Page 28 of Bitten & Burned

“You seem like you were turned around my age. So I don’t think it matters.”

“That’s kind of you. Many would balk.”

“No different than Vael being a hundred and twenty,” I said.

“I suppose not,” he allowed.

“So Anton’s next oldest?”

“Yes. But don’t ask how old he is—he’d stake me for telling you.”

“Well, Dmitri’s one-eighty-six, so Anton’s somewhere between that and five hundred.”

“Precisely. But if you want to know? Ask him. I value my un-staked status.”

I laughed—and wheezed when something pinched in my chest.

“Gods—what was that, first my ribs, now my chest?”

Cassian’s expression softened. “You were very near death when I found you.” A pause. “I feared I might have been too late.”

“You weren’t,” I whispered. “I’m here.”

“You very nearly weren’t.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. I blinked rapidly—pointless, but instinctual.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I begged Quil. To do it.” My voice cracked. “I enjoyed it… immensely. Until I didn’t.”

Cassian was quiet for a moment. Not judging—just giving my words room to breathe.

Then he said, gently, “As I’m sure you know… vampires tend to enjoy it immensely as well. It’s meant to feel good. We do it to live, obviously, but we also do it to make a connection.”

I blinked, tears stinging again. “What about when it ends like that?”

“Especially then.” His tone didn’t waver.

“Rowena, what happened wasn’t wrong because you enjoyed it.

” His thumb brushed away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.

“And, it wasn’t wrong because you wanted it.

” He paused, meeting my eyes. “It was wrong because he couldn’t stop when you needed him to. ”

I curled in a little tighter against him. I didn’t know I needed to hear that until he said it.

You’re not broken for wanting it.

You’re not weak for enjoying it.

And you are not to blame for the moment it stopped being safe.

A sob slipped out of me—thin, more breath than sound.

Cassian just held me tighter. “If he’d bitten you and it hadn’t felt good, we’d be having a very different conversation.”

That startled a laugh out of me, wet and shaking. “Gods, that’s true, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is.” He rested his forehead gently against mine. “Pleasure doesn’t make you complicit. It makes you alive.”

I settled into the warmth of his embrace, letting things stretch…then jolted upright again. “Oh gods. Did you all know it? Could the bond like… tell you that I was—that we were... doing things?”

His expression shifted… he pointedly did not look me in the eyes. “Well…”

“Oh gods, this is embarrassing…” I groaned, scooping Fig up and crawling out of Cassian’s lap and into my bed, where I promptly burrowed under the many blankets.

Fig didn’t seem to understand my immense embarrassment, so he climbed back out to perch on my pillow and clean his face.

Cassian shifted at the bottom of the bed where he sat, turning to look at me, the lump who used to be Rowena.

“Rowena…”

“I’m not here. I’ve perished. I died from mortification, not blood loss.” I burrowed deeper. “Tell everyone I went peacefully, and it wasn’t Quil’s fault.”

Cassian sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “It’s not like that. We didn’t see anything.”

“But you felt it?” I asked, poking my head out once more.

He paused. Holding the silence before replying.

“Vaguely.”

“Oh gods, that’s so much worse…”

“Rowena, you don’t need to be embarrassed—wait—how is that worse?”

“Because it is,” I wailed. “Gods, Vael is going to scowl at me until the end of my days. He’ll never forgive me at this rate. I should be locked up or something. I shouldn’t be allowed to… make these decisions right now. I’m too… strung up.”

“Well, yes… we could tell that as well. Emotionally. Not physically. Although… that too.”

I let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a shriek. “You are not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he replied, the smile apparently in his voice.

“This is why people write tragic vampire poetry, you know.”

“We’re deeply misunderstood.” He chuckled, warm and accepting. “And you are r—”

“Ridiculous?” I cut in quickly. “Yeah, I know. I think I’m just nervous from the…

near-death experience or something.” I laughed—light, brittle.

My limbs still felt too loose, my heartbeat still too fast. Jumpy.

On edge. Like I was still waiting for something to go wrong.

The bond still felt frayed, echoing with leftover panic that wasn’t just mine.

Cassian’s voice came softer now.

“No,” he said. “I was going to say radiant.”

He held my gaze, steady and sure.

“The last thing you ever are is ridiculous.”

I blinked, taking a breath.

He meant it. He wasn’t trying to soothe me. He was sincere.

Somehow, that made it worse.

Worse than the near-death part.

Worse than the bite.

Just worse.

I pulled the blanket up to my chin, unsure of how to salvage the moment. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about it for long.

There was a soft knock at the door, which cracked open.

“Cassian?”

Anton’s voice sounded… rougher. Like it had been wrung out—hoarse from shouting.

Cassian turned to me. “Up for visitors?”

I nodded. “Yes, please.”

“Come on in, she’s here in bed.”

Fig shifted on the pillow beside me, curling into a tight ball to sleep.

Anton stepped in slowly, his eyes going straight to me. Relief crossed his face, tearing it apart before he built it back up again, piece by piece.

“Oh, good, you’re awake…” He stood still, frozen with nervous energy, before he turned and walked to the windows. “Let’s get some moonlight in here. It looks downright dreary… You won’t get better if you’re constantly sad, Rowena. Cassian, really, you should have known better.”

Cassian smiled, seeing his sudden burst of movement for what it was. Anton was scared. Had been scared. And he needed a moment to compose himself. Cassian rose and nodded goodbye to me. “I’ll be back to check on you, little dove,” he said softly. Then, he was gone.

“Moon’s almost full tonight,” I said softly. “Lots of light.”

Anton paused, his hand on the curtain. I saw, for an instant, the blood that stained his knuckles. I wondered if it was my blood or his. Or Vael’s.

“It certainly is bright,” Anton said. “You witches adore this stuff, don’t you? You’ll need to get your strength back if you’re going to commune with your goddess.”

“I haven’t communed with Inera in such a long time,” I said wistfully. “Goddess, forgive me, I’ve been slacking off on my worship.” The words landed heavier than I expected. “I just… can’t face her, not with this thing on my leg. I lost my magic, and I don’t know how to be anymore.”

Anton let the curtain fall back into place, glancing at his hand and quickly covering it with his other one as he turned to face me, looking as if he wanted to say something… something important, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was:

“Talk to her anyway.”

I blinked. “Even if I can’t do anything?”

“Don’t forget those parts of yourself. Don’t lose yourself because of…

that thing. Not after what just happened.

You lived. I’d say you have plenty to talk to your goddess about.

And from what I can tell, Inera favored you, allowing you to use her magic.

She’s probably worried. As worried as goddesses can be, I suppose.

” He let his hands drop as he walked. No—paced.

He had no destination, but it was clear he must move.

“Later,” I said, holding out my hand. “Come here first.”

Anton froze, as if he didn’t quite understand what I’d asked—or that it required him to move. But when he did, he slowly walked over to me.

I patted the bed where Cassian had been, and Anton sat, taking my hand in his, remembering belatedly about the bruises on his hands, and tried to pull back, but I held on. His knuckles were warm against my palm, rough where the skin had split. I held tighter, grounding both of us.

“Are you okay?” I asked, running my fingertips over his trembling hand, wondering what chaos had been wrought by such elegant fingers.

Anton didn’t pull away, but I could feel the tension roiling under my fingers.

“I will be,” he said slowly. “I… lost my temper.”

“I imagine that doesn’t happen often?” I asked. What I wanted to ask was what that looked like. But I knew better than that. Anton was just as fragile emotionally as I was physically, and this was a fraught moment for us both.

He gave a soft, mirthless laugh.

“No, it doesn’t. More often than I’d like, but this time…it was warranted.”

I didn’t pry. Didn’t want to.

“Are you… truly alright, Anton?”

He looked at me, his eyes wide, rheumy, and tearful. “You… you scared the hells out of me.”

I pressed my lips together, forming an answer. One that would possibly ease the pain in his eyes, but all I came up with was:

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to.”

He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. It was then that I realized that my hands, too, were stained with blood.

Gods, how much had I lost?

Anton seemed to notice just after I did. He held my hand close to his lips for a few moments before returning it to me as gently as he had taken it. His fingers lingered like he didn’t quite trust himself to let go.

“You’re alright,” he said, as much to convince himself as me. “You’re alright. Cassian gave you enough.”

“I know,” I murmured. “I just… I’m so sorry. It was my fault. I asked him, I begged—”

“You didn’t beg for him to drain you,” Anton said firmly. “He lost control. That’s on him. Not on you… It could have been any of us. Not just Quil.”

I blinked, but the tears didn’t fall. They stayed, frozen in the corners of my eyes as I realized what he meant. Quil hadn’t done it because he was wild. He’d done it because he was a vampire. And it could have happened to any of them. Anton, Cassian, Dmitri…

Even Vael.

The tears fell, dripping down my cheeks as I tried to erase Vael’s voice from my mind.

What did you do?

What had I done?