Page 40 of Bitten & Burned

Eighteen

UNLOVABLE

Kravenspire, Sol, Verdune

The journey back to Halemont blurred together—early morning fog, the creak of the carriage, Cassian’s shoulder bracing me when the road jolted too hard. Each bump set a dull ache pulsing through my thigh, the sigil burning just enough to remind me it hadn’t gone anywhere.

I wasn’t ready to face what waited for me at the manor again, but choice had nothing to do with it. By the time the sun sank low, the gates loomed behind us, and Halemont’s silence pressed down once more.

Vael and Dmitri greeted us at the door. I let Fig out of his carrier the second we got inside; he ran into the bowels of the house to do whatever it was he did.

It was quiet. It was kind of nice.

I hugged Dmitri, sighed into his warmth. It was all-encompassing, and I thoroughly enjoyed his embrace.

Vael stood there in his impeccably tailored clothing, but didn’t make a move otherwise. I waited, hoping he’d at least say something.

He didn’t; he muttered something about the time and turned on his heel, escaping back to his quarters again. I sighed, my shoulders slumping.

Cassian’s hand came to rest on my lower back. “Are you alright, little dove?”

I shook my head. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “He just needs time.”

Anton came to me the second he and Quil returned. He’d wrapped me up in his arms and hadn’t let go. And I hadn’t wanted him to.

He felt safe in a way I hadn’t had since back on the boat. Beside him, I could sleep. I could read. I could even stare into the void, and he’d let me. The bond didn’t thrash or strain with him—it hummed low and steady, like it finally remembered what calm was.

He didn’t pry into my thoughts the way Vael did. He didn’t keep me on edge like Quil always seemed to. Cassian and Dmitri could offer comfort, too, but not like Anton.

There was no pressure to perform with him. No pressure to do anything at all. With Anton, I could just… be.

That’s all I wanted. To just be.

I’d practically lived in Anton’s rooms since he returned. Three days, maybe more—I’d lost track. The first morning after, I’d gone to make breakfast, only to run into Quil in the kitchen. He escaped before I could so much as ask him a question.

The way he bolted made my stomach twist. He was acting… strange. Even for him.

Or maybe not. Maybe he was acting exactly like himself, and I was too mixed up to see the difference.

Anton didn’t seem to know what was wrong with him.

“Darling, he’s a difficult one to nail down… Want me to go and tie him up for you?”

“No, Anton,” I replied, squeezing his hand. “I just… was he acting strangely on the boat ride back?”

“I’ll be honest with you, Rowena—I was counting down the minutes until I had you back in my arms. Didn’t have much room to worry about Quil. He asked a few questions, but otherwise he was quiet. He’s a pensive sort of fellow, that Quil.”

My shoulders slumped, and Anton leaned over to kiss me. His lips left a trail from my neck down my shoulder, down my arm, to my hand. And then he started sucking on each of my fingers, and I sort of forgot about everything for a few hours.

Which was… lovely.

Cassian had been busy, tightening the manor’s defenses against whatever might come crawling out of the woods. He hadn’t been around for more of his particular brand of comfort—and maybe that was for the best. I wasn’t sure I could handle him again so soon.

Dmitri was keeping to himself mostly, but I’d noticed him on the outskirts, playing with Fig. Apparently, he and my cat had become fast friends.

Fig did love Anton as well, though. It might have something to do with the fish Anton supplied for him, but one couldn’t be too sure. He also slept in Anton’s house slippers, so there was that.

And then there was Vael.

Every time I looked at him, my heart cracked a little more.

I used to believe unspoken words were simmering beneath his silences.

Now all I could hear was the echo of What did you do?

Snarled in my face as he dropped me onto the floor.

The bond with him ached when I thought of it, a splintered hum that refused to settle.

He’d been angry, that much I knew. He’d come to apologize the next day, and I’d turned him away. He’d not tried it again. Maybe he never would. Maybe I should have let him apologize the day after the bonding ceremony. I’d just been so fucking angry at him.

He was certainly still angry with me; that much was certain.

He didn’t wish to share me, for one. But it wasn’t so much him sharing me as it was me sharing myself. I understood that if he didn’t wish to be a part of this, he didn’t have to be. But he wasn’t the deciding vote on it either.

If he gave me an ultimatum, I couldn’t give up Anton. Or Quil. Or Cassian. Or Dmitri.

But gods, I didn’t want to give up Vael either.

I hadn’t seen Quil since that morning in the kitchen. Not really. It felt like he was avoiding me. And when his eyes did catch mine, I didn’t see the usual mix of yearning and anger. I saw guilt.

I thought we’d moved past this. He’d seemed like a different person on the yacht. But maybe it was because I was sleeping in Anton’s quarters and not my own. I couldn’t imagine he wanted to come knocking on Anton’s door and curl up in bed between the two of us.

Therefore, I decided to go looking for him. Ask him what was going on.

I found him outside on the back patio. Storm clouds rolled in from the west, fat drops already spitting down, and he sat on a bench, face tilted into the wind as rain streaked his skin. The shift in pressure made the sigil on my thigh pulse sharp and hot, as if the storm had seeped inside me.

“Quil?” I said softly.

His eyes opened and flicked to my face. “Rowena? You shouldn’t be out here right now. It’s going to start storming; you should go back inside.”

“I don’t want to,” I said, planting my feet. “I want to talk.”

“So let’s talk inside.”

“No,” I insisted. “Here.” I knew if given half a chance, he’d attempt to lose me in the house again. I needed to talk to him. I needed to know if what I was feeling was real. “You’re avoiding me. Why?”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t do that, Quil. I’m smarter than that. I deserve a real answer.”

His jaw tightened, and he immediately broke eye contact, looking down at my collarbone instead.

“I’m not,” he insisted.

“Bullshit. You won’t even look at me. Is this about Anton?”

He blinked, sighing and shaking his head. “No.”

“So you admit there’s a reason?”

“What? Yes. I mean—no.”

“Quil… come on. What is it? What did I do? Is this about the yacht? You saved me. I’m not upset that you don’t move at the speed of light. You saved me. They didn’t hurt me.”

“It’s not… just that,” he said, teeth grinding. “Can we go inside? You’re going to catch a cold. You’re getting soaked…”

I shook my head. “So talk to me quickly. Stop changing the subject. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Rowena, I just—fuck.” He stood and started pacing, his hair slicking on his head as he ran his hands through it. He looked at me, held my gaze. “Fuck.”

He moved in close—faster than I could blink—and suddenly I was in his arms again.

Just like that day—the day he couldn’t stop. The bond snarled when he touched me, sharp and electric, like it remembered the last time too well.

But this was different.

His hands were different.

One fisted in the front of my blouse, as if he let go, he’d lose me. The other slid into my hair, fingers trembling, like he needed to be sure I was real.

His face was rain-slick and tense, his lips parted. I could feel the moment he gave in.

His breath hitched. His eyes dropped to my mouth. And then—

He kissed me.

Gods, he kissed me.

I exhaled into it like I’d been drowning. Wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulled him closer, even closer.

His kiss wasn’t gentle—his kisses never had been. But this wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t even just frustration.

It was ravenous—the kind of hunger that left no survivors.

Like he’d been starving and only just realized I was the thing he needed to live.

My hands slid into his wet hair, dragging him closer. I felt the sharp edge of his teeth. The softness of his lips. The groan that built in his throat and edged into my mouth.

My knees nearly gave out. I wanted to crawl inside him. To scream. To cry. To bite him.

I wanted him everywhere. Bruising me. Holding me. Loving me.

I nearly jumped into his arms—very nearly. My thighs twitched with the need to wrap around his hips, to press my whole body to his, like maybe I could fuse us together and finally make sense of everything that had gone so wrong.

But I didn’t. I stayed grounded. Barely.

And then—

He broke away with a growl.

Pulled back like he’d been burned.

Spun on his heel and started pacing again, dragging his hands through his wet hair, teeth bared to the storm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hissed, shaking. “Why did I—fuck.”

“What’s wrong? Quil?”

“Don’t… just… I love you. I fucking hate that I love you, but I do. I fucking love you, Rowena. I hate it. But I do.”

I swallowed, tears hot and wet, quivering unshed in my eyes.

This wasn’t… how I wanted to hear this. For the first time. Or ever.

“Why is it that the first ‘I love you’ I get is from someone who doesn’t want it? What kind of person does that make me?”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at me. Stood there with his perfect dark eyes, pouty lips, and strong arms that I’d give anything to have wrapped around me.

But he hated that he loved me. That was worse than just flat-out hating me. Fucking hells.

I willed the tears not to fall. A few still did, but the rain hid them as I backed away from him.

“Rowena, sweetheart…” Quil reached for me, but I yanked my hand away, shaking my head.

“No. You don’t get to ‘sweetheart’ me when you hate that you love me.”

He looked stricken, paler than usual, as he fumbled over his words. “That’s not what I— fuck, Rowena, I—please listen…”