Page 21 of Bitten & Burned

Or until I found a way to burn them from her memory.

Whatever it took.

QUIL

I shut the door behind me and slid down the wall, knees up, head in my hands.

The bond throbbed like a raw nerve—her fear, her hurt, all of it bleeding into me until I couldn’t tell which was hers and which was mine. I pressed the back of my head against the wall until it thudded. Once. Twice. Again. Anything to drown it out.

And the smell. Camarae, help me, the smell was all around me. Not just that sweet rotten-wrong scent that came off her since the sigil, but other scents too. Her hair. Her skin.

Her breath. Her blood.

All of that, I could ignore. I’d been ignoring it up until now; it was just… more potent. But her face stayed burned into me. The way she’d looked at me—like every venomous word I’d spit had hit exactly where I’d aimed. And maybe worse, like she believed them.

Another thud. I didn’t hear the knock until the door creaked open.

“Quil.” Cassian’s voice was low but tight, like a bowstring drawn too far. “You’re not going to fix this sitting in the dark.”

I didn’t look at him. “Go away.”

“No.” The door shut with a quiet click. “You left her there, bleeding, after calling her a disease. Do you know what that did to her?”

I stared at my knees. “I know exactly what it did.”

“Then fix it,” he snapped.

“I…” I faltered, shaking my head. “I didn’t mean it. I was just… fuck, I was so angry at Vael. It’s his godsdamned fault this happened! He didn’t prepare her. You saw her, swaying on her feet. She shouldn’t have been participating in any rituals.”

“If you’re angry at Vael, you should direct your anger to him. It’s a poor man indeed who directs his anger at those weaker than him.”

“Yeah, well. I never claimed to be a good man.”

Cassian huffed out a laugh. “That’s true. You haven’t. But I think you are. And I think you know what you have to do now.”

I shook my head. “She doesn’t want me anywhere near her right now.”

Cassian stepped closer. “She’s bonded to you. She’s going to feel that you’re gone, and it’s going to hurt worse than whatever Vael just did. You really think disappearing is going to make her believe she’s safe here?”

“I’m not disappearing.”

“Looks like it from where I’m standing.” His jaw flexed. “Do something, Quil. Anything. Even if it’s small. Just… don’t leave her with nothing.”

I kept my head down, but his words dug in.

When he left, the silence rushed back in, heavy and sharp. I sat there for a long time, the bond still.

DMITRI

I’d been there for a while. I’d listened as her loud, echoing cries of pain quieted—lessened until they came fewer and farther between. They were still there, but softer now.

I hadn’t stopped wanting to go to her. To hold her. To tell her, No, you don’t deserve every bad thing, Mishka. You deserve only beauty, sun, and magic.

But I didn’t.

Not because she didn’t deserve it, but because I knew what she needed and what I wanted to give her were not the same.

I was sitting in front of the door when I heard footsteps. Perhaps Anton, coming back for the tray he’d left earlier. I wasn’t sure if she’d eaten from it, but I’d placed it just inside the door.

It wasn’t Anton.

It was Vael.

He stopped beside me.

“Move,” he said. But there was no venom—nothing sharp left in him. Just something raw and painful. Ruin. His voice cracked around the word like brittle bone.

I looked up. He looked worse than I had ever seen him. Coat unbuttoned. Hair in disarray. Blood still crusted at his temple, smeared into his hairline. A man unraveled.

I shook my head. “Leave her be.” My voice was quiet, no louder than a murmur.

“I need…” Vael trailed off, running a hand over his face, his mouth. “I need to see her, Dmitri… please…”

A quiet plea. Not the scholar’s measured tone. Not a vampire’s icy calm. Just a man, utterly broken.

“Not like this, you don’t.”

“Don’t you see? I need to speak to her. I need to… fix this. I don’t know how—throw myself at her feet, at her mercy, take whatever judgment she gives me? I don’t know. All I know is I cannot sit here one second longer without seeing her.”

“Maybe you can’t,” I said. “But you will.”

Vael’s breath caught, harsh and sharp, a sound escaped, something wriggling and almost too quiet. A sob. He scrubbed his hands over his face, pressing both against his eyes hard as if he could stop it from coming. Hold back the tears, but they came anyway.

“I ruined it,” he whispered. “Ruined her… gods, Dmitri, I threw her— did you see it? Did you see what I did to her? I threw her, I threw her, I hurt her.”

He hadn’t thrown her.

But he might as well have.

She’d stumbled when he let her go, hit the ground hard, the pain clear in the sound of her breath.

And now he couldn’t stop saying it—“I threw her”—over and over, like bleeding the words out would absolve him.

It wouldn’t.

Guilt was easy. It made him the victim. Made this about how he felt.

But Rowena was the one still on the floor where he’d left her.

And I wasn’t about to let him near her again just because his grief got loud. I didn’t move. I was solid—a sentinel between them. He had hurt her. And there was no way anything else was getting through me to hurt her again. Vael included.

Vael’s breath came in sputtering gasps as he tried to form the words.

“She looked at me like she didn’t recognize me.

Like she couldn’t believe what I was saying to her.

Like I’d… ripped the rug out from under her.

She just… I saw it. I saw what I did! I planned so carefully and I did everything, all of it for her, and then I…

” he was full-on weeping now. “I hate myself.”

I looked at him. Softened when I realized that he was just a man. An incredibly intelligent man, but a man nonetheless. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he had. “I know you hate yourself, but… this isn’t about you.”

“How can you say that? I am the one who caused all of this. I’m the one who did all of it. I’m the monster.”

I nodded. “Yeah. You hurt her. You did. I know you didn’t mean to.

I know you’re gutted, but do you want to help?

” I leaned forward, dropping my voice so only he could hear, and only if he leaned closer.

“Stop making it about how you feel. Let her breathe. Let her cry. Sit in this for a while longer. Accept that it’s not getting fixed tonight.

Let her hate you for now. And then… when the storm calms. You show her you’re more than your worst moment. ”

Vael’s mouth opened and closed. No words came. His shoulders sagged, all that righteous fury hollowed out to something brittle.

“I just wanted—” he tried, but it crumbled. He buried his face in his hands instead, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

He quieted down eventually, though not completely. The silence that followed was splintered, thousands of pieces strewn about. Grief echoed even in his breath.

Then the door rattled softly behind me.

I turned and looked up. Rowena stood there, the tray in her shaking hands, the china clinking with a nervous rhythm.

Her eyes were swollen and raw, lashes spiked from tears.

When she looked past me and saw Vael curled into himself—arms wrapped around his knees, his head resting there in uneasy sleep—she didn’t speak. Just swallowed, slowly.

I stood, silent, and took the tray from her hands, setting it gently aside.

She looked at me—really looked, like she was trying to see if I was still real, still safe. Her voice was so quiet I wouldn't have caught it if I hadn't been so close.

“Will you come in?”

I nodded once. “Of course.”

“It’s nearly dawn,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I know you’ll have to go soon, and I’m sorry to ask right now, but...”

Her breath hitched.

“Could you—please—hold me?”

Gods.

Her voice was so small. And still she apologized; still she asked like she might be refused.

I took her hand, brought it to my lips, and let my answer rest against her skin. “Always.”

She led me back inside, quiet as snowfall. We didn’t speak again—not when we reached the chaise, not when she curled into my side like she’d break if I held her too tightly, and not when her tears began again, soaking through my shirt.

I just held her, slow and steady, my hand tracing the curve of her back, again and again, as if I could rewrite the pain in her body with something softer.

Outside, the sky began to glow—the faintest breath of dawn sighing across the grass.

And still, I held her.

A soft thud against the windowsill caught my attention.

I turned.

Quil.

He eased the glass open with a practiced hand, slipping through the conservatory window as quietly as breath. His boots landed silently on the stone floor. He didn’t move toward us—just hovered there, half-shrouded in shadow, eyes on Rowena.

“I had to see her,” he said, barely audible. “Just once. Before…”

Before the sun, I assumed. Before his courage failed.

His fingers curled hard around the window frame, the tendons in his hand standing out like cord. He looked like he’d been there longer than a moment, watching from the shadows, bracing himself to speak.

“Is she okay?”

His gaze flicked to her hands, then her face, like he was counting the rise and fall of her breathing.

I looked down at her—curled against my side, breathing soft and steady. Then back at him. “She’s safe.”

He nodded, but his gaze didn’t leave her.

“I felt her,” he said. “All that stuff she was feeling… about herself.” He swallowed and rubbed at the inside of his wrist as if it burned, eyes darting back to her again.“I put that in her. She thought all that because I called her a disease, didn’t she?”

I studied him. The sharp angles of his face were drawn tight with regret. His hands flexed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“You hurt her,” I said. “What you said? It mattered. You can’t take it back.”

His fists clenched at his sides, then loosened, then clenched again—like he didn’t know whether to reach for her or put his hands as far away as possible.

“But that moment didn’t destroy her. Vael did that.”

Quil blinked. “He fucked up.”

“He let go,” I said quietly. “When she needed to be held.”

He looked away, jaw clenching.

“She could have braced for cruelty from you. But not from him. Not then.”

His voice cracked. “I don’t trust myself. Not around her. Not to… You know… I don’t want to be bonded to her. Not because of her, because of me… Dmitri…”

I raised a hand. “It doesn’t matter right now what you feel. What matters is that she feels, and she’s broken right now. That’s the priority. Fixing her.”

He nodded slowly. “I’ll make sure she knows that she’s… cared for. Do you think she’ll talk to me…ever?” His voice was too careful, like he was afraid the question itself might shatter in the air between us.

“When she’s ready. And not a second before.”

He didn’t argue. Just looked at her one last time.

Then, without another word, he turned back to the window, climbed through it, and vanished into the pale, creeping dawn.

I’d have to leave her soon.

The pale pink glow was already bleeding into the conservatory, soft and insistent. Dawn.

I didn’t want to go.

Every part of me wanted to scoop her into my arms, carry her to my room, tuck her beneath the covers, and lie beside her until she woke.

But that wasn’t what she needed.

A bell rang—soft, twinkling—as Fig pushed through the cracked door. He meowed at me from the floor, then hopped onto the chaise with the casual entitlement of a creature who owned the room.

I smiled faintly and shifted, easing Rowena onto the cushions. She didn’t stir, just sighed, her body curling slightly as Fig curled beside her—his little body fitting neatly into the crook of her legs.

He looked up at me. Steady. Watchful. As if he knew.

Like he was telling me, I’ve got her.

I brushed a strand of hair from her face, bent, and pressed my lips to her temple. Then I stood fully, glancing once more at the pair of them—her breath even and slow, his tail flicking protectively against her ankle.

I stepped softly to the door, careful not to wake her. Careful not to break the peace I’d helped rebuild.

In the hall, I paused—just long enough to glance down.

Vael still lay there, motionless. A man undone. I couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep, but neither would have surprised me.

I stepped over him and sat down beside the door once more, the wood solid at my back, my vigil not yet ended.