Page 18 of Bitten & Burned

Seven

THE UNCHOSEN BOND

Kravenspire, Sol, Verdune

It had been three days since I’d walked out on them in the attic.

Three days of quiet from Vael. No more questions about Moondale, no careful needling to get me to agree. He still hovered—always nearby, always watching—but the sharp edges of his persuasion had been blunted. I couldn’t decide if that was restraint or if he was simply biding his time.

Cassian hadn’t mentioned the attic either, though I caught the faint curve of his mouth whenever I passed him in the halls, as if my stubbornness were some private joke he was replaying.

This morning, Vael had knocked on my door himself. No Cassian, no Anton, no one else—just Vael, asking if I’d join him in the west drawing room. He said the bonding ceremony was ready, here at Halemont, as I’d asked.

I had never seen Halemont looking like this before.

It looked as if Vael had worked through the past few days to prepare everything for the bonding ritual. Alone, by himself.

I should have helped. But the attic still lingered between us, heavy as the scent of dust and candlewax.

Guilt flooded hot like a sip of wine on an empty stomach.

The room where the ritual was to take place was formerly one of the many sitting rooms. I’d not spent much time here, Vael had said they used it more before. But its use was long since outdated.

It looked huge with nearly all the furniture removed. But I suppose I could see the bones of what it once had been.

The black marble floors were polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the candlelight like a still lake at midnight. I half-expected my steps to create ripples, but they didn’t. They just reflected my own image back to me. I peered down, locking on my eyes in the reflection. I looked the way I felt.

Frazzled.

Exhausted.

Nervous. Not of the ritual, exactly. Of what it might change.

I swallowed thickly, dragging my eyes from my own reflection, attempting to pay attention to what Vael was saying—but the flicker of candlelight kept pulling me sideways, making his words blur at the edges.

About the gilded chest on a podium near the center of the room. Inside were the ceremonial blades we’d use to cut our palms, dripping the blood into the bowl that was situated near the small chest. Two empty goblets were here as well, a bottle of wine uncorked and left to breathe beside them.

The wine was for later. The vintage was the year Vael had been made. One hundred and twenty years ago. I swallowed again.

“Sit here, I’ll be right back,” Vael said, his eyes shining as he led me to a velvet chaise pulled into the center of the room.

I took a deep breath and sat down, trying to keep myself present.

Keep the rough-smooth feel of the velvet in my mind.

Keep me here. Not floating up to the ceiling, where an unlit chandelier hung, the gold fixtures glimmered in the light of the candles all around the room.

I tried to slow my breathing. Ever since my flare-up had happened in the attic a few days before, I’d fought to remain present. Sleeping had helped, so that’s what I’d done, mostly.

Given the last time we’d spoken had been with harsh words, I wasn’t really expecting Vael to have arranged all this. I thought we’d at least have another discussion.

Not that I was having second thoughts. But my body wasn’t at its best, and the air between Vael and me still felt fragile. It didn’t seem like the perfect moment to bind our lives together.

Vael left the room, leaving me alone with my reflection and all those candles.

It was hot, now that I was paying attention. Roasting, more like. Sweat had begun to bead on my forehead, and I longed for something to fan myself with.

A door opened on the other side of the room, and Anton strolled in.

“Looks a little… gothic for my tastes, but that’s Vael, I suppose...”

Anton wasn’t alone; Cassian was walking alongside him.

“Mmm, I feel he is rushing things,” Cassian’s voice was low, clearly meant only for Anton.

But with naught in the room save the chaise I was currently perched upon, there was nothing to dampen his voice.

The words pricked at me—not entirely untrue, but still a little too easy to say when I was sitting right there.

I cleared my throat, realizing that they likely didn’t see me here. I repeated myself, louder this time. I’m here. See me. Stop talking like that.

Cassian’s gaze flicked to me, registered where I was. That I was looking at them. Listening.

He also cleared his throat expectantly, gazing over at Anton, who also glanced over at me, a grin spreading on his face. “There she is,” he said, his voice a bit louder, clearly meant for me.

“Your gown looks delectable; you chose well,” he said, approval clear in his voice as he and Cassian altered their destination to walk closer to me.

I winced when the soft sole of his boot stepped on my reflection, but he didn’t seem to notice. It felt like a small omen—me, flattened underfoot before we’d even begun.

“Vael chose it,” I said hollowly. “I do like it, though. It suits me.”

“It does indeed,” Anton said slowly, his piercing gaze searching me for something.

“Look at me, little love.” His scrutiny was acute now, eyes delving into every nook and cranny he could see. He apparently didn’t find what he was looking for. Or, he was reluctant to admit he’d found what he expected.

He tutted softly, his hand coming up to cup my jaw, leaning slightly to get another angle. “When’s the last time Vael fed you?”

The way he said it wasn’t idle curiosity. It was a fault-finding mission, and the fault wasn’t mine.

“I…” I trailed off. “Vael doesn’t feed me. I’m not his pet.”

“Of course not, but when was the last time he offered something to you?”

“He hasn’t tonight, but I ate… this morning.”

Anton frowned, tilting his head. “That was nearly ten hours ago.”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s the problem. You’re starving,” Anton said. “Let me go find Vael. We’ll get something in that little belly of yours soon, not to worry.”

“He wants to start soon,” I said. “He was just going to get Dmitri. And Quil, I guess. If he’s coming.”

“He’s coming,” Cassian replied, as if he had something to do with that. I wouldn't doubt it. Not nearly as much as I in turn doubted Quil was arriving of his own accord.

Anton’s hand was still on my face, and I fought the urge to lean into his cool skin. It really was entirely too warm in here.

“You’re roasting,” he murmured. “Are you unwell? A little flare-up, perhaps?”

“I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head. “Really. Everything’s fine.”

“No…” he mused, looking up at Cassian. “Look at her.”

I felt Cassian’s gaze now, heavy and thick. “She does look decidedly… flushed…” He directed the next bit at me, “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Just a little… floaty. That’s all,” I let out a sound I’d intended for laughter, but I wasn’t sure if it landed that way. “Like the floor’s not quite solid.”

“Floaty,” Cassian repeated, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face.

I nodded. “Floaty.”

He made a sound, indeterminate in origin.

“Cassian?” Anton said, his voice low.

“I’m fine, Anton,” I repeated. “Just fine.”

He snorted. “Fine is never ‘just fine’, Rowena.”

“To me, it is. My baseline is lower than most people's. So fine is indeed, just fine with me.”

“If you say so.”

“Would the ritual fail if I weren’t fine?”

In the old texts, binding had been called a test of balance: body, blood, and spirit all aligned. With the sigil gnawing at me, balance felt like a fragile illusion.

“It wouldn’t fail, but it would be more than you could handle,” Anton replied.

“She has already bitten off more than she can chew.”

The voice, sullen and monotone, could not be anyone other than Quil. He grinned wickedly at Anton, his teeth sharp and his eyes dark, not an ounce of mirth or light bled from his face.

“Hush, she’s just hungry…” Anton said, his warm eyes searching mine once more. “Aren’t you, little love?”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Quil asked, moving over to lean against the wall. “A slight, sensitive, little human, bonding herself to a monster.”

“You speak of her as if she isn’t sitting right here.” Cassian’s voice was like molten metal being poured into a mold, his head tilted slightly, moving at once between me and Quil. Even his bulk, his height, his presence couldn’t shield me from that cold smile. From those sharp teeth.

Quil was a magnificent monster—all edges and shadows, the kind of beauty that cut if you looked too long.

“I never forgot where she was. We can’t do that, can we?

None of us. Her…” he paused as if searching for the right word.

“…Scent is everywhere. Bleeding into everything.” The word hit like a lash—sharp, deliberate.

As if he meant to say ‘stench’ but couldn’t because Cassian or Anton wouldn’t let him get away with it unscathed.

“Can’t get rid of her.” The last bit sounded wistful. As if he’d tried and couldn’t.

“Why would we want to?” Anton replied, looking down at me, still searching her eyes, looking for something there that I couldn’t name. Something I wished to give him.

“Because it’s a disease. An infestation.

She’s the curse, not that wound on her leg.

” Quil’s voice was barely a hiss at this point, hitting every one of my weaknesses in one shot.

I flinched because part of me knew he was right.

The mark didn’t just mar my skin; it had blocked me from my goddess, keeping me cut off from my magic and corroding me from the inside out.

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? The curse, the wound—it made me into the blight. The rot on Vael. On all of them, because they were coven-bound to him. I wanted to cry, but the moment felt far away, thin and unreal, like I was watching it happen to someone else through warped glass.

Heavy footsteps approached. I couldn’t see who because of Anton, bending in front of me.