27. Chapter 27
27
Chapter 27
Bronwen
I couldn’t explain why I saved him. I could say it was self-preservation. That I worried his death would bring mine. But I knew better than that.
To be free of a marking, one of the two must die, and the other will live their life as if it never happened to begin with.
I hated to read, so when Mama taught our lessons, she would read aloud and make me repeat it over and over again until I had it memorized. Reading it myself would have just been easier, but I was stubborn.
A dark part of me savored the absolute power in that moment, even as a flicker of unease crept in at what I’d become capable of. The more I thought about last night, the more I remembered. The witches wore dark green cloaks, with a strange symbol on the back. The sun? Stars? I wasn’t sure. They weren’t a part of our coven, but that didn’t matter. I killed witches.
To save a vampire .
I didn’t even second guess myself once. The only thing on my mind was saving August.
And today at Market, he didn’t even come. I should be relieved. But instead, a restless energy had taken hold of me, an incessant need to scan the crowd for a familiar face. Every customer became a potential him, every flash of blonde hair set my heart racing before disappointment settled in. My stomach churned, a tight knot of nerves I couldn’t shake, and my fingers tapped a restless rhythm against my side. Was I waiting for him, or dreading him? I couldn’t tell anymore.
Was I worried?
No. It was the mark, wasn’t it? Twisting my thoughts, making me dwell on him when I should have been focusing on anything else. It had to be the mark, because the alternative was something I couldn’t face. And yet, the nightmare last night, vivid and relentless, made his absence all the more unbearable.
It wasn’t until the noise of Market grew fainter that I realized I had walked away, but even then I didn’t stop myself.
When I found myself standing in front of the deep green door with a fox on it, I barely paused before twisting the handle and pushing it open. I didn’t even know for sure if he would be here, but it was the only option I had.
And I was right.
The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a fire roaring in the hearth on the right wall. Shadows flickered and danced across the rough stone walls, creating shifting patterns that felt almost alive.
Sparse furnishings filled the space, practical but worn. A heavy wooden table stood in the corner, its surface scarred with deep grooves and faint stains from years of use. Beside it, an empty chair was pushed haphazardly, as though someone had left in a rush. The firelight reflected off a tall bookshelf to the left, its shelves lined with leather-bound volumes that looked as though they hadn’t been touched in decades.
August sat in a cushioned chair facing the fire, his posture stiff and unnatural. His shoulders were drawn tight, and his fingers gripped the armrests with white-knuckled intensity. The usual smirk that teased at the corners of his mouth was absent, replaced by a cold, distant expression. I removed my cloak and hung it on a hook near the door. As I took a few hesitant steps closer, the confidence that had carried me this far began to crumble, replaced by a gnawing uncertainty.
“What do you want?” His voice cut through the room, low and sharp, like a blade honed to perfection. He didn’t turn to look at me, his gaze fixed on the fire as if I were an afterthought.
A step closer. “You weren’t at Market.”
“Was I supposed to be?”
I scrunched my nose. “It seems like you’re avoiding me now.”
He stayed silent for a long moment, the crackle of the fire filling the space between us. His gaze remained fixed ahead, unmoving, as if he were weighing the weight of his words before letting them out. The quiet stretched, and just when I thought he wouldn’t answer, he finally spoke.
“Yes, Winnie. I am.” His voice was low and devoid of the usual teasing lilt.
Was he . . . pouting ?
“Did you not like me saving you? It seemed, in the moment, you were very happy to see me.” My voice wavered slightly, but I pressed on, taking cautious steps closer. Though I knew I was pushing my luck, the silence between us felt heavier with every moment, until I was standing next to his chair, close enough to feel the heat of the fire and the tension radiating off him.
He stayed silent, seeming more interested in the waves of oranges and reds in front of him.
“Look at me when I am speaking to you.” I went to grab his face and turn it to my direction but before I could, he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me into his lap.
I straddled him on my knees, and this time he had his eyes locked on mine, still with the same emotionless face.
“Is this better?” he whispered.
My heart raced, pounding against my chest as if it might break free. His hands gripped my waist tightly, grounding me even as my thoughts spiraled. His piercing gaze held me captive, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to pull away or lean in closer.
“What is wrong with you?” My voice came out quieter than I intended, an attempt to mask the way my stomach twisted in knots.
He said nothing, his silence a weight pressing down on me. I shifted, trying to move off of him, but his hands only tightened their hold.
I grabbed his throat with my hand, ready to pull magic and force him to let go of me when he tilted his head back and let a smile escape his lips.
Was he playing with me?
I opened my mouth to say something but before I could conjure up words, his hands left my waist and trailed gently down my thighs.
“August.” His name came out breathlessly .
He let out a grunt. “Do not say my name like that.”
I shook off the thought and tightened my hand on his neck. His hands came back up my thighs, only this time he brought my dress with them. The rough texture of his fingers against my skin sent a shiver through me, one I didn’t want to acknowledge.
I reached down and grabbed his hand with mine, stopping him from exposing me any further. “What are you doing?”
He looked at me through furrowed brows before he sighed and closed his eyes. “You’ve made me feel things. Things I didn’t think I was capable of feeling.”
I shook my head vigorously. “You—you’re not making any sense.”
In an instant, he had me pinned against the wall, his movements swift and fluid, as though he’d done this a hundred times before. One of his hands rested on the wall above my head as he leaned into me while his other hand rested against my hip, anchoring me in place. His eyes raced over my face, searching for something, and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver rippling through me.
The cold stone pressed into my back, its unyielding surface a sharp contrast to the searing heat radiating from his body. My skin prickled where his fingers grazed me, and a strange war raged within—part of me recoiled at his closeness, at the dominance of his presence, while another part, traitorous and undeniable, leaned into the heat, into the safety his grip seemed to promise.
“I am making perfect sense, Winnie, and you know it. You feel it too,” he murmured, his voice low and unrelenting, each word a tether pulling me closer to something I wasn’t sure I wanted to face .
I hated him. I hated the way his touch lingered on my skin like a brand, the way his voice curled around my defenses and pulled them apart piece by piece. I hated how he made my heart race, made my breath catch, and made my knees weaken with every deliberate movement.
But more than anything, I hated myself. For letting him in.
The firelight flickered against the walls, casting shifting shadows that seemed to mimic the chaos inside me. His gaze held mine, unrelenting, and I felt the mark pulse like a second heartbeat demanding my attention. It wasn’t just a pull—it was a command, a quiet whisper in the back of my mind telling me to give in, to let go.
My body leaned forward before my mind could stop it, closing the space between us, drawn by something I couldn’t name. I told myself it was the mark. It had to be the mark. But the thought of stepping away, of breaking this connection, felt like ripping apart something vital.
“August,” I whispered, his name trembling on my lips like a prayer and a curse all at once. My hands hovered just above his chest, the heat of him radiating through the space between us. “I can’t . . . I shouldn’t . . .”
His hand squeezed my hip, grounding me even as my thoughts spiraled further out of control. “Winnie,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp.
I wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop, to tell him to let me go. But instead, my fingers curled into his shirt, clutching him like he was the only thing keeping me from falling apart entirely.
My heart raced, and I knew he could hear it. There was no point in denying it any longer. I felt it. I felt it when he drained the Legion soldier. I felt it when he fed on me. I had been able to fight it, and I thought I still could until last night. The thought of losing him ripped through me to the point that I was no longer in control of my own body.
It was the mark. I knew it was the mark. I felt it deep in my chest, a pull I couldn’t fully explain, as if an invisible thread bound us together. It wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, a hum that resonated through my veins, calling me to him even as my mind screamed to resist. But I couldn’t stop it.
And I didn’t think I wanted to anymore.
“What do you want?” I asked, hoping he would snap out of this before it was too late.
His eyes locked on mine. “Ruin me. Take what you want from me. I’ll be yours to do whatever you desire. Drain me of my magic, leave me with nothing, over and over again. Whatever you want.” His voice dipped, carrying a dangerous edge, as if he relished the vulnerability. “Just let me touch you. Let me feel you. Let me taste you.”
“It’s the mark making you want such things,” I said, trying to reason with myself more than him. “Nothing more.”
“And if it is? Why shouldn’t we take full advantage of it? Feel everything it wants us to feel.” His words were a heady mix of charm and menace, each syllable weaving a spell around me. There was a daring glint in his eyes, as if he was testing just how far I would let him go.
He pulled the hem of my dress up and grabbed my thigh, his touch igniting a warmth that spread through me, both thrilling and terrifying. The mark seemed to hum in agreement, a subtle vibration that blurred the boundary between him and me.
I let out a sharp breath. “And when I change my mind? When I come to my senses? ”
He smiled and brought his lips close to my ear. “When you grow bored of me, you can kill me yourself.”
“Promise?” I asked breathlessly as the hand on my thigh continued to move higher, leaving a trail of goosebumps.
He brought his face back to mine, our noses almost touching. He brought his other hand that was on the wall down and grazed his fingers over my lips before tracing them down my neck all the way to my chest. The heat of his breath lingered on my skin, sending an involuntary shiver through me.
“Cross her heart,” he whispered, tracing an X over my chest.