Page 45 of Bitten & Burned

“I didn’t do it to go behind your back,” Vael said softly. “I did it because I’m afraid. You’re getting worse, and we’re running out of time—”

“We?” I bit out. “Who’s we? Because last I checked, I’m the one with a godsdamned brand carved into my flesh. I’m the one—”

“—who is dying,” Vael interrupted, and the room went silent.

His voice broke at the end. Just a little. Just enough. “And I’m the one who’s trying to stop it.”

“No,” I snapped. Too fast. Too hard. “I am not dying.”

Vael opened his mouth, but I didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m tired. I’m in pain. I’m angry and sick and miserable and yes, maybe I’m a little out of my godsdamned mind—” My voice cracked, but I pushed through it, breath coming sharp and shallow. “But I’m not dying. I won’t die. I haven’t come this far to just… to end here.”

“Mishka…” Dmitri said softly. I ignored him.

“I don’t need anyone calling in reinforcements. I don’t need my father barging into my life just because you all think you know what’s best.”

“I don’t know what’s best,” Vael admitted quietly. “That’s why I sent for your father. He needs to look at that amulet.”

My jaw clenched. My heart ached. I wanted to scream, to hit something, to run into the forest and tear at the trees until they bled.

But I couldn’t move.

Dmitri stepped closer. Not enough to crowd me, just enough to be there.

“We don’t want to lose you in pieces,” he said, voice low, velvety, and grief-stricken. “We don’t want to lose you at all.”

My breath caught. My legs wobbled.

Because I knew what he meant. I felt what he meant.

He wasn’t just talking about my body. He was talking about my mind. My spirit. The way I’d been unraveling—slowly, steadily—thread by bloody thread.

Suddenly, I didn’t know where to look. Vael’s eyes were still on me, golden and fierce. Quil’s hands held mine again, rough and steady. Dmitri stood at my side, every inch of him carved from quiet strength.

And me?

I was just… breaking.

Tears spilled before I could stop them.

“Why do you think it’s the amulet?” I asked, voice ragged. “Why does everyone keep blaming that? Silas said it was meant to help me—”

Vael looked at me like I’d just cracked his ribs open with my bare hands. His lips parted. Then closed. His golden eyes shimmered—but not with light. With terror.

So it was Quil—blunt, broken Quil—who filled the silence.

“Why do you think it’s helping?” he asked softly.

I turned to him.

“You think the timing’s a coincidence?” he went on, still holding my hands. “You wore it, and you got worse. You took it off, and you got better. You put it back on, and now we’re watching you bleed yourself raw because the pain won’t stop. You think that’s helping?”

“I don’t know what’s helping,” I said, sobbed, frustration shredding my voice. “I don’t know what’s hurting. I don’t know anything except—I am so tired of being the battlefield.”

I pulled my hands from Quil’s, clutched my head like I could hold my skull together.

“You think it’s the amulet?” I barked a bitter, shaking laugh. “You all think it’s the amulet?”

I looked around at them—Dmitri, Quil, Vael. Their faces carved from worry, lit from within by fear.

“Well, what if it’s not? What if it’s just—me?

What if it’s stress? Or fatigue? Or travel?

Or—hells—fucking stress again?” My voice cracked on that last one.

“Because that seems a more likely explanation than a necklace that Silas himself gave me, trying to kill me. If the sigil’s Ashborne blood magic, wouldn’t Quil know about the amulet?

And you don’t, right? Or Vael wouldn’t be sending for my father? ”

Quil shook his head.

My eyes burned. “I’ve slept fitfully for months. I’ve been poisoned, hunted, drained, bled. I’ve run myself ragged trying to be useful. I haven’t rested. I haven’t breathed. Maybe I’m just breaking, and it has nothing to do with magic at all.”

I turned to Vael then, eyes shining.

“So go ahead,” I spat. “Tell my father I’m weak. That I couldn’t handle the pressure. That you had to send for him, not me. Tell him his daughter finally fell apart.”

Vael’s voice was quiet. Steady. “That’s not what I told him. And that’s not why he’s coming.”

I stilled.

“He’s coming because he loves you, Rowena. Because he had no idea you were suffering.”

I blinked hard. My jaw trembled.

Vael stepped closer, his hands loose at his sides, like he didn’t dare reach for me again without permission. “You didn’t tell him. You wouldn’t. So I did.”

“I told him about the wound. I told him when it happened.”

“And you never updated him on it. He was of the understanding that it had healed because he hadn’t heard from you in months.”

“And what did you say?” I asked, the question small, strangled. “What did you tell him, Vael?”

“That something was wrong. That you weren’t healing. That you were in pain and afraid and getting worse. That we didn’t know why. And that you needed your father.”

I shook my head, a tear spilling down my cheek. “He’ll think I’m broken.”

“No,” Vael said, firmer now. “He’ll think you’re brave. For surviving this long. For holding it all together. For trying to protect everyone but yourself.”

His eyes were so soft it almost hurt to look at them. “He loves you. You’re his daughter.”

“Silas gave me the amulet to help with my symptoms. And when my father arrives, and looks at the damn thing, that’s what he’ll tell you.”

“And if that’s true, I will be the first to lie prostrate at your feet,” Vael replied.

“You should already be doing it,” I grumbled.

Vael’s lips twitched. Just slightly. “Noted.”

Dmitri exhaled a ghost of a breath that might have been a laugh, and Quil muttered, “You’re not wrong.”

But the air still pulsed with something sharp and unsure, grief tangled with love, fear knotted with duty.

“I don’t want him to see me like this,” I said quietly. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

“You say that,” Quil murmured, his thumb brushing my knuckles, “like we haven’t already seen you like this.”

Dmitri added, voice velvet and aching, “And loved you for it anyway.”

I closed my eyes.

Loved me for it…

As if he could read my mind, Quil reached for me, his hand trailing down my arm to my hand. “Not loved. Not past tense.”

I blinked. He looked wrecked, like saying it cost him something.

“I love you for it.”

“But you hate that you do.” The words felt bitter in my mouth. But I still said them. Bitter or not, they were still true.

His eyes closed. Just for a second. Then he shook his head, fierce and trembling.

“No. I don’t hate anything to do with you.

” He pulled in a breath, steadying himself.

“I love you. Full stop.” He swallowed, jaw clenched.

“What I hate is that I don’t deserve to love you.

That’s what guts me. That’s what twists me up inside.

But that’s not your problem. That’s on me.

And I had no right to say it to you and bring you into that. ”

He looked at me like he was pleading with the universe. “You didn’t ask for any of my damage. And gods know, you don’t need it.”

The room went still. Quil’s confession lingered in the air, tender and aching.

I waited—just a breath—for Vael to say something. Anything.

But he didn’t.

Not a word.

Not even a step closer.

Just silence.

And it hurt more than it should have. More than I’d ever admit.

So I nodded once. Swallowed the lump in my throat. And pretended I hadn’t been hoping for something from him, too. Something I knew I wouldn’t get.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

I was grateful for what I did get. From Dmitri. And from Quil. I knew that was hard for him. And I turned towardss him, moving closer and wrapping my arms around him. “I love you too,” I whispered, quietly so only he could hear me. “Gods help me, I love you too. So much.”

His breath caught, and I felt him relax; his body eased against mine. His arms tightened around me, holding me close for just a moment, before he released me.

I kissed his cheek, pressed my forehead to his for a long moment. “I need to—” My voice cracked on the words.

“Yeah, I know,” He said softly. “Go. I’ll be there when you need me… Anton’s in his quarters, he’s waiting if you need someone.”

I looked down, realized I still was only wearing my chemise.

I grabbed Dmitri’s robe from the chair nearby.

I pulled it tighter around me, and went to the door.

I slipped out almost silently, thanking the gods that no one tried to stop me.

I didn’t think I could handle explaining myself right now. I just… needed to be somewhere else.

And I didn’t want to think.

He’d said Anton was waiting for me.

Perfect. Because I needed to be with Anton.