Page 60 of Bitten & Burned
A toy rabbit.
Pocket-sized. One eye missing. Nearly threadbare in places. The kind of wear that only years—decades of love could leave behind. The stuffing shifted under my fingers, loose and uneven with age.
My heart thudded in my throat.
I brushed my fingers over the top of its head. One ear popped back up as I did. I brought it to my nose—and wasflooded with scent. It hit with the force of memory, even if it wasn’t mine.
The woods. Smoke. Soap.
Quil.
It had to be from before he was turned.
Something of his. Something he’d kept. Something he’d… given me.
I hugged the little rabbit to my chest, then pressed a kiss to one of his ears. The fabric was cool against my lips, but my chest felt warmer for it. Carefully, I tucked him into my pocket alongside the river stone.
The handkerchief was filthy. I turned it over in my hands. I could wash it. Or… return it. Maybe he’d want it back.
I hesitated. Then reached into my skirt pocket.
I carried several black handkerchiefs—ones I’d embroidered myself, meant for fieldwork. Practical things, made to be used and dirtied without regret. Black, so they didn’t show dirt. Or blood, when applicable.
I unfolded one and ran my fingers over the stitching.
This would do.
I’d give it to him. Trade it for the one he’d left behind.
A small thing. But gods… it meant everything. A weightless gift that somehow anchored me more than anything else had today.
Quil.
People could still be surprising.
A knock startled me.
I prayed—not Vael. Not Vael. Not Vael—as I crossed the room. Each step felt like pressing my luck with the gods.
When I opened the door, Fig darted into the hallway, his tail high, his escape triumphant.
Anton chuckled. “Oops. Sorry—didn’t mean to let him escape. Want me to chase him down?”
“No,” I said, laughing a little. “He’ll be back when he’s ready.”
I looked at him, expectant.
He just leaned against the doorframe like he belonged there, one shoulder propped against the frame, and he filled the space languidly as if he owned it. A bottle of wine dangled from one hand, catching the last of the light. The glass glowed deep ruby where the sun hit, the color rich enough to make my mouth water.
“I also come bearing gifts. A fine vintage, questionable company, and a proposal.”
“A proposal?” I repeated, holding out my hand for the wine.
He gave it to me, pausing a second longer than necessary as I took it.
“Run away with me,” he said smoothly. “We’ll steal a boat, fake our deaths, start a perfumery in the East… you’ll name the scents, I’ll seduce the clientele. It’ll be perfect.” His voice painted the fantasy so vividly I could almost smell the salt air and perfume.
“You rehearsed that,” I said, laughing.
