I didn’t want to see him.
I didn’t want to acknowledge him.
I didn’t want to feel the pull that still lived between us, stubborn as ivy latched onto a wall.
