Page 47 of Bitten & Burned

Twenty-Two

DéJà VU

Kravenspire, Sol, Verdune

Three sharp raps.

Then nothing.

I frowned as I opened my eyes.

Hadn’t I done this already?

Anton pulled me close with a quiet grunt. “Shhh, go back to sleep.”

Three more raps. Louder this time. More insistent. And then a voice—Vael’s.

“Anton?”

Anton groaned and rolled halfway towards the nightstand. “What time is it?” He glanced at the clock on the wall and groaned again. “Nine in the morning? What fresh hell…”

Another knock. Even louder. Vael again, less patient now.

“ANTON, is Rowena with you? Her father’s here—”

Gods.

In the process of losing myself on the floor with Anton, I’d somehow forgotten that my father was on his way.

Fuck.

“I don’t want to see either of them,” I muttered, dragging the blankets over my head. “I don’t even know how Vael found me.”

“He didn’t. He wants to know if you’re here. I can lie. I’m very good at lying.”

I groaned into the mattress.

“No. I can’t really hide from this. I wanted to, but… I’m not going to be able to.”

Anton hesitated. “Is your father… a strict man?”

“No,” I said. “He’s just… a disappointed man.”

“Ah,” he said, like that explained everything. “What’s he disappointed in? Your love life? Career? Lack of children?”

“Career.”

“You work for one of the most prestigious museums in Verdune.”

“Yes, and he wanted me to take over the family business.”

Anton paused. “Oh, right. He’s that Ambrose Marlowe.”

I nodded. “Yep.”

Anton’s mouth curved into something wicked. “Want me to let Vael in, or let him suffer a little?”

“Let him suffer,” I said. “Also, I need clothes. Make sure my father isn’t with him.”

Anton moved with purpose. He didn’t bother with a shirt, but he did pull on the trousers he’d left on the floor.

He opened the door just enough to reveal himself and leaned against the frame, body relaxed, tone anything but.

“Good morning, Mr. Vexley. To what do I owe the glorious honor of being rudely awakened mere hours after finally having gone to bed?”

“Is Rowena with you?” Vael asked. His voice had that brittle edge it got when he hadn’t slept yet and was barely holding it together.

“She is, but she’s… indisposed at the moment,” Anton replied, glancing over his shoulder at me with a slow, warm smirk. “Would you like to come in anyway?”

“No need,” Vael said. “I just… wanted to give you these. I assumed she might need clean clothes.”

A pause as the bundle changed hands.

“Did you pick these out yourself?” Anton asked, voice all sugar and sharpness.

“If it’s wrong,” Vael said tightly, “at least she’s not traipsing through the manor nude like some forest nymph…” He paused. Then, softer: “Her father’s in the study. He’s impatient to see her. Worried. Not angry.”

Anton didn’t answer right away.

Then: “I’ll let her know.”

The door closed.

“The concierge has left the lady’s clothing…” Anton announced, smirking.

“The lady?” I asked, raising a brow.

He gave a lazy shrug. “After what we did on the floor? Yes. The lady. Ma dame, mon amour…ma p’tite chou.”

“You have got to stop with the cabbage,” I said, laughing despite myself.

“It’s diminutive,” he said, entirely too pleased. “My little cabbage.”

I rolled my eyes. “Give your little cabbage her clothing.”

“But I rather like you as a nude forest nymph, might have to adjust the dress code in my quarters to include that… But I suppose I’ll give them to you. For now.”

I reached for the bundle.

Anton pulled it back.

My eyes narrowed. “Anton.”

He didn’t say anything—just held it higher, forcing me to rise onto my knees and lean across the bed, closer to him.

I grabbed for it again.

He pulled it further back, and suddenly I was close enough to see the flicker of heat behind his smug little smirk. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his bare chest.

“Seriously?” I murmured.

He didn’t answer.

So I kissed him.

Just a quick, decisive press of lips to mouth—enough to stun him into stillness.

When I pulled back, he blinked once. Then smiled. Then handed me the clothes.

“As requested, ma chatonne,” he said with a little bow.

I rolled my eyes and snatched the bundle away. “Go put on a shirt before I revoke your floor privileges.”

He laughed and strolled over to the armoire, pulling it open with an exaggerated flourish. As he buttoned on one of his more respectable shirts—black, fitted, still vaguely scandalous—he glanced back at me, half-dressed and fumbling to braid my hair with shaking fingers.

“I take it you want me to meet your father?” Anton asked.

“I assumed you would,” I said simply. “The others are.”

“Are they?” His tone was light, but his brow lifted.

“Because, so far, the only proof I have that your father knows anything about life in this manor is Vael playing the dutiful suitor. I cannot imagine Quil being thrilled to make conversation. And as for me…” He gave a mock sigh, smoothing his collar.

“He’ll take one look at me and know I’ve spent the last few days thoroughly debauching his only daughter. ”

“He’s a silversmith, not a psychic.”

Anton smirked. “Same thing, my darling—especially where fathers are concerned.”

“Oh, I doubt he cares about such things,” I said, slipping the sash around my waist. “He knows I’m an adult.”

Anton scoffed. “Watch how quickly he does care when he realizes you’re with all of us.”

I shot him a look before turning while I fastened the busk on my corset. “Do you mind tightening that for me?”

“I normally do the opposite, but I’ll try anything once…”

“I can do it myself, I just thought—”

He grasped the laces and tugged gently, cinching my waist. “Look at that, tightening it gives me the same reaction.”

I rolled my eyes, adjusting the garment before tying off the laces in the back. “Support garments aren’t supposed to get you all worked up.”

“Then stop looking like you do in support garments, darling.”

I leaned up to kiss him again, and he let his hands span my waist before catching my eye again.

“I meant what I said, Vael’s the best face to put on this coven, if your goal is impressing fathers.”

“You make us sound like a cult.”

Anton held up a finger. “Technically, we’re a polycule. But let’s be honest—Vael’s got the brooding dignity. Cassian has the nobility. Dmitri looks like a statue someone accidentally brought to life. And Quil…”

“Quil’s going to be furious the second my father so much as looks at me funny.” I pulled on my blouse.

Anton grinned. “Exactly. I, meanwhile, will probably be polishing silverware suggestively just to make him uncomfortable.”

I gave him a shove as I walked past. “Try to keep the innuendos to a minimum until after he’s left.”

“No promises,” Anton called after me. Then, softer: “Do you want me there or not?”

I paused at the doorway, looking back.

“I want you there,” I said. “I want all of you there.”

His expression shifted—something deeper flickering behind the usual grin.

“If my father wants to say something about it, let him. It won’t be the first time I’ve disappointed him. And it won’t be the last, either.”

Anton didn’t smile this time. He just nodded.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

I left him there, still straightening my skirt as I hurried down the hall. Then, I tugged on my boots and paused to tie them.

When I rose again, Quil was there—silent, sudden, as if he’d stepped out of the fog itself. He was holding Fig in his arms.

“Oh,” I said, jolting slightly.

“Sorry,” Quil muttered. “I brought you Fig, I thought maybe you’d want him while you’re…talking to your father…I was just… do you need me to be there?”

I searched his face. He wasn’t asking because he wanted to be. He was asking because he would, if I said the word.

“I want you there,” I said softly, holding my hands out for Fig.

He looked away, jaw tight. “Then I’m there.” The bond hummed faintly with his words, taut and brittle, but steady enough to anchor me.

A beat passed. Then, quieter: “You’ll need to show him. The sigil. On my back.”

The mark on my thigh pulsed at his words, a hot reminder of what waited in that study. I nodded. “I know.”

He fell into step beside me. Not touching. Not speaking. Just a steady presence at my side. Fig meowed, but didn’t fight me, as if he knew we were going somewhere important and I needed him.

We turned down the hallway that led to the study, and I paused, swallowing hard as I stared at the open doorway, glowing into the darkness. A beacon, telling me which way to go. Or a warning, telling me to steer clear.

I sighed heavily.

“You alright?” Quil asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just… don’t want to have this conversation.”

“I know the feeling…”

“Gods, you’re fast when you need to be, aren’t you?” Anton’s voice came from behind us, breathless but composed as he slowed to catch up. “Everything okay, Rowena?”

I nodded, but it wasn’t convincing.

He tilted his head. “That wasn’t your ‘I’m okay’ nod. That was your ‘I’m about to walk into something horrible and would rather fake my own death’ nod.”

“That obvious?” I muttered.

“Only to those of us who’ve seen it before,” Anton said, his voice softer now. “Do you want me to say something first, or…?”

“No,” I said. “This one’s mine.”

Quil didn’t say anything. He just glanced at me, then at the doorway, and waited.

Anton gave a short nod. “Then we’re with you.”

I steeled my resolve and moved forward again, with Anton and Quil flanking me as we approached the door. I took one final breath and stepped inside.

My father stood at the fireplace, peering up at the clock on the mantle.

He looked… older like this. Maybe it was the months since I’d last seen him. Or maybe it was because he’d let his guard down and wasn’t carrying himself with his usual precision. There were new streaks of gray at his temples I hadn’t noticed before.

Or maybe he was just exhausted from traveling all night to be here.

In his hand, he held a glass of what I was almost certain was brandy. Brandy with a twist of orange. That was his drink. Vael had taken his hosting seriously, it seemed.