Page 31 of Bitten & Burned

Thirteen

A GODSDAMNED CATASTROPHE

Serpentine Bay, Euraline, Verdune

Quil had looked so… emptied out when I’d left him that morning.

The sea breeze blew my hair, tickling my back as I gazed out over the water.

Fig curled around my legs, meowing up at me.

I knelt to scratch between his ears. He meowed again and trundled off, running down the deck stairs to one of the lower levels and causing a metallic crash and a few swear words from the crew member he’d run into.

I wondered if I should have stayed longer with Quil or woken him up to say goodbye.

Quil had spent the last three nights in my bed.

At my insistence. We’d spent them wrapped up in one another like we were the last two people in the world, barely moving, barely breathing.

He stayed up, and I remained awake for as long as I could before falling asleep.

We didn’t talk much and practically ignored each other when not in bed, but it had sort of become a pattern for us.

And then Anton had invited me out on his yacht, La Lune Rouge.

He’d asked me over a sweet dessert wine he’d chosen to go with the choux buns he’d baked for me. He looked his usual, devil-may-care self, but I could see the tension roiling in his eyes.

He hadn’t been quite the same since he and Vael had ‘argued’. I felt it was more than a mere argument if one came away the way those two had: with bruised egos and tremors in their hands.

And so, I thought, yes. We both could use an excursion, a distraction.

I’d agreed. And he’d looked so happy. He’d kissed my hand, promised me a wonderful weekend, and then he’d gone off to pack.

I felt good about it, excited and giddy, even.

But a small pit had hollowed in my stomach when I thought about telling Quil. Not fear. Just… apprehension. He’d only just opened up to me, and I was about to spring this on him.

But Anton’s words echoed in my head, sharp as the sea air: Stop bleeding yourself dry to make him whole. He’d been talking about Vael, but I felt the same could be applied to all of them.

The soft click of a door opening behind me, light footsteps on teak. The scent of warm tea—bergamot and lemon, cut with cream.

Anton.

He paused, looking down as Fig ran up the stairs again, between his legs. “Gods, what—” The teacup jiggled in his hands, the porcelain clinking as my cat took off down the deck.

“He’s certainly having fun,” Anton mused. “Odd little thing, your Fig.”

I chuckled. “He’s never been on a boat before. He loves it.”

Fig scampered past, all claws on teakwood, as if to prove my point.

Anton blinked, grinned, and shook his head before offering the teacup. “I have some tea for you.”

I turned, smiling at him. “Is this like psychic room service? I was just thinking I wanted some tea.”

I hadn’t really been, but I also hadn’t realized how much I wanted the tea until he brought it, so it felt like the right thing to say.

“You weren’t just thinking that,” he said with a smirk, handing me the cup. I brought it to my lips. Hummed. Warm. Barely sweet. Smooth. Anton’s tea was always perfect.

“I could have been,” I countered.

“But you weren’t,” he said easily. “You were thinking about Quil.”

I glanced over at him before taking another sip of tea. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be—”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s on the shoreline. Following us.”

“What?” I asked, peering out over the dark water as if I could have seen him on the shore.

“On the shoreline. He’s tracking us. Not because he’s jealous. Because he wants you safe.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“He told me he was going to do it. Practically dared me to do something about it.”

“Did you?”

Anton shook his head, smiling softly. “How could I? He’s besotted. He’d do it even if I forbade it.”

I sighed heavily.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s where he wants to be. What he wants to do. It’d be cruel to send him back to the manor with Vael, Cassian, and Dmitri.”

“Did he really ask you?”

“Yes. He’s a good hound. Knows how to track. Knows how to guard what’s his.”

That one word thudded in my head, heavy and iron-bound.

“Is that all I am? Something to ‘guard?”

“Of course not. You’re something to honor. Protection and guarding just come with the territory.”

“It does, huh? The territory of being honored?”

“Honored, cherished, beloved. Come now—this can’t be news to a radiant, accomplished woman such as yourself. You must know you have all of us wrapped around your dainty little finger.”

Cassian’s words came back to me then, the ones he’d said when I was unraveling—the last thing you ever are is ridiculous. Honored. Cherished. Beloved. Maybe I wasn’t so ridiculous after all.

I smirked and sipped my tea again. “Do you practice these in the mirror or… do they just come to you?”

He laughed. “First of all, can’t use a mirror. You should know that. Disappointed that you made that mistake… Second of all, that depends.”

“On what?”

“If they are doing what I intended for them to do, are they?”

“What are your intentions, Anton?”

“To convince you that you are beautiful. Precious. A treasure to behold. A radiant oasis in the dark desert of life. Have I?”

“Nope,” I said with a grin.

“Harsh,” he replied. “Gods, woman.”

“I’m not saying I don’t like to hear it, I’m just saying…”

“Just saying what?”

“Look, I’m not someone who needs to hear she’s beautiful to know it’s true.

I’m well aware that hereditary features have been very kind to me.

I look like my mother, and my mother was a gorgeous woman.

However, I haven’t brushed my hair in two days.

I haven’t made any kind of effort to sand down my rough edges.

It falls flat when you say things about my appearance when I know, full well, I’m not radiant today.

I’m capable of radiance. I’m just… not… today. ”

“Noted…” Anton said. “But for the record, you possess great beauty. Regardless of how polished you are. Radiance is all about perspective. Do you think a star ever stops shining to wonder how bright it is?”

I handed him my empty tea cup. “Never thought about it,” I said. “Care to guess what I am thinking about?”

“Hmm,” Anton said, trailing off as if deep in thought. “Wouldn’t have something to do with how devastatingly handsome your current companion is, would it?”

I grinned. “Nope. I was thinking… how much I hate your hair.”

“…What?”

“Let me explain… I hate your hair because of how perfect it is.”

“That’s not better…besides, that’s what you hate? On a list of all the things I could come up with, this wasn’t on it.”

I grinned. “Yeah, well…” I reached over to tousle the hair on his head, which infuriatingly landed exactly where it had started. “See? I can’t mess it up. Rage-inducing.”

“Rage-inducing…” Anton echoed.

“Quite.”

“Well, you too could have rage-inducing hair if you only took a hundred years to perfect your hair routine.”

“A hundred years? Gods. That’s a long time to worry about something made from dead skin cells that grows out of your head.”

“Well, suffice it to say, I had the time to spare,” he teased.

“Apparently,” I murmured, smirking when he looked at me.

“You… are trouble, Rowena Marlowe.”

Trouble. That was what they all thought of me in some way, wasn’t it? Trouble, complication, chaos. And yet, here he was—eyes glinting, smile sharp, like trouble was exactly what he wanted.

“Please,” I grinned as I stepped away from the railing. “I’ve scarcely begun. There’s only more trouble to come.”

“Well, if you’d let me finish…” he said, voice low, amused… dangerous. “I said: You are trouble, Rowena Marlowe—” He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, “—but I’m a godsdamned catastrophe.”

“Is that a warning?” I asked, grinning slightly.

“A dare,” he replied, moving in closer.

His scent seemed amplified in the cool breeze—bergamot, burnt sugar, teakwood, salt. It curled around me, decadent enough to make my mouth water.

I inhaled sharply when he slid his arms around my waist, pulling me to his front possessively. He stopped short of kissing me, his nose hovering so close it nearly brushed mine.

My breath came shallow, scarce. As if I’d forgotten how to do it.

“What’s the dare?” I whispered, wanting like hell to close the scant distance between us.

“Let me devastate you.”

My breath caught, and I nodded, inhaling when he pressed close, his lips brushing mine. Just a tease at first, soft and light, pulling back whenever I made an advance. I growled in frustration, and he grinned, pulling away, but keeping my hand in his.

“Are you going to devastate me by not doing anything, because I can tell you, that wouldn’t be something I’m expecting.”

“No, I was hoping to get you inside first… I want you to be warm and comfortable for the devastation. “

“Oh?”

“Mmm,” He hummed, turning abruptly and pulling me close, his arm encircling my waist and holding me there against him.

He kissed me then, long and hard. Nothing like Quil—his kisses had tasted of blood and regret, all the tension of barely holding back.

Not like Dmitri, who seemed to be holding back for a different reason.

And nothing like Vael, who kissed me sweetly the last time he’d done so.

There was no sweetness in this kiss, which was ironic, considering the sheer amount of pastry this man made.

Anton kissed like he wasn’t holding back at all—like he wasn’t afraid to lose even a little piece of himself in the process.

I wasn’t just trouble, I was waist-deep in it, drowning in it. And maybe I wanted to be.

His lips plucked at mine, teasing me, leaving me breathless. No mercy, just kiss after kiss, until I forgot what air even felt like.

“I thought you wanted me inside and comfortable before you ruined me.”

He pulled back, his lips slightly swollen from kissing me; I assumed mine looked much the same.

“Darling, if you think that was ruinous, I might need to get you on your back even sooner.”