Page 28

Chapter 28

Kaya

I can’t believe Cyrus is gone. Just like that. It’s my fault. I should have talked to him and tried to listen, too. He knows so little about his kind that the incident at the May Day festival was likely as much a surprise to him as it was to the rest of us.

Plus, he obviously has feelings for me beyond friendship. He might want to deny them like I’ve been denying mine, but they exist and are powerful.

I squeeze my eyes shut and refuse to cry anymore. The day has been a slow one. Most folks are tired from the May Day fun and aren’t up for bakery treats and socializing today. Sio ventured off to who knows where early in the morning, Rosalind sent a note telling me she couldn’t come in because of too much festival punch, and I’ve only had four customers, so I’ve been alone most of the day. I used to love being alone, but it’s lost some of its shine, as Widow Warton would say. I long for Cyrus—for his laugh, the way he flirts, his jokes, easy conversation, and his zest for life.

A tingling starts inside my chest and burns its way out. I pinch my apron and the front of my dress and look down.

A black heart surrounded by scales and flames.

A mate mark.

There is a mate mark designed for Cyrus on my chest.

I gasp and brace myself on the counter as the room spins. An ache spreads through my body and I bow my head under the agony of it. I grab the stool and sit, trying to pull in long breaths.

Cyrus is far, far away, most likely, and there won’t be any relief from this pain until he is close by or the mark fades. I’m in for a period of true agony.

I hastily grab the quill, parchment, and ink that sit by my cash box, and I ink a quick note to Delixian and Tully each. My bottle of notewater—courtesy of Tully—still has a little left. I open the green glass container and sprinkle some of the magical liquid on my notes. I lift them into the air, and they are off. They zip through the air, flying in looping circles over the bakery tables until they find the door’s mail slot and pass through, making the bells jingle.

The rest of the day is a blur of Laini scowling down at me and giving me cups of tea, Tully swearing Cyrus up one side and down the other, and Delixian whispering apologies as he helps Tully work up soothing concoctions for my pain.

Whatever they give me makes me feel like I’m half asleep. They’ve carried me to my bed and I watch them come and go from my room. Dreams or daydreams—I’m not sure which—float through my head and every single one of them is about Cyrus. I just need him. To feel his body on mine with nothing between us. I must hear his comforting voice in my ear. I can’t possibly survive unless he kisses me. I want nothing but to have his hands on me, rough and demanding and confident. I want him to claim me in full and in every way he can. My throat is dry, my lips parched, and my body thrums in a desperate, silent wail for my true mate.