Chapter Sixteen
My arm was on fire.
The flames blazed through my body, so intense and all-consuming, I feared it would stop my heart.
I was scared that it already had because I was burning alive, screaming as I pressed against the floor, trying to escape the pain, get away from what was happening, but it invaded every part of me.
I could feel it— him drawing my blood into him, breaking off pieces of me with each swallow.
It was nothing like when Casteel had bitten me.
The pain did not ease. It didn’t go away.
It ratcheted up with each passing heartbeat.
He moaned, biting harder, digging his bottom teeth into my skin. Just like a Craven. Just like before. Like that night when I was too small and too young to fight back, too helpless.
The carriage screeched to a grinding halt, knocking Chaney loose.
A moment of reprieve came where the burning ebbed enough for my brain to work again.
My breath wheezed as my fingers spasmed around the handle of the knife.
The knife. I still held it. I wasn’t a child.
I wasn’t helpless any longer. Move , Poppy . Move .
Chaney latched on to my arm once more, and the pain was a hot coal against my skin, shoving me past the shock of pain before it could drag me under again.
I swung the knife down, driving it into his back, over and over until he finally felt it, finally reacted with a bellow of rage as he tore his mouth free.
He lurched backward and to the side, reaching for the knife.
Clutching his shoulder, I held on, jabbing the knife into the wound, into his chest, his face—anywhere I could reach, and he went wild—as wild as me.
A new wave of pain exploded along my arm, my cheek, and bright, dazzling lights once more danced across my vision.
I screamed as something seemed to rip open inside me.
My senses stretched out, attaching to the Ascended.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing but my pain, my rage.
It pulsed and throbbed inside me, through me, down the cord, and through the entire carriage, becoming a tangible, third entity as I sliced the knife through his cheek.
Chaney jerked back, yelping. Blood sprayed and spurted, running from his eyes and ears.
I didn’t stop. Not even when a crash sounded from the roof of the carriage.
Not even when I thought I heard shouting from outside.
I stabbed as many holes into the Lord as I could, until he sprang so many leaks, my hands were slick with his blood, my blood, and I kept thrusting the knife into him, over and over—
The carriage door ripped open, torn from its hinges. Cold air rushed in with the night, and the night was enraged . It washed over me, its intensity so stunning, it overwhelmed me, shutting down my senses.
And then Chaney was gone, along with the crushing weight and the heavy, too-sweet cologne, but I couldn’t stop.
Blinded by rage, pain, and an old, all-too-familiar panic, I kept stabbing at the air, at the night, at the shape that filled the gaping doorway, and then at what appeared above me. Until a hand caught my wrist—
“It’s okay. Shh, it’s okay, Poppy. Stop. Look at me,” a voice demanded. “Look at me, Princess.”
Princess .
The Ascended wouldn’t call me that.
Breathing ragged, my wild gaze swiveled around the carriage, stopping when I found him. He hovered over me, cheeks spotted with blood. “ Hawke ,” I whispered.
“Yeah. Yes.” He sounded shredded and windblown. “It’s me.”
“I..I didn’t want to go with him,” I told him, needing him to know that I understood—that I really saw the Ascended for what they were, even before I woke up in the carriage. “He had a boy, and I—”
“I know. I found the wolven dagger by the stables. I knew you wouldn’t have left that behind if you’d had a choice.
” Gently, he pried the knife from my hand, placing it on the bench.
The normally striking lines of his face seemed fuzzy.
“And here I thought I would make this grand entrance, rescuing you. I’m not sure you needed rescuing. ”
I wasn’t so sure about that. My rolling gaze landed on the bloodied knife.
Even as dazed as I was, as much as my thoughts were muddied, I knew I wouldn’t have killed Chaney.
I wasn’t even sure how badly I’d wounded him.
He would’ve recovered quickly, and he would’ve bitten me again.
He would’ve kept biting me, feeding off me, and—
“Hey, stay with me.” Casteel’s soft voice intruded, ending the spiral of panic before I realized I was even falling down it.
His fingers touched my chin, drawing my gaze from the knife.
His eyes roamed over my face, lingering where my jaw throbbed viciously, and then his gaze dipped.
Tension crept into his jaw. “He hurt you.”
Lifting my head took more effort than I thought it would. It was strangely heavy as I looked down. The front of my tunic was ripped, streaked with red.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, his voice rough as he touched the skin below the corner of my lip.
That too ached, but then his hands carefully peeled back the left sleeve of my tunic.
He became as still as the statues inside Castle Teerman, as if he too were fashioned from the limestone they were made of.
His eyes were like shards of brilliant amber. “Did he bite you anyplace else?”
“No.” I swallowed dryly, the rigidness seeping out of my muscles. “It hurt. It felt like a Craven’s bite.” A tremor rocked me. “It felt nothing like—”
His eyes met mine, and a long moment passed as he stared down at me like he…like he cared , as if he would do anything to take back the pain I felt. “He wanted it to hurt.”
“Bastard,” I whispered, letting my head fall back.
Casteel slipped his hand under my head before it could make contact with the hard floor. I wanted to tell him thank you, but my face hurt—my entire body ached, and my arm throbbed and throbbed.
“He could’ve killed you,” he said, and for the first time since I’d met him, I thought he sounded weary. “You’re only half-Atlantian.”
Something about that was important—something Chaney had said. But my thoughts were like scattered wisps of smoke.
“Bloodlust would’ve consumed him, and he wouldn’t have stopped. There nearly always has to be another vampry with them to get them to stop. And sometimes, that’s not even enough. I didn’t think…” His exhale was frayed, tattered. “I didn’t think you’d be alive when I reached you.”
Yet again, he sounded concerned, but that had to be the head injury I’d most definitely acquired. Or maybe it was the fading adrenaline.
Or perhaps the blood loss.
“Why?” he asked.
“He had…that boy. I had to do something,” I forced my tongue to move. My eyelids were too heavy. Everything was too heavy, even as I felt Casteel gather me into his arms, lifting me from the carriage floor. “It was the only way he’d let the boy go.”
“But he didn’t,” Casteel said as my eyes closed, and I slipped into oblivion. “He didn’t let that boy go.”
The journey back to the keep was a tumble of hazy images, broken pieces of dreams and pinwheeling stars.
Casteel’s face was so close to mine that I’d thought he would kiss me, but it seemed like a strange time for that.
There were sounds. Voices I recognized, ones tinged with concern.
Then a strange taste against my tongue that reminded me of spice, citrus, snow, and Casteel.
Warmth like the summer sun invaded my veins, and when the heat started to seep into my muscles and spread across my skin, I thought I heard the trickle of water and smelled something sweet, like lilac.
But Casteel was a heavy whisper against my skin, and then there was nothing.
When I opened my eyes again, confusion swept over me.
I recognized the exposed rafters of the ceiling and the dark spice and pine scent that lingered on the blanket tucked around me, but I had no recollection of how I got back here.
My gaze shifted to the gray light creeping through the small window.
The last thing I remembered was Casteel carrying me out of the carriage.
There were disjointed images, things that didn’t make sense no matter how hard I tried.
“Poppy?”
Heart kicking suddenly against my ribs, I turned my head toward the sound of his voice.
Casteel was near the fireplace, rising from a chair. He was dressed as he had been when I saw him last, all in black. Only the swords were missing. He prowled slowly toward the bed, his face clear of the spots of blood. “How are you feeling?”
I had to tug down the cobwebs choking my thoughts to answer that question. “I…I feel okay.” And I did. I felt like I’d spent an entire night in restful sleep.
He stopped by the edge of the bed, one eyebrow raised. “You don’t sound like that’s a good thing.”
“I don’t understand. I should—” My next breath caught in my throat as I pulled my arms out from under the blanket.
The loose sleeves of the nightgown slipped down to reveal…
skin that was more reddish pink than normal in two spots, but not an angry shade, not torn.
Slowly, I lifted my fingers to my mouth and then to my jaw.
The skin wasn’t swollen there either. There was only a faint ache when I swallowed.
I lowered my hands to the soft blanket as the spiced citrus and snow taste blossomed in the back of my mouth.
“Poppy?”
I swallowed again. “How did I get into this nightgown?”
There was a heartbeat of silence, and when I looked back at Casteel, both of his brows were raised. He seemed utterly caught off guard.
“Did you…did you do it?”
He blinked and then shook his head. “No. Magda did. We thought you’d be far more comfortable.”
That meant Magda was alive.
“Is that all you have to ask?” he said.
My gaze fell back to the faint puncture wounds on my arm. “You gave me your blood.”
“I did.”
“Was I that badly injured?”