Chapter Sixteen
It was the first time Gabriel had ever let her go without kissing her on the cheek.
Tem felt a single tear fall, tracing the place where his lips should have been.
She stumbled back through the forest cold and alone.
Multiple times, she fell along the path, groping her way with no sense of direction.
She was crying so hard she barely heard her name.
“Temperance?” Apollo emerged from the forest like a ghost, his bare skin glowing in the darkness.
“What are you doing here?” Tem gasped. She’d never seen him outside the caves.
Apollo stepped closer. “You said you were in the village. You were hurt.”
Tem’s brain was barely working. She struggled to put the pieces together: Apollo was here. He had come to find her. Apollo was here.
“Why are you crying? What happened?”
Tem had no idea how to answer him. Why was she crying? Was it because she’d just seen her childhood church burn down before her eyes? Was it because people had gotten hurt, and it was her fault? Or was it because the brother she needed was not the brother before her?
Apollo stepped even closer, brushing his thumb gently over her cheek. “Tell me how to fix it,” he murmured. “Please.”
Tem closed her eyes, focusing on nothing but his touch, letting it ground her. The intimacy of the moment was crushing. They had to stop meeting like this—alone in the darkness, immediately after something traumatic had happened. It was only a matter of time before it ended in disaster.
“Why the tears, Temperance?”
Tem opened her eyes. “The villagers are angry.”
Apollo raised an eyebrow. “Are they now?”
“Yes.”
“At whom?”
“The royals. And…” She paused, wondering how much she should say. “Caspen.”
Apollo raised his other eyebrow. Tem didn’t know how much he knew—if he was aware that Caspen was the one who broke the truce—that he had broken it for her.
“The villagers will not harm us, Temperance. They fear us.”
She shook her head. They did not fear them enough. The snakes are next.
“If they come near us, we will turn them to stone,” Apollo said. “They will not stand a chance. Petrification is our greatest power.”
Again, her inadequacy reared its head. Tem dropped her voice to a whisper as she said, “Not for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never petrified before.”
Apollo blinked in genuine surprise. “Why?”
Tem crossed her arms, suddenly embarrassed.
When she didn’t answer, Apollo prompted her. “Are you afraid to do so?”
“No,” said Tem firmly.
He furrowed his brow at her tone. “I see. In that case, why have you refrained?”
“Caspen won’t teach me.”
“And why not?”
“He doesn’t want me to kill anyone,” Tem grumbled.
The barest flash of amusement brightened Apollo’s eyes. “You sound disappointed. Do you dream of being a killer?”
“No,” she insisted. “But it feels like…a part of me is missing.”
“Hm.” Apollo tilted his head, considering something. “I cannot fathom why my brother would not teach you such a fundamental skill. It is unwise. You should know the full breadth of your power.”
For once, they agreed on something.
Apollo continued, “Then again, he is…sentimental.”
Tem had only heard one person call Caspen sentimental before. Rowe. “Sentimental how?”
Apollo shrugged. “Caspenon upholds a certain concept of…morality.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you are a shiny thing to him. And he does not want to see you tarnished.”
“Excuse me? Tarnished?” Tem was not an object. She was not shiny, nor was it possible to tarnish her. The entire concept was ridiculous.
“Do not hold it against him,” Apollo said quickly. “He thinks he is protecting you. Although I rather suspect he is doing the opposite.”
Again, they agreed on something. No good could come of Tem not knowing how to petrify.
With perhaps more eagerness than was warranted, Apollo said, “Would you like me to teach you?”
Anticipation pricked Tem’s spine. Yes. She would like that. “I…” she started, then paused. Tem knew how she wanted to answer. But she couldn’t seem to do it. “Don’t know.”
Apollo’s calculating gaze held hers. “I think you do know.”
Of course she knew. She knew quite well.
But Caspen had made his stance crystal clear. There was no doubt in her mind that accepting petrification lessons from his brother would anger him, even if it felt like the right thing to do for her—even if she wanted it.
Rather than reply, Tem stared at the middle of Apollo’s chest. Anywhere was easier than looking him straight in the eye. He was standing too close. He was selfish, and his desire for her was a strategy. She had no idea whether she could truly trust him.
“Temperance,” Apollo murmured, his voice low. “I will teach you, if that is what you wish. You need only say the word.”
It was a tempting offer. An extremely tempting offer. “I want Caspen to teach me.”
“I know you want that. But he will not.”
She shook her head. “He will.”
“No, he will not.”
When Tem didn’t reply, Apollo leaned in. Her breath caught in her throat.
“If you think he will change his mind, you are wrong,” he murmured. “My brother never changes his mind.”
Tem shrugged. “I’ll convince him.”
No part of her believed it. But she said it anyway.
Apollo scoffed quietly. “If you say so.”
A pause. Tem was still staring pointedly at his chest. Apollo raised a single finger, placing it underneath her chin and tilting her face up to his.
“If you cannot convince him, you know where to find me.”
Tem just shook her head. Apollo held her gaze for a long moment before dropping his hand. They walked back to the caves in silence, parting in the passageway without so much as a word. Tem fell asleep alone. When she woke, Caspen’s arms were around her.
“Caspen,” she said immediately, shaking him awake.
“Tem,” he murmured into her hair. “It is early.”
“I don’t care. We need to talk.”
At her tone, Caspen propped himself up on his elbow to look at her with a concerned frown. “What is it, my love?”
“Where were you last night?”
“I was hunting.”
Of course he was. “You’re always hunting.”
“Because I need to eat.”
“I want to go with you.”
“There is no point.”
Tem froze. His words felt like a slap. She slumped back on the bed. “I see,” she whispered.
Caspen pursed his lips. “Tem,” he said quietly. “I should not have said that.”
“But it’s true.”
He didn’t reply. Of course it was true. Caspen needed to transition in order to hunt, and Tem had hardly been able to transition at all, even with his help. She was becoming a burden to him. He was right; there was no point in her coming.
“It is only true if you let it be.”
“What are you saying?”
“I am saying that you are distracted. And you are not applying yourself.”
Resentment tore into her like a thorn. Caspen was no longer her teacher; he had no right to speak to her like that.
Against her will, Tem felt the delicate thread that drew her to Caspen tremble.
He had been gone a lot lately. He knew it, and she knew it too.
Tem tried not to mind, but she did. And his absence had only left her more willing to look for comfort elsewhere.
It was killing her, being alone with nothing but her thoughts.
“I needed you last night,” she whispered.
Caspen frowned. “I thought you went to the village for the full moon.”
“I did, but then something happened.”
His grip tightened. “What happened?”
For some reason, Tem hesitated. She couldn’t seem to talk about the church. If she said it out loud, somehow that made it real.
“Gabriel got hurt,” she said instead.
Caspen said nothing. He didn’t care if humans got hurt—he’d made that clear. But he’d also promised to protect Gabriel, and he was breaking that promise right now.
“I told you the villagers were angry,” she insisted.
“What do you wish for me to say, Tem? There is nothing to be done.”
“There’s always something to be done.”
Caspen just shook his head. What would it take to convince him that this was his problem too? What line had to be crossed in order for him to care? Would it take his own people getting hurt? That line was too far for Tem. She needed him to understand this now.
“I told you it would get worse.”
“The villagers are none of my concern.”
“They are my concern,” Tem nearly shouted.
Caspen sat up. Tem did too.
His dark eyes were on hers, deep and knowing. He touched his fingertips to her hip, brushing them up her waist, over her breast, and along the column of her neck. They rested beneath her chin, tilting her head up to his.
“You are my only concern, Tem.”
Tem wished she believed him. But Caspen didn’t seem very concerned with her at all. He’d gone hunting without her last night, and now he was dismissing her. Even Apollo had been more attentive than this.
“If I am your concern, then you should listen to what I’m telling you.”
Caspen sighed. His fingers traced her lips. His eyes were black; she knew he wanted her. But she would not be distracted by seduction.
“We need to do something about it,” she said. “And soon.”
“What would you have me do, Tem?”
For some reason, Tem thought of her conversation at the Horseman, how Gabriel had delighted at the idea of sex parties. An wild idea occurred to her, and spoke it aloud before she had a chance to overthink it: “What if Gabriel came here?”
Caspen blinked. “Why would he want to come here?”
“So he could…I don’t know…see how we live.”
Tem was grasping at straws. She was desperate.
But how else could she humanize the basilisks in Gabriel’s eyes?
He’d expressed interest in coming here in the past. What if he actually did it—what if he saw that the snakes he hated so much acted just like him?
If Gabriel came here and integrated with the basilisks for a night, he might understand that their lives were just as worthy as his.
Gabriel held significant sway with the villagers.
If Tem was able to evoke some empathy in him, perhaps she could put a stop to this. The stakes were too high not to try.