Page 53 of Bitten & Burned

I moaned softly, gripping his wrist as I drank.

His other hand slid into my hair, fingers carding through the strands as I drew on his wrist again.

“That’s enough, Quil. She’s back.”

Quil growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my skin where his hand still held me.

Vael’s tone sharpened. “You’re the muscle, Quil. Not much use to her if you let her drain you dry.”

I pressed my lips closed, forcing myself to pull back. The taste lingered, sharp and heady, but I released his wrist and sagged against the counter.

Quil’s breath came ragged, fingers still tangled in my hair, as if he couldn’t quite believe I’d let go.

My mind cleared almost instantly. The headache dulled to a throb. My leg still ached, but I didn’t feel so godsdamned useless anymore.

“I still need more sugar in that tea,” I muttered, trying to stand.

Quil made a rough, incredulous sound, half a laugh and half a protest.

Vael exhaled hard through his nose. “At least her priorities are intact.”

Between them, they steadied me when I pushed off the counter—Quil’s arm at my waist, Vael’s hand under my elbow—but I brushed their help aside once I was sure of my balance.

“I can manage a spoonful of sugar,” I said, hobbling toward the kitchen. “Not everything needs rescuing.”

Vael watched me closely, arms folded. Quil hovered like he might catch me if I stumbled again.

I stirred sugar into my tea, lifted the cup, and took a long sip. Better.

Silence stretched, heavy with everything we weren’t saying.

Quil raked a hand through his hair, restless. “Do… uh… do you have any whiskey? I could actually use a drink.”

Vael let out a quiet huff of laughter. “We all could.”

I pointed to the cabinet in the hall. “It’s not locked. Whatever I have is there.”

I cradled the mug of tea, the sugar making it tolerable now, but the warmth in my hands didn’t quite settle me. My eyes slid to the door, to the bag I’d abandoned there. I’d need to unpack soon. Clothes, books, papers…letters.

Letters.

Some from Thalia, but most were from Silas.

Most I’d opened, but a few I hadn’t. Things had started happening too quickly, and now? They were bundled up with all the others I’d received while I had stayed in Kravenspire.

I set my tea down and rose gently, walking to where I’d left my bag. I knelt to pull the stack of letters out, and I took them back to the couch.

I settled against the cushions, letters in my lap. Some envelopes were creased from travel. Others were pristine, too clean, like they’d been waiting for a day I never got around to. I thumbed through the stack until I found his handwriting.

I knew it instantly.

Always the same ink. Always the same neat, slanted script. Effortless. Controlled.

Like him.

“Reading time?” Quil asked from the kitchen, where he was uncorking something amber in color.

“Unfortunately,” I murmured. “Don’t worry, it’s not research.”

Quil didn’t reply, but I heard the faint clink of glass against the counter. He was giving me space. And that—more than anything—meant he knew. Knew I wasn’t reading these for comfort.

Vael, however, didn’t move. He lowered himself into the chair opposite me, eyes fixed on the stack. “Are you sure you want to read letters from him, Rowena?” His tone was even, but there was no mistaking the tension beneath it.

“Maybe there’s something there…” I murmured. “Something explaining why…”

“You’re not going to find answers there. Only more questions,” Vael warned.

“I’m great with questions,” I said quietly, sliding a finger beneath the first seal.

Vael exhaled sharply through his nose, but didn’t press. “Very well. But don’t mistake his words for anything but snares.”

I peeled open one of the still-sealed letters. The paper crackled like it had a heartbeat.

My dear Rowena,

You are, as ever, too clever for your own good. I admire it more than I can say, though I do wish you’d learn when to stop digging.

Sometimes, my girl, the truth isn’t a treasure buried beneath the surface—it’s a trap. And you spring it every time.

I blinked. Reread it.

Then again.

And gods. How had I ever thought this was affection? How had I ever missed the shape of that warning?

Not “my brilliant Rowena”. Not “I’m proud of you.

Just: “stop digging.”

I swallowed, flipping to the next page.

I know you don’t mean to be disobedient. You never do. But your curiosity makes you vulnerable. Your pain makes you reckless. I only want to keep you safe.

My stomach turned.

He wasn’t praising me. He was diagnosing me. Dismantling me. Piece by piece.

He didn’t see me as powerful.

He saw me as manageable.

I stared at the words, fingers trembling around the corners of the paper. My vision went soft at the edges—not with tears, but with pressure. Rage, maybe. Or shame.

The page rustled.

Then stilled.

Quil’s voice came from the doorway, low and careful.

“Everything okay?”

I didn’t look up right away.

“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully.

“Do you want some time alone? I could go…” His gaze extended to the balcony. It was either there or go stand in my room. Or my washroom. “Stand in a corner.”

That pulled my gaze up.

He stood there, glass in hand, whiskey untouched. His eyes on me, unreadable. Not angry. Not cold. Just… braced.

“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “No. I just—these are things I should’ve seen before. And I didn’t. I missed it. All of it.”

Quil didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

From the chair across from me, Vael’s voice came low. “You weren’t meant to see it. That was his design.”

I swallowed thickly, nodding. “I just… gods, I feel so stupid.”

Vael’s gaze sharpened. “Then he succeeded. Don’t hand him that victory twice.” He held out his hand. “May I?”

I nodded, handing over the page.

Quil crossed the floor, reading over Vael’s shoulder.

I watched Quil’s eyes move across the words, slow and steady. His jaw flexed once. Then again.

By the time Vael reached the end, his fingers had curled slightly at the edges of the paper. “Clinical,” he said at last, voice flat. “Every line calculated to dismantle.”

Quil’s jaw tightened until I thought his teeth might crack. “This isn’t affection. It’s a leash.”

I swallowed hard. “I thought he was protecting me.”

Vael handed the letter back with care—like he didn’t want to discuss it while it was still in his hand.

“I have to speak to him,” I said softly.

“What?” Quil’s head jerked towards me, eyes wide with disbelief—like I’d just told him I was about to take a flying leap off the balcony.

Vael’s voice cut in, cooler but no less sharp. “Rowena, that’s the last thing you should do. Speaking to him means playing his game.”

“I’m not going to stay,” I said quickly. “I’m not going to listen to him explain things. I just—I need to see his face when I say it. When I tell him I know what he did. That he doesn’t own me anymore.”

Quil blinked. Once. Twice.

“You’re serious.”

“I need closure,” I said. “And I’m not going to get it from letters I didn’t even open until today.”

He didn’t speak.

After a moment, he said, “Then I’m going with you.”

I shook my head. “You can’t,” I said gently. “Not once the sun rises.”

“Meet him at night.”

I tilted my head knowingly. “Do you really think he’ll let me waltz in with a vampire? If I ask for a night meeting, he’ll know.”

Vael leaned forward, his tone low and deliberate.

“Rowena, listen to me. Every word in those letters was written to draw you nearer. That’s all a meeting would be—a continuation of his control.

You won’t find closure in his presence. You’ll only give him the satisfaction of seeing you come when he calls. ”

“So what do I do, then?” I asked. “What do I do? How do I—gods! How do I move past this if I don’t talk to him? I want to hear him say it,” I gritted out, my teeth clenched in anger.

Quil cursed under his breath. Stood. Pushed a hand through his hair.

“Rowena, Vael’s right. This is—” He cut himself off. Swallowed hard. “This is Silas. You know that, right? His whole plan. He wants you to come. You walking through his door would be exactly what he planned for.”

“I’m not going because he wants me to,” I said. “I’m going because I want him to see that it didn’t work.”

Quil turned away for a moment, staring out at the lights of the city. When he spoke again, his voice was low, resigned.

“Then promise me something.”

I waited.

“Don’t go in the morning,” he said quietly. “Wait for me. Just one more night. Let me go with you when the sun sets. Not night, but not day either.”

“Quil—”

“Please.”

That stopped me cold.

Vael’s head snapped toward Quil, eyes narrowing. “There it is again. You’ll give her anything she asks for, even if it burns her. You think it’s devotion, but it’s weakness—and it plays right into Silas’s hands.”

Quil’s shoulders stiffened, jaw clenching. “Better weakness than standing aside while she suffers.”

Vael leaned forward, his tone cutting. “Better wisdom than marching her into the fire because you can’t bear to tell her no.”

I ignored Vael. I had to. Because if I was getting through this, I had to see Silas. I had to have closure. Or it would always eat at me.

I met Quil’s eyes. Held them.

And nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll go tomorrow evening.”

Vael jolted upright, eyes flashing. “Tomorrow—? Gods, Rowena, have you heard a single word I’ve said? You’d walk straight into his trap because you want closure? Closure isn’t worth your life!”

“He won’t do anything to me at the Arcanum,” I insisted. “I won’t leave with him. I won’t go to his home. Hells, I won’t even go to his office. I’ll wait for him in the courtyard.”

“At night? With us at your side?” Vael’s laugh was sharp, incredulous. “Rowena, that’s not protection—that’s provocation. He’ll see two vampires flanking you and know exactly what game you’re playing. You won’t cow him, you’ll corner him. And cornered men are dangerous.”

“Good,” Quil shot back, eyes hard. “Let him feel cornered.”

Vael leaned forward, bristling. “You think bravado makes this less suicidal? He’ll—”