Page 17 of Bitten & Burned

Vael opened a dusty trunk, eyes catching mine over the lid. “I hope you know I only wanted what was best for you—for us. Moondale is special, Rowena.”

“I know it is,” I replied, not looking at him. My hands trembled, partly from rummaging in the chill attic, and partly from this seemingly endless conversation. “And since I clearly keep you from so much, it’s only natural that you’d expect me to ignore my physical needs and go where you dictate.”

He brushed some cobwebs from an older lantern, flipping the switch and blinking when it lit up.

He switched it off and set it aside. “Rowena, don’t be like that, please.

I just wish you would trust me—trust my judgement about these things.

You shouldn’t bear every discomfort alone.

If you had told me you were so unwell, I never would have—” The pounding in my head sharpened with every word.

“I did tell you,” I countered, my voice more pointed than I’d intended. The sharpness struck him, I could tell by the look on his face. The way it hit him, the way he seemingly wiped it off to continue speaking.

He pressed his lips together in a soft laugh. “Of course, of course… my mistake. Next time I’ll listen more closely, hm? We’re still learning each other, aren’t we? This is new and—”

His smile was polite enough to fool someone who didn’t know him, but I could see the stiffness in it.

Cassian, from the corner of the attic where he was searching, let a crate fall with a thud to the floor. “Vael,” he said, his voice as sharp as the box hitting the creaking floorboards.

“Cassian?” Vael answered, straightening. He blinked.

Cassian didn’t raise his voice, but the tone was there regardless.

“Let it rest.” He looked between us and then back at Vael. “You’ve said your piece; there’s no need to say it again.”

Vael bristled. It was subtle, the way his shoulders squared, his lips pressing together, his back straightened. “I only meant—”

“Let it rest.”

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.

“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 need blood. 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 want your blood,” 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.