Page 42 of Bitten & Burned

“Now, you’ve got me,” I said. “So ask your questions. I’ll tell you what I can.”

Vael didn’t hesitate. “How did it end up on her?”

“I don’t know,” I said—and gods, the truth scraped my throat raw. “I don’t know. I just know it’s mine. And she’s hurting. And I was too much of a coward to tell her.”

“I don’t know that you’re a coward for that. You didn’t know how to tell her, but you’re going to… so we need to know as much as we can when you do go to her with this,” Vael said.

We three sat in silence for a few moments before Anton spoke, blurting the words as if they’d just come to him seconds before.

“The amulet!”

“What about it?” I asked.

He exhaled sharply. “What does that have to do with it? You must know, is it an Ashborne relic?”

“No idea,” I muttered. “If it’s a relic, it’s one I never saw.”

Vael’s expression hardened once more, as if he were coming to grips with a decision he’d already made. “Then we need someone who can inspect it properly. The only person I know with the skill is Ambrose Marlowe.”

My head jerked up. “The silversmith? Wait—Marlowe, is he related to—”

Vael’s mouth tightened. “He’s Rowena’s father.”

Anton exhaled. “Gods, we’re just learning so many things about each other today…”

I blinked. “Her father is Ambrose Marlowe? Why wouldn’t she say something?”

Vael’s gaze cut to mine. “Why didn’t you say anything about being an Ashborne vampire hunter?”

I flinched.

“That’s different,” I muttered. “Ambrose Marlowe is famously skilled. Gods, I thought his children would’ve followed in his footsteps.”

“Rowena didn’t want to,” Vael said evenly. “It’s a sore spot.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” He let the words hang, then added, “She’s not going to want me contacting him. But I don’t see another option.”

“Are you certain—” Anton began.

“Just doing what’s best for her, right?” I interrupted, my voice sharper than I meant.

Vael’s eyes narrowed. “You think I shouldn’t send for him?”

“I think you should talk to Rowena first.”

“So she can tell me no? Forbid me from sending for the one person who might be able to help her? No, I’m doing it. Ask for forgiveness, not for permission.”

“Because she’s been so willing to forgive you up until now,” Anton said dryly.

“Yes, well, as you well know, Anton, she’s not talking to me lately,” Vael admitted, jaw tightening. “Might as well add more onto the pile. Won’t make much of a difference.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Anton asked, impatient. “Between the two of you, Gods...”

I bristled. Between the two of us? What about Anton? He certainly wasn’t guiltless here.

“I… she told me she loves me. And I couldn’t—” Vael’s voice caught. “I didn’t say it back. I told her it wasn’t the time.”

I stared at him. At both of them. Then laughed, low and bitter.

“She said something earlier…I—” I shifted. “I told her I love her. But I hated that I did.”

Vael exhaled—heavy, staccato, like a drumbeat. “So when she came to me…”

“For fuck’s sake,” Anton sighed.

I continued, ignoring both of them. “And in response, she said that I’m the first one to say it to her, and it hurts because I don’t want it… which isn’t true, but… now I know what it means. You never told her, Vael? Not even when she was begging you to?”

Vael didn’t respond. Didn’t even flinch.

And that—godsdammit—that made something in me snap.

“You asked her to bond with you; you were practically living together,” I began, voice sharpening. “But you couldn’t say you loved her.”

“It wasn’t the time—”

“Bullshit. If you love her, it’s always the right time. No wonder she’s upset—between you holding the words hostage like some sad kidnapper of joy, me loving her so much I nearly killed her, and Anton on that yacht doing everything but saying the words—”

“Why are you bringing me into this?” Anton asked, his voice taking on a higher pitch than usual.

“Because you’re just as much to blame here as we are,” I countered.

“Like hells I am,” he spat. “I took her on my yacht to get away from you two and all your… drama.”

“Drama?!” Vael exclaimed.

“Yes, drama. The way you are walking around this manor like she did something to you, when you are the one who needs to apologize for what you did. All of this is your fault, really,” Anton said, folding his arms obstinately.

“And Quil with his ‘I love you, but I hate that I love you, so I’m going to bite you and almost drain you because of it.’” He lowered his voice to a raspy whine when he said it.

Rage burned in my chest. “Yeah? Well, tell me, Anton—on that yacht, with Rowena, did you ever tell her you loved her? Do you?”

He frowned. “Not that it’s your business—either of you—but no… it never came up. I said… lots of other things, but—”

“Short answer: no,” I cut in, clipped and blunt. “Now I’ll explain how you both fucked up. Since no one else will.”

“Quil—” Anton started.

“Honestly—” Vael exhaled, sharp.

“No. Shut up. Both of you—for once, just listen.”

They froze. Good.

“She walked away from me thinking she’s unlovable,” I snapped, heat boiling in my chest. “Thinking the only time she’s ever heard ‘I love you’ was from someone who fucking regretted it.”

Vael’s mouth opened, but I cut him off.

“I told her I love her,” I said, pointing at him. “And she said she’s never heard it before. Ever. Don’t tell me you don’t know what that means.”

Vael turned away, jaw locked. Anton’s mouth opened, then shut again—like the words died before they could form.

The bond clawed at me, jagged and raw. Every accusation I threw felt like it was being dragged out of my chest by her pain, not mine.

“And you,” I said, swinging my attention to Anton. “You took her out for a good time on your yacht, let it get interrupted by intruders, pawned her off on Cassian, then fucked off up the shore—without once telling her you loved her?”

Anton’s face twitched—guilt, maybe—but he said nothing.

“I said it,” I went on. “Told her. Maybe wrong. Maybe like a fucking gut punch. But at least I said it. Someone had to.”

I looked between them.

“This isn’t even my game,” I said, quieter. “You two were supposed to have the words. The confidence. The history. She trusted you. Chose you.”

I shook my head.

“And you left it all sitting on the floor like it didn’t matter.”

Neither of them met my eyes.

“I picked it up,” I said. “Me. The feral fuck-up. The one who breaks everything he touches.”

Vael opened his mouth. Closed it.

Anton’s hands flexed at his sides.

“I didn’t want to be first,” I admitted. “But I was. And it broke her. She thought I hated loving her. Maybe I did. But not because she’s unlovable. Because I never thought I deserved to love someone like her.”

Silence.

Thick. Sharp. A blade on the verge of falling.

“I’m going to tell her the truth,” I said finally. “About the brand. About everything. And I’m going to tell her again that I love her. Not because I have to. Because I need to.”

I looked at them one last time.

“You should’ve done it first.” I cut my eyes to Vael. “A long while ago.”

I turned to go.

But before I reached the door, Anton spoke—quiet, but not soft.

“I wanted to.”

I stopped.

He didn’t step closer. Didn’t change his tone. Just stood there, flour on his sleeve, guilt clinging to his voice like smoke.

“I wanted to say it. Gods, I nearly did. A dozen times.” He laughed once—bitter, sad. “But every time I got close, I told myself I had time. That I could wait. That she wouldn’t want to hear it from me.”

I turned just enough to see his face. It was open in a way it rarely was. No smirk. No silk. Just regret.

“I didn’t think she needed the words. Not from me.”

The bond with her scraped raw inside me, quieter now, but no less jagged. It made every word feel like a wound slowly bleeding out.

His eyes met mine. Steady. Unflinching.

“But you’re right. I left her wondering. I let her think my silence meant I didn't.”

He looked at Vael—who still hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a thing—and then back at me.

“Whatever else happens… thank you for saying it. Even if it broke her. At least now she knows.”

I held his gaze a beat longer.

“I need to find her. Come or don’t.”

They both hesitated.

Vael moved first, decisive. “I’ll go. I’m sending for Ambrose; she deserves to hear that from me.”

Anton stayed where he was, flour still dusting his sleeve. “She doesn’t wish to be found,” he said quietly. “Better to let her come to us again.”

“We could,” I allowed. “But I can’t. I have to tell her about the sigil.”

Anton’s jaw tightened. “Then tell her I’ll be in my quarters if she wants me. It’s the only way I won’t crowd her.”

Vael shook his head. “She needs you even when it’s hard, Anton. You know that.”

Anton bristled. “And I know pressing her now will only drive her farther away.”

I cut between them. “Enough. Three of us showing up will feel like we’re ganging up on her. Anton’s right—he should stay. She’ll need a safe place after I tell her the truth.”

Anton nodded once. “I’ll be in my quarters.” He stepped through the door and disappeared down the hall.

The bond flared suddenly and sharply, dragging me like it had its own will.

I didn’t need to guess where it was leading me. I glanced at Vael and nodded.

I only prayed she’d still let us through the door when we got there.