Page 41 of Bitten & Burned

“Don’t bother coming up with an apology. I won’t believe it,” I said coldly as I turned to leave.

The words echoed in my head as loudly as Vael’s: What did you do?

I fucking love you, Rowena. I hate it, but I do.

What was so wrong with me?

Why was it that I’d been with Vael for so long, and he still couldn’t muster a real feeling—except disappointment?

Quil hated that he loved me. Vael was disappointed in me. Godsdammit, why would he have asked me to do the bonding ritual with him if he didn’t love me?

Because he’s a vampire, it doesn’t mean the same to him as it does to you. He’s immortal.

But I’d thought… hoped that Vael wasn’t like that. That he was one of the caring vampires. Like Cassian. Or Dmitri. Or Anton. Although none of them were jumping to tell me they loved me, either. But I also hadn’t known them as long as I had Vael.

Gods, this was too much to handle.

I wasn’t sure what made me go to Vael. Maybe curiosity. Maybe desperation. Maybe I just needed to know.

I knocked on his door. He opened it, looking genuinely surprised to see me.

“Rowena…” he said softly, his eyes moving over me like I was a mirage he didn’t quite believe.

“I love you,” I said, blunt and reckless.

His eyes widened—barely. His lips parted, then pressed together again. His gaze flicked to my shoulder… then back to my eyes. Then back to my shoulder.

“I’m sorry that the bonding didn’t go the way you wanted. I’m sorry if I was what caused that. But I love you. I do love you, Vael.”

He didn’t say anything. He looked at me. That’s it.

I gave him time—an eternity, it felt like.

Still nothing.

So I kept going. “Do you love me? You asked me to bond with you. That’s more than human marriage. Did you ask because you love me? Or was it something else?”

“I did it because I want to be with you,” he said.

When his eyes skimmed my shoulder instead of my face, the bond with him thrummed sharp and thin, like a thread about to snap.

“But do you love me?” I asked again, my voice tipping into desperation. I hated that I needed the answer. “Say something, Vael. Anything. Please.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t look at me. Not for the longest time.

And then—

“Is this really something we need to talk about right now?”

There it was.

No. He didn’t love me.

Maybe he had once. Maybe he stopped when I bonded with the others. Or maybe I’d just been fooling myself all along.

I took a step back, shaking my head. “No,” I said quietly. “No, we don’t have to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.”

He reached for me, but I was already retreating. “Rowena, please. We can talk about something else? Like we used to? I just can’t talk about this with you now.”

If he’d reached for me before, if he’d made me feel like he wanted me there… but he wanted it like it was before? What?

But he hadn’t reached for me before. I had no fucking clue what went on inside his head. Maybe I never had.

I turned and walked.

I heard him call my name behind me, but I didn’t stop. I blinked back tears and kept going, my body on autopilot.

I ended up in the kitchen.

Anton was rolling out dough on the counter, whistling a little tune. He looked up when I entered and smiled.

The bond shifted the moment I saw him—low, warm, steady. A reminder: he was the one who always noticed.

“Hello, darling… is something wrong?”

He sensed it instantly.

I didn’t mean to dump it all on him, but the words just tumbled out—what Quil had said, what Vael had said, what he hadn’t said. What I said. I poured it out like water through a cracked glass—uncontrollable, spilling everywhere.

Anton set the rolling pin down, his expression softening. “Oh, darling…” he murmured, opening his arms.

I stepped into them. His embrace was warm. He smelled like burnt sugar and lemon zest—safety. Calm.

He stroked my back. I didn’t cry, but I let my head rest against his shoulder.

If he’d said nothing at all, it might have been perfect.

But things rarely ever were.

“Quil and Vael…” he murmured, brushing his lips to my hair. “They can be… awfully themselves, can’t they?”

“Why couldn’t they just… say literally anything else?” I asked. “Vael’s gift is literally words. He could have said anything. But he didn’t. And Quil… why would I want to hear that he hates that he loves me? What kind of… just what?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s just how they are. No changing them. Would you like to help me roll out this dough? I was thinking of doing something savory, what do you think?”

No judgment. No anger. Just Anton being… Anton.

But it wasn’t what I needed.

I didn’t want a neutral haven. I wanted someone to burn with me. Or at least distract me. Something.

Anton wasn’t that currently.

Maybe later, when my anger had cooled, he would be.

“I’m not hungry… I need to lie down. Maybe later?”

I didn’t pull away sharply—that would’ve hurt him. I just waited until it felt natural to let go.

Then I slipped away. Quietly. I only hoped he didn’t feel the void trailing after me.

My footsteps echoed down the hall.

I didn’t know where I was going—until I found myself at the war room.

Cassian was inside, leaning over a table covered in maps.

I hesitated at the threshold.

“Cassian…” My voice came out softer than I meant.

The bond with Cassian tugged faintly, urging patience. It only made the sting sharper—I didn’t want patience, I wanted to be seen.

He didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“Do you have time for me?”

“Of course. Just a moment—I need to keep my train of thought while I—”

He sighed—not heavy, not annoyed, but enough to stop me in my tracks.

“Never mind,” I said quickly. “I’ll find you later.”

“No—Rowena, it’s fine. I just need to finish this thought—”

But I was already backing out.

He wasn’t angry. Just preoccupied with the manor. With me. With keeping me safe. Gods, I knew that going in.

It was only bad timing.

That was all.

Each step back from the war room sent a faint throb through the sigil, like it was keeping pace with my retreat.

My steps picked up speed. Fast. Faster. I wanted as much space between me and that door as I could get.

I still didn’t know where I was going.

Until I did.

Across the manor. Down a familiar hall. To a door I knew would always open.

Dmitri.

I knocked. Waited.

The door opened.

QUIL

“Fuck…” I growled, nails digging into my palms. “Fuck.”

Why the fuck had I said it like that?

Why the fuck had I said anything at all?

The bond with her still thrummed through me, ragged and raw. Every beat reminded me of the way she’d pulled back, the way I’d driven her off.

She’d come looking for answers. Asked why I was acting strange.

She was right. I was acting strange.

Because of the sigil scorched into her hip. Because I recognized it. Because I knew what it meant. Because I knew it hurt her—and I knew why.

As soon as she found out, she’d be disgusted. With me. With my family.

I still couldn’t understand how it had gotten there. On her leg. On her skin. All this time, that’s what it was.

A cattle brand. My family burned it into steer. Into mules. Into pigs.

And now… her.

Why?

Why was my kin attacking her? Why were they all addicted to bloodroot? Why the fuck were they scaling the side of a yacht just to get to her?

None of it made sense.

But one thing was clear: I couldn’t keep this to myself anymore. Not after what I’d just said to her. Not after how it had broken something in her. Not when she thought I didn’t mean it.

I couldn’t keep secrets if this were the outcome. I’d rather she hate me for a good reason than for something as stupid as me fumbling a love confession.

I did mean it. Every godsdamned word.

I loved her. So much. Camarae, help me, too much.

But the sigil. The brand…

I couldn’t tell her about that yet. Too overwhelming.

But I needed to tell someone. And no matter how many names I ran through in my head, I kept coming back to the same one.

Vael.

He’d been searching for answers as long as she had. He’d know what to do with the information—what pieces mattered and where they fit.

He judged me. Judged her harder.

Still, he was the only one who might know how to tell her. The only one I trusted with this—for her.

I knocked on his door. Voices carried from inside—Vael’s low and clipped, Anton’s sharper, irritated.

The door opened quickly. Vael stood there, and Anton was just behind him. “Rowena?” He blurted, his expression dropped the second he saw me instead.

“Nope,” I said, dry. “Just me, Professor.”

“What do you want, Quil?” he asked, resigned. Done.

I didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, I turned around and pulled up the back of my shirt.

His breath hitched. Not loud, but sharp enough to sting.

Behind him, Anton went still. “Fucking hells…” he murmured.

Vael hissed something that sounded faintly like ‘Rowena’. I didn’t know if it was in horror or realization—or both.

The brand on my back burned phantom-hot as I showed it to him, like it had when I’d gotten it. Like it remembered or something. Remembered what it was for. Why it failed.

“That,” Vael said finally, voice tight. “What is that?”

I let the shirt fall. Turned to face them.

Anton’s gaze cut to me, searching, but he didn’t speak. Not yet.

“A brand,” I said. “My father gave it to me when I came of age. Thirteen.”

“Thirteen’s not ‘of age’,” Vael stated, as if I didn’t already know.

“In the Ashborne family, it is,” I replied.

“That’s not just a name, is it?” Anton said after a beat. “You’re really one of them. One of the hunters.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I am. I was.”

“They hunted vampires,” Vael said, as if he couldn’t believe it.

I nodded again. “Cosmic fucking joke, right? The brand was supposed to keep us from turning.” I tapped my chest. “Didn’t exactly take.”

Vael’s eyes darkened. “And Rowena’s wound… It’s the same mark.”He ran a hand over his face. “That explains why I never found anything in the archives. Old blood magic. Bound by bloodline. It wouldn’t be written anywhere unless—”

“Unless you were one of us,” I filled in.

“But now…” Anton began.