22. Chapter 22
22
Chapter 22
Bronwen
Market was a lot slower today than it had been. The air carried a biting chill, and the faint scent of roasting chestnuts mingled with the sharper tang of freshly dyed fabrics. Vendors called out half-heartedly to passersby, their voices weary, as if they too could feel the storm rolling in.
August was there, like always, but I refused to look at him. What happened two nights ago was weird, almost too intimate. And more than anything, I was mad. He took that journal, and I wanted it back. He came to our booth, did his usual flirting with Mama, and tried to get under my skin though I ignored every advance.
He eventually seemed to give up and leave our booth, though he didn’t go far. I could hear his laugh at the woodworker’s booth and him “accidentally” knocking over several glass items at the poor old woman’s glasswork booth. The tinkling sound of breaking glass cut through the chilly air, followed by the old woman’s exasperated sigh. But through it all, I never gave him one glance.
The streets had grown less crowded as the clouds grew thick and gray, so we decided to pack up the booth early and go home. I grabbed the last basket of scarves and began to carry them to the wagon.
Someone grabbed me by the arm and pushed me against a wall in an alleyway, causing me to drop the basket. Just before I reacted, I realized it was August, and the fear left me, replaced by annoyance.
The alley was dim, shadows pooling in the corners where the sunlight failed to reach.
“What?” I spat out, watching his eyes trail all over my face.
“Why haven’t you looked at me today?”
I took my eyes away from him, noticing the dark green door with a gold fox plated on it that I had seen a few times in my nightmares.
“I didn’t feel the need.” I tried to leave, but he pulled me back in place.
His eyes raced over me.
I let out a sigh. “What do you want, August?”
He grinned, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Are you upset that I made you kill?”
His words hit like a stone. The soldiers—their faces blurred in my memory, like a distant, unpleasant dream. I should have felt something for them, but all I could focus on was the journal. Why did their deaths feel like nothing more than a passing inconvenience? Why did August command so much of my attention, pulling me away from everything else?
Something was wrong with me.
“I want the journal back,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady, hoping it would mask the crack forming in my resolve .
“You took it from me first, Winnie. You know, after you pulled magic from me and sent boiling metal through my veins.”
“I took it to find Carrow. Don’t play games with me. Give it back.”
His grin deepened, his voice lowering to something almost menacing. “And what do I get in return?”
“The satisfaction of not being turned to ash,” I snapped, though my confidence faltered under his intense gaze.
“Hmm.” He leaned closer, brushing his fingers against my cheek, his tone now silky and dark. “How about this? I’ll return the journal . . . for a taste.”
“A taste? A taste of what?”
He brushed the hair from my neck away and ran his fingers over my scar, lingering just long enough to make my breath hitch. “ You , Winnie.”
“Absolutely not,” I hissed as I pushed his hand away, though my heartbeat betrayed my conviction. “I’m not yours to barter with.”
“Oh, but you are,” he whispered, his voice like silk. “You enjoyed it when I marked you. You let me bite you. Admit it, Winnie. You like it.”
My heart rate quickened as he leaned into my neck and inhaled. I couldn’t do anything. Not right now when anyone could walk by at any moment. If he was discovered, I had no doubt he would bring me down with him.
“Admit it. You’re curious about how it may feel now that you’re marked. I saw it in your eyes the other night. I know you’ve heard the stories. How euphoric it is after you’ve been marked. But just know that I am the only one that can make you feel that way. You’re mine , Winnie. ”
I pushed him off of me. “I am not yours.”
He came back, pressing his body close against mine and bringing his mouth to my ear. “Imagine how I feel. The taste of your blood consuming my mind. I could tear through the entire Market and never feel satisfied because nothing tastes like you. And here you are . . . so close. Just let me have a taste.”
I couldn’t move. I blamed it on the public setting but I couldn’t deny that I was curious. I did let vampires bite me when I hunted them. But was it really different after you were marked? Was the committed woman truly insane, or was it so much more than that?
He brushed his lips down my neck, leaving goosebumps in its path. The hand I had between us, pushing against his chest, grew weaker in its restraint. I wanted to move, but my body wouldn’t do it.
His teeth sunk into my neck, and I let out a gasp. After the initial sharp, cutting pain, my entire body warmed. A wave of something I couldn’t place rippled through me. There was no way I should feel this . . . this heat, this strange comfort. I should have hated every second of it, but I didn’t. Instead, my thoughts tangled in confusion and shame. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I make myself stop him?
August gripped my sides with his hands. Somehow, my hand ended up in his hair, gripping it and fighting the urge to pull the magic I felt in him. A moan escaped my lips and any other time, it would have mortified me. But right now, I didn’t care and I didn’t want this to end.
My eyes drifted to the street to see two ladies staring at us with their eyes wide. Though they couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, I knew what they were thinking. And the last thing I needed was for them to run screaming vampire.
With the hand gripping his hair, I pulled his mouth from my neck and brought it to my own. I’d rather those ladies think I was a whore than know what was really happening.
August tensed after what I had done, his eyes widening slightly in shock. For once, the ever-composed vampire seemed stunned, caught off guard by my boldness. But he recovered quickly, relaxing almost immediately and bringing a hand up to cup my face. I pushed aside the thought that I could taste my blood in his mouth as I deepened the kiss, trying to make it as believable as possible.
I allowed it to go on for possibly a moment too long when August’s hand started trailing down my back, but after I glanced back to the street and saw that the bystanders were gone, I pushed him off of me.
He looked at me with an uncertainty in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. I paused for a moment as I looked at him before I brushed the thought off. I grabbed his arm and pulled a small amount of magic from him, just enough to heal the bite. Even after that, he stood silent, his gaze flicking between my lips and my eyes as though trying to make sense of what had just happened.
A small laugh escaped my lips at the thought that something as simple as a kiss had managed to leave him speechless. The one person I never thought would shut up.
“A couple of ladies stopped to watch the show. I just gave them a different one to protect your secret.” I turned to walk away, but he grabbed me by my hand and brought me back close to him, gentler than he’s ever been.
He singled out my thumb and brought it to my lips, rubbing it across them before showing it to me. It was covered in blood. I was about to walk into a street full of people with blood on my mouth. My blood, yes. But I’m not sure how I could’ve explained my way out of it.
August brought my thumb to his mouth and sucked the blood off of it. My breath grew shallow at what he had done and the memory of his lips on my neck came flooding back.
“Red looks good on you, Winnie.”
His sly words snapped me back to reality. I snatched my hand from his before storming off without saying another word.
As I disappeared into the crowd, my mind refused to settle. Anger surged first—at him for his audacity, his constant need to manipulate and control, and at myself for letting him. My hands clenched into fists as I replayed the encounter, each word, each smirk, igniting the simmering rage inside me.
But anger wasn’t all I felt, and that was the worst part. Beneath the frustration was something darker, something I didn’t want to name. A pull, a curiosity, an undeniable intrigue that made my chest tighten. His touch lingered on my skin, his words echoing in my ears, weaving through my thoughts like a thread I couldn’t untangle.
Why couldn’t I ignore him? Why did his presence feel so overwhelming, like he filled the air I breathed, leaving no room for anything else? It wasn’t just hatred—it was fascination, and that truth burned hotter than my anger.
I stopped in the middle of the street, the hum of Market fading into the background. My fingers brushed against my neck, the scars still there. I should have hated every second of it, but instead, a wave of warmth rippled through me at the memory. It wasn’t just the physical sensation—it was the way he looked at me, like I was both prey and partner, an equal and a conquest all at once.
That’s what made me hate him the most. He saw too much. He knew how to twist every moment, every feeling, until I couldn’t tell where my anger ended and something else began.
I touched my lips absentmindedly, the ghost of his still lingering there. The kiss—it had been my way of taking control, of protecting his secret, but the way his eyes widened, the way his hand hesitated on my back, told me I’d done more than distract him. For once, I’d caught him off guard, and part of me reveled in it.
But then he’d smiled, that infuriating, knowing smile that made my stomach twist. He knew. Somehow, he always knew exactly what I was feeling, even when I didn’t.
Why couldn’t I ever keep control of the situation?
I shook my head and forced my feet to move. Whatever this was, whatever hold he thought he had over me, I wouldn’t let it control me. I’d get the journal back, and I’d make him regret ever thinking he could toy with me.
And yet, as I walked away, the memory of his voice lingered, low and teasing, wrapping itself around me like a whisper I couldn’t shake.
“Red looks good on you, Winnie,” his voice echoed faintly in my mind.