Page 128 of Bitten & Burned

As soon as she found out, she’d be disgusted. With me. With my family.

I still couldn’t understand how it had gotten there. On her leg. On her skin. All this time, that’s what it was.

A cattle brand. My family burned it into steer. Into mules. Into pigs.

And now… her.

Why?

Why was my kin attacking her? Why were they all addicted to bloodroot? Why the fuck were they scaling the side of a yacht just to get to her?

None of it made sense.

But one thing was clear: I couldn’t keep this to myself anymore. Not after what I’d just said to her. Not after how it had broken something in her. Not when she thought I didn’t mean it.

I couldn’t keep secrets if this were the outcome. I’d rather she hate me for a good reason than for something as stupid as me fumbling a love confession.

I did mean it. Every godsdamned word.

I loved her. So much. Camarae, help me, too much.

But the sigil. The brand…

I couldn’t tell her about that yet. Too overwhelming.

But I needed to tell someone. And no matter how many names I ran through in my head, I kept coming back to the same one.

Vael.

He’d been searching for answers as long as she had. He’d know what to do with the information—what pieces mattered and where they fit.

He judged me. Judged her harder.

Still, he was the only one who might know how to tell her. The only one I trusted with this—forher.

I knocked on his door. Voices carried from inside—Vael’s low and clipped, Anton’s sharper, irritated.

The door opened quickly. Vael stood there, and Anton was just behind him. “Rowena?” He blurted, his expression dropped the second he saw me instead.

“Nope,” I said, dry. “Just me, Professor.”

“What do you want, Quil?” he asked, resigned. Done.

I didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, I turned around and pulled up the back of my shirt.

His breath hitched. Not loud, but sharp enough to sting.

Behind him, Anton went still. “Fucking hells…” he murmured.

Vael hissed something that sounded faintly like ‘Rowena’. I didn’t know if it was in horror or realization—or both.

The brand on my back burned phantom-hot as I showed it to him, like it had when I’d gotten it. Like it remembered or something. Remembered what it was for. Why it failed.

“That,” Vael said finally, voice tight. “What is that?”

I let the shirt fall. Turned to face them.