Page 35 of Bitten & Burned

Fifteen

brANDED

Serpentine Bay, Euraline, Verdune

QUIL

I was minding my own business, counting down ten minutes in my head like Anton told me. I’d half expected him to look smug when he passed by. He had every right to.

The fucking sounds that came off that yacht last night. I was pretty sure I heard her ask him to ’split her open’.

No one in the whole godsforsaken bay could have done anything but listen.

At least she sounded like she was having a good time.

Not like she did with me. With me, it was all cold and fear. With him, it was laughter. Joy.

I swallowed hard and realized I’d lost count again.

Fuck’s sake.

Five minutes left? Maybe. I called it five and kept counting, making my way over to where the yacht was docked.

And then I heard it.

A soft tink: metal on metal. Delicate, rhythmic. I couldn’t place where it was coming from.

I stopped walking. Listened.

A pause.

Then—wet flops. Heavy. Like drenched fabric being dumped onto hardwood. And… whispers. Voices too close to be from the shore.

From the deck of La Lune Rouge.

Fuck.

I crouched low and crept forward.

Four figures were slinking around from the stern, heading straight for the stairwell down to the lower decks.

I could smell them. They smelled… godsawful.

Like unwashed skin. Sweat. Blood. Piss.

And something, down deep, that rattled me. Reminded me of something.

Rage flared suddenly and absolutely. My blood boiled so fast my pulse couldn’t keep up.

She was mine. Ours. Mine.

I moved faster—still trying not to make noise—but I could already feel the rage taking over. My fangs ached. My hands curled into claws. My blood felt like it was boiling. Pure heat in my veins.

I sprinted, cleared the rail in one leap, and hit the deck with a thud that rattled the boards.

And then I heard her.

Screaming.

And I felt her.

Terrified.

Something broke inside me.

I didn’t think.

I didn’t breathe.

I was on the stairs.

I was at the bottom.

I was in the room.

They had her.

They were tearing Anton’s shirt off her body like she was a carcass being flayed open for scraps.

I lost it.

There was no strategy. No thought. No warning.

I killed.

The first one didn’t even see me—his neck snapped before his eyes registered movement.

The second turned just in time to scream. I ripped him open—hands, fangs, blood—until he stopped moving.

The one holding her took more effort. He fought back. That made it worse for him.

He fought back with a smile on his face as I snapped his forearm.

He went down hard.

Then there was just Rowena.

And one last figure, hunched in the corner, twitching beneath a pillow. Sobbing. Then giggling. Then sobbing again.

Bloodroot.

That was what I’d smelled on them earlier. Bloodroot. Native to the Western Pines. I hadn’t seen it since… not since I’d been human.

It had to be bloodroot. Her pupils were blown, her hands twitching.

“She’s marked,” the girl whispered. “She’s ours. She’s marked. She’s ours, she’s marked, she’s ours…”

I didn’t kill her.

Not yet.

I dropped to my knees beside Rowena, my hands already shaking.

She was limp. Her braid was half-undone. The shirt was torn open.

I pressed two fingers to her neck.

Please. Please, please, please…

A pulse. Weak. Thready.

But there. Gods, it was there.

She was my heart now, fluttering under my fingers. If it stopped, so did I.

She was breathing.

Barely.

“You’re okay,” I whispered, like I had the power to make it true. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

My hands shook as I gathered her up. I didn’t want to touch her, but didn’t want to let go. Gods, I couldn’t win.

She was warm. Her chest still rose and fell in small, shallow breaths.

Thank the fucking gods she was alive.

“She’s marked, she’s ours, she’s marked, she’s ours…” the girl babbled in the corner.

“Shut up,” I barked. “Unless you want to end up like the others.”

She didn’t stop. Just dropped her voice to a whisper.

Fucking moron.

I tried to block her out. Smoothed Rowena’s hair, tried to pull the tatters of Anton’s shirt around her body—give her some semblance of dignity, of safety.

That’s when I felt it.

A raised patch of skin, lower on her thigh. Rough under my fingers. Scarred.

That was the wound on her thigh. She’d talked about it enough. But I’d never seen it. Never wanted to. The thing reeked like it was rotting.

I traced along the ridges of flesh built up around it, and it felt familiar.

Fuck.

My heart stopped. My stomach plummeted.

I didn’t even have to see it to know.

I could already tell—just from the feel of it.

But I looked anyway, moved the bottom hem of the shirt to see better.

When I saw it, I nearly dropped her.

I froze. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“She’s marked, she’s ours, she’s marked, she’s ours…”

My head turned towards the girl in the corner.

She was curled into herself, rocking like she wasn’t in her body. Still whispering. Still twitching.

I swallowed hard. Tried to steady my voice and failed.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

She didn’t even blink. Just kept chanting.

“She’s marked, she’s ours…”

My blood roared in my ears.

“Tell me your name, freak!” I snapped.

That got her attention. She flinched, blinking up at me as if she’d only just noticed I was there.

“Lady,” she said. “They call me Lady.”

“Last name.”

She grinned. Wide and cracked.

“Ashborne.”

I knew she was going to say it. But it still hit me like a godsdamned brick.

It was on my back. This entire time…

I lay Rowena down on the ground, standing and going to the three I’d decimated. I rolled each over, pulling up shirts to see the brands on their backs.

Just like mine. Branded just like me. And now…

I glanced back at Rowena on the floor.

The sight of each one made me feel more crazed. Like I could throw myself over the railing into the ocean. Like I could scrub my skin off and still not be clean.

Gods, the way she smelled—sweet, but rotten. That’s why. That had to be why.

I looked at Lady Ashborne in the corner. “Do you know me?”

Her eyes were glazed over as she looked. I could have sworn I saw one lazily drift to the left.

She shrugged. “I don’t know who you are, but I know you have one, too. I can smell it on you.” She laughed. “You’re ours too. Not like her. You’re one of us. But she’s ours.” Her laugh bubbled up again.

I saw red. I rose. I moved.

I snapped her neck like the first one.

I was panting when I heard something. Someone at the stairs. Smelled like chocolate and bergamot. Anton. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He was going to…

I dove back to the ground beside Rowena, pulled her into my arms again, and tried to drive out the vision of what I’d seen on her thigh.

Not a curse. A brand.

How the fuck she’d gotten it, I had no clue.

I’d gotten mine on my first hunt. Burned into my back by my father—proof of bloodline, loyalty, servitude.

Proof I was an Ashborne.

Rowena’s was on her thigh. Like she was livestock.

Like she was owned.

I couldn’t tell the others. I couldn’t tell Rowena.

Not now. Not ever—if I could help it.

Because now I knew the truth.

It was my fault.

It was my fucking fault she was in pain.