Chapter Thirty-Four
REXTON
I brUSH MY fingers over my neck, shivering as I reach the spot where Cassia bit me. She left a small mark behind, just a tiny scrape from her teeth. It healed within minutes and was too small to create a bond, but I can practically still feel it.
The memory has consumed me.
What was she thinking? Just when I finally think I’m figuring Cassia out, she turns around and does something so beyond my expectations that I have no concept of what’s up and what’s down.
Is it intentional? She’s so incredibly volatile.
I have no idea what I would’ve done had she bitten down. We’d be bonded. I’ve never thought much about bonding, not in any real way. It’s something I’d like to do in the distant future, but it’s not something I’ve ever been particularly desperate for.
Now I can’t stop thinking about it.
What would it be like to be bonded with a woman like Cassia? She’d hate it. It’d give me access to her, access I suspect she doesn’t want anybody to have. Bonds are for life—the only way to remove one is through death. Would Cassia kill me to free herself? I wouldn’t put it past her.
I wouldn’t put anything past Cassia.
The entrance to my tent rips open, and Cassia comes sauntering inside a second later. She looks angry, but that’s her typical expression. It’s when she appears happy that I know I should be worried.
I raise a brow at her impolite entrance. “Come on in, then.”
She ignores me, pausing just inside my tent. Her black eyes flicker around, taking in my private space. A small, minuscule part of me wonders what she thinks of it. Her tent was messy—an utterly disorganized mess—but I keep my space tidy.
Cassia’s gaze gradually shifts toward my desk.
I haven’t had the opportunity to return her trachea, and I resist the urge to laugh as her gaze lands on it and her body stiffens.
Does she fear I’m trying to keep it from her?
That I’ve stolen her mutilated body part?
I want nothing to do with the monstrosity.
“That’s mine.” Her hands curl into fists. “You promised to return it.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve been a little busy, Cassia. I wasn’t trying to steal it from you.”
She doesn’t look like she entirely believes me. “Whatever. I don’t want it, anyway. Throw it away.”
She doesn’t want it? She seemed keen to keep it the other day. I had to practically pry it out of her fist.
“Why?” I ask.
Cassia storms forward and knocks it onto the floor, then slams the heel of her foot against the cartilage. It crunches beneath her foot, pulverizing into dust. I remain still, my mind racing. I’ve gotten pretty good at pinpointing the source of her moods, but I’m having trouble with this one.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
Most of the time, she ignores me, but she’ll occasionally slip up and share something. I find myself exceedingly excited when that happens. I feel like an archaeologist, uncovering emotions so deeply hidden that most have forgotten they exist.
She huffs. “Yes.”
“Then why have you crushed your souvenir?”
“Because it’s a fucking trachea, Rexton, and it reeks of decomposing flesh. I was in shock when I said I wanted to keep it.” Cassia lets out another exaggerated huff. “The dagger is a better souvenir, anyway.”
I never spent much time around Charlie’s children, but Cassia was memorable. She was wild, always trying to start a fight, but she was happy. She was known for loud bursts of laughter and squeals so high-pitched that I debated wearing earplugs whenever I visited the Wrath manor.
When did that change? When did she decide that positive emotions are bad? Wraths are often described as cutthroat, but we aren’t monsters. We experience a full range of emotions, bad and good. We wouldn’t be thriving if we didn’t.
We have a plethora of women because our men are tender to their mates. We have shopping and entertainment because we enjoy treating ourselves and others. We have holidays and festivals dedicated to spending time with family and loved ones.
Why has Cassia scorned all of that? I don’t understand, and her refusal to give answers is driving me crazy.
Cassia blows out an exaggerated breath and moves away from the crushed trachea. She does not attempt to clean up her mess, either. I suppose she’s leaving it for me to deal with. How generous.
“I’ve come with a message from Raum and Aziel,” she says. “You’re not returning to the capital this afternoon. They changed their minds.” She pauses, glancing to the side and clearing her throat. “You’re joining me in First Unit instead.”
She clears her throat again, a nervous tick. She’s lying about something.
I was given leave yesterday afternoon. Aziel didn’t seem particularly pleased about it, but he made it abundantly clear that I’m no longer to monitor Cassia. He finally sees that she doesn’t need me here.
I’m relieved. Cassia is more capable than they think, and my presence here is only hindering her. It’s distracting to her and the other soldiers, and it undercuts her authority. The Wraths here view me as her supervisor, hired by Aziel to keep her in line.
I’m surprised he’s asking me to stay.
I eye Cassia, noting the way she fidgets.
“I’ll talk to them,” I promise.
Cassia grimaces. “No.”
I’m beyond lost. Then it clicks.
“You want me to stay.” My accusation is sharper than I intend it to be. “Not Raum and Aziel, but you.”
The way Cassia’s cheeks turn red is all the confirmation I need. She’s asked them to make me stay, to remain in camp and join her at First Unit. Why would she do that? Is it out of guilt? Cassia is unskilled at apologies, and perhaps this is another attempt. I suppose it’s better than a prostitute.
Anything is better than a prostitute.
I cross my arms over my chest, mildly suspicious.
Cassia has made it abundantly clear she wants nothing to do with me, so why the sudden change of heart?
As far as I’m aware, she didn’t suffer any brain injuries when the Greeds attacked her.
Her ego might be a little bruised, but there shouldn’t be any long-term damage.
Perhaps this is about the almost bonding. That would make sense. She’s afraid I’m going to tell her father that she placed her teeth on me. I have zero intention of doing so. Cassia is a grown woman, and her sexual and romantic life has no business being reported to her father.
Not that what happened between us was sexual or romantic.
I resist the urge to brush my fingers over my neck again.
“I have no intention of telling Aziel what you did to me,” I say.
Cassia blinks. “Excuse me?”
I gesture to my neck. “It’s between us. I would never run to your father with our personal conflicts.”
“Obviously.” Cassia pushes her hair over her shoulder, her cool mask of indifference sliding back into place. “We leave this evening for First Unit. Be ready.”