Chapter 48
Severin
I FELT HER COMING LONG before she knocked on the door. And now she’s standing before me, cheeks flushed, fingers curled into fists at her sides, lips pressed into a firm line. And, goddess, she’s beautiful.
It’s good to see her. Since that night on the tower, when she summoned the storm that undoubtedly gave her the cold she’s been fighting, I’ve only see her in class.
And I miss her. Deeply. Desperately.
“You’re ill,” I say, a mix of concern and frustration lingering in my tone. But she ignores it.
“I just came from a fellowship meeting with Professor Azula.” She steps forward but makes no move to sit in the chair across from my desk. Anger pulses through our connection like distant thunder, leaving me momentarily confused.
Is she angry with Azula? Has something happened with the fellowship?
“But maybe you know that already,” she continues. “It seems you always know things before I do.”
My confusion deepens at the accusation in her voice.
“What are you referring to?” I ask.
The fire in the hearth crackles and pops in the silence stretching between us. Maeve’s brow furrows as she narrows her eyes.
“She told me how close I was to losing her recommendation. And she said you were involved in the discussion.”
Oh. That feels like so long ago now, I’d almost forgotten that conversation—and my decision to withhold the information from Maeve.
I incline my head slightly. “Yes.”
More anger flutters through our connection, accompanied with a crackle of heat. It makes my burnt hand ache.
“So, you admit to knowing I could’ve lost it? And not telling me?”
Her words are sharp, damning.
How can I explain this?
“I didn’t wish to pressure you further,” I say. “At the time, your control was already—”
“Unstable?” she cuts in. “Dangerous?”
Her storm stirs between us. Despite me not having fed from her again, that connection still lingers there, still calls to me, still ties me to her.
And I wish I didn’t yearn for it as much as I do.
“I believed,” I say slowly, moving to step out from behind my desk, “that you needed time to prove yourself. Adding fear into the equation would not have served you.”
“So, you made the choice for me. Again. Just like you’re the one who chose to stop feeding from me. You’re making choices about my life without even asking what I want.”
At the mention of feeding, my gaze flicks to the closed door, but I don’t hear anyone moving down the hall. I refocus on Maeve.
Beautiful, rageful Maeve.
“I am trying to protect you,” I say, keeping my voice low. “There are consequences to what we were doing. Permanent consequences. Ones that cannot be undone.”
For a brief moment, I consider telling her the rest: that fusing our blood bond permanently may alter the entire course of her life, may trap her in the overlap between a human lifespan and a vampire one. But I tighten my jaw before the words can come out.
Because I fear I know what she would say. She would choose it anyway. She would choose me. And I cannot allow that. Not when she doesn’t truly understand what that choice would cost her.
“There are consequences to this too!” Her voice cracks, and she begins to cough.
I move to reach for her, the action instinctual, but she steps back, coughing into her sleeve.
When she’s done, she takes a few rough breaths, then shoots a glare at me.
“There are consequences to distance and silence and lying.”
My brow furrows. “I did not lie,” I say, drawing myself up at the accusation.
“But you didn’t tell me the truth either.”
The words are sharp—because she’s right.
I withheld what I knew about her fellowship recommendation, and I continue to withhold information from her even now. But I must. For her. Because if I tell her, if I place the full weight of this truth into her hands . . .
The air in my office feels thick and electrically charged, like a storm cloud could form on the ceiling at any moment.
Finally, Maeve steps closer. Her proximity makes my hunger flare.
I’ve been forcing myself to drink the blood from the blood bank, but it makes me feel ill and does nothing to satiate the desire I have for her.
“I trusted you,” she says. Her voice is softer now, trembling. And her red-rimmed eyes start to mist over with moisture. “Not just with the fellowship, but with my magic. With my heart.”
The pain she feels floods our connection, and I have to suck in a breath to steady myself against it.
“I never intended to betray that trust,” I say, reaching for her slowly. She allows me to place my hand on her cheek. Her skin burns beneath my touch. A fever, no doubt. “Everything I have done,” I continue, “has been for your sake.”
Her violet eyes flick up to meet mine. “That’s the problem,” she says as the first tear slips from her eye and falls onto her cheek. “You’re making choices for me instead of with me. That’s not how a partnership works. That’s not how you show someone that you love them.”
Her words pierce through my ribs as easily as a blade, and I’m still struggling with them as she pulls away, severing the connection between my fingers and her skin.
At the same time, the thread between us feels like it’s beginning to fray. And Maeve must feel it too, for she reaches up to place a hand over her heart.
“I . . .” I search for words that will not come. I don’t know how to fix this while protecting her at the same time. I’ve never done this before, and I feel wholly unprepared.
With a heavy sigh, I shake my head and whisper, “I’m sorry, Maeve.”
That seems to solidify something for her. She draws herself up and wipes a hand across her cheek, drying the tear that fell. “I can’t be half loved,” she says. “That’s not how this works.”
My gaze finds hers. Quietly, I ask, “What are you saying?”
More mist gathers in her eyes, but she blinks it away, refusing to let it fall. “I’m saying . . .” She bites her lip, eyes shining in the pale winter light coming through my frosty office window. “I’m saying I’m done.”
At those two words, I’m done, it feels like my world tilts sideways. My blood rushes through my ears, drowning out all other sounds.
The thread between us stretches thin. Something inside me feels raw, directionless. Like I’m adrift now, floating in an endless sea, where before, Maeve was my anchor, my harbor.
She turns.
And I know I should say something. But what can I say to fix this? I’m trying to protect her.
From me. From a permanent fusion that would change everything.
I’ve been alive for centuries. Being connected to Maeve would be a gift for a vampire like me.
But that’s not the case for her. She has one life to live—one short, beautiful life. And I cannot let her waste it on me.
My body begs me to follow her. But I force myself to stand there silently, teeth gritted and fangs aching, as she opens my office door, pauses for one breath, and then slips out into the corridor, closing the door as she goes.
And I’m immediately haunted by my choices.
Protection over love.
Freedom over us.
I step back around my desk and lower myself into my office chair, dropping my head into my trembling hands. Tears flood my eyes, blurring my vision.
And as the connection between us continues to fray, sending spiderwebs of pain lancing through my chest, I allow myself to break, fully and completely.
For the first time in hundreds of years.