Page 174 of Bitten & Burned

The counter was cool beneath my skin. I tried to cling to it, but the pulse in my thigh drowned out everything else.

Quil’s voice cut through the haze, rough and insistent. “Rowena—look at me. Godsdammit, look at me.”

A hand cupped the back of my neck. Too hot. Too urgent. My knees wavered.

Vael’s voice came from behind him, low and deliberate. “She needs blood. I can?—”

But Quil was already dragging me upright, already tearing into his wrist with his teeth. “No. Mine.”

His wrist pressed to my mouth before I could form the wordwait.

The taste hit like a cold shot of whiskey—iron, smoke, and the rain. My body convulsed, desperate, the hunger tearing up through me faster than I could resist.

Heat spread outward from my throat, racing into my chest, down into the wound that had been bleeding me hollow for days. The pounding in my thigh dulled. The spinning slowed.

Quil’s other hand stayed at my jaw, trembling, holding me to him like he was afraid I’d slip away if he let go.

I moaned softly, gripping his wrist as I drank.

His other hand slid into my hair, fingers carding through the strands as I drew on his wrist again.

“That’s enough, Quil. She’s back.”

Quil growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my skin where his hand still held me.

Vael’s tone sharpened. “You’re the muscle, Quil. Not much use to her if you let her drain you dry.”

I pressed my lips closed, forcing myself to pull back. The taste lingered, sharp and heady, but I released his wrist and sagged against the counter.

Quil’s breath came ragged, fingers still tangled in my hair, as if he couldn’t quite believe I’d let go.

My mind cleared almost instantly. The headache dulled to a throb. My leg still ached, but I didn’t feel so godsdamned useless anymore.

“I still need more sugar in that tea,” I muttered, trying to stand.

Quil made a rough, incredulous sound, half a laugh and half a protest.

Vael exhaled hard through his nose. “At least her priorities are intact.”

Between them, they steadied me when I pushed off the counter—Quil’s arm at my waist, Vael’s hand under my elbow—but I brushed their help aside once I was sure of my balance.

“I can manage a spoonful of sugar,” I said, hobbling toward the kitchen. “Not everything needs rescuing.”

Vael watched me closely, arms folded. Quil hovered like he might catch me if I stumbled again.

I stirred sugar into my tea, lifted the cup, and took a long sip. Better.

Silence stretched, heavy with everything we weren’t saying.

Quil raked a hand through his hair, restless. “Do… uh… do you have any whiskey? I could actually use a drink.”

Vael let out a quiet huff of laughter. “We all could.”

I pointed to the cabinet in the hall. “It’s not locked. Whatever I have is there.”

I cradled the mug of tea, the sugar making it tolerable now, but the warmth in my hands didn’t quite settle me. My eyes slid to the door, to the bag I’d abandoned there. I’d need to unpack soon. Clothes, books, papers…letters.

Letters.