Chapter Twenty-Six
There was really nothing to say besides the truth. “He taught me how to petrify.”
Caspen blinked slowly. “I see.”
A deathly silence followed.
Tem knew Caspen would understand exactly what she was really telling him. He knew what had to happen after you petrified someone. Even if she hadn’t known the implications of that decision until an hour ago, Caspen certainly knew. And Apollo had known too.
“We didn’t have sex,” she said when the silence lingered too long.
“I see,” Caspen said again.
“He just…” Tem struggled to put the experience into words. There was no way to describe what had happened on that brick wall that would make it palatable to Caspen. She decided on “…helped.”
A muscle in Caspen’s jaw twitched. Tem knew he was picturing them together, imagining everything his brother had helped her with.
“I didn’t know,” she said quickly.
His eyes slid to hers. He blinked. “You did not know what?”
“I didn’t know what happens after you petrify.”
No reply.
Tem soldiered on. “You never told me, and Apollo thought I already knew. He thought…” She trailed off. It was pointless to tell Caspen that Apollo thought she’d asked him to teach her how to petrify because she wanted to sleep with him. It was a detail that would only make things worse.
Caspen still wasn’t speaking. He was simply watching her silently, his arms crossed over his chest.
Tem could do nothing but try again. “I understand if you’re angry but—”
“I am not angry, Tem,” he cut her off.
Tem gave him a cautious glance. “It seems like you are.”
Caspen sighed. He looked her in the eye. “I am not. I should know you better by now.”
Tem had no idea whether she should be offended by that observation.
Another silence followed. A myriad of emotions rushed through Tem’s chest, and she could only imagine that a similar set was rushing through Caspen’s. Not only had she gone behind his back to learn how to petrify, but she’d done it with his brother. There could be no worse combination of misdeeds.
“Caspen?” Tem said quietly. “Please say something.”
“What would you have me say, Tem?”
“Just…tell me what you’re thinking.”
Tem didn’t dare enter his mind. There was a black cloud around it she couldn’t hope to penetrate and didn’t want to anyway. This was a conversation better had out loud.
“I am thinking that I have never met someone so incapable of following instructions as you.”
The words stung. They took her immediately back to the training, when she and Caspen had been student and teacher. It was a time when their relationship was unequal, a time when he made unilateral decisions without her knowledge or consent. Now she had done the same to him.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “You’re always saying how you want me to have the full basilisk experience.”
“I have made my stance on petrification crystal clear. Do not pretend you do not understand.”
Tem shook her head. “It’s not safe for me not to know how to petrify. Apollo said so.”
“I do not take Apollo’s opinion into consideration when making my decisions. And neither should you.”
“But this was my decision. You wouldn’t teach me, so I—”
“There is a reason I did not teach you, Tem,” Caspen cried, and Tem flinched at his tone. “I did not want you to kill your own kind. It is a terrible thing—”
“To take a life,” she finished for him, her voice a mangled whisper. “Trust me, I know.”
“Trust me,” he snapped, stepping closer. “You do not. You are half-human, Tem. This will haunt you. The basilisk side of you may accept it, but the human side never will.”
Tears welled in her eyes. He was right. She was already experiencing the aftermath of the petrification: burgeoning power mixed with horrifying guilt. Caspen had tried to protect her from that. And he had failed.
“It’s already done, Caspen. I can’t take it back.”
He only shook his head, his gaze returning to the fire.
Caspen was furious, that much was clear.
But about what, exactly? He seemed far angrier that she’d petrified someone than about the fact that Apollo had helped her orgasm.
Tem looked at the fire too, and for a moment, there was silence.
Then Caspen whispered, “What will your little prince think of what you did?”
A chill ran down Tem’s spine. Little prince.
It was his most demeaning nickname yet. And it was also the first time Tem thought about her actions in the context of Leo.
What would Leo think of what she’d done tonight?
He would hate it. As he should. She had violated the truce; she had taken a human life.
Leo would be horrified if he found out she’d killed a man.
Tem grit her teeth. “He’ll never know.”
Caspen turned to her slowly. “Won’t he?”
His eyes bored into hers. Tem knew he wouldn’t tell Leo she’d petrified someone.
It would put her in danger, and Caspen would never allow that.
She understood what he was really saying: that the truth would always come out—that she would not be able to keep this secret forever, especially from someone who asked her not to lie to him.
Before she could think of a response, Caspen brushed past her, heading for the door.
“Caspen,” Tem cried after him. “Don’t leave me. Please.”
Caspen’s jaw tightened. His voice was deathly quiet as he said, “And why should I stay? I have no doubt you can find company if you desire it.”
“The only company I desire is yours.”
“I find that difficult to believe.”
Tem stepped closer. He was not the only one who was angry here. “You don’t take me hunting anymore. You’ve given up on me.”
“I have not given up on you,” Caspen snapped. “I would never do that. But I cannot take you hunting when I require it far more often than you do and it clearly strains you to transition.”
There it was. The truth that neither of them wanted to face. Tem could barely transition anymore. Only now she knew it was because of Leo—that her inability was no mere matter of will, that it would continue to strain her until she consummated the crest. But to Caspen, she just seemed incapable.
“And now I find myself wondering whether it truly strains you at all,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“You must transition in order to petrify. Were you able to do so?”
Tem opened her mouth, then closed it. What was he implying?
That she was purposefully being a burden to him but not to Apollo?
That she was using her weakness only when convenient, wielding it like a weapon to pit brothers against each other?
The accusation made her want to scream. She’d just learned that she had to consummate the crest—she was protecting Caspen by not doing so.
The only reason she’d sought solace with Apollo was because she hadn’t been able to seek it with Caspen.
He was the one who had driven her into his arms.
Tem squared her shoulders, preparing to defend herself. “It’s not my fault that Apollo taught me what you wouldn’t.”
A moment passed. Then, to her surprise, Caspen relented.
The anger left his eyes, and his fists unclenched.
He took a step closer. “You are right,” he said quietly.
“I should have taught you how to petrify. It is no surprise that you sought that knowledge elsewhere. And it is certainly no surprise that my brother was so eager to provide it.”
“He didn’t mean to—”
“Yes, Tem,” Caspen sighed. “He did. And I do not blame him.” His eyes raked over her, and she knew he could smell the sex clinging to her skin. “How could he not like what he sees?”
There it was again: the familiar flare of jealousy, the hint of heat that always entered Caspen’s eyes whenever his brother tried to staked his claim on her.
Tem took a step closer too. “What about you?” she whispered. “Do you like what you see?”
Caspen clenched his jaw. “You know I do.”
Tem’s gaze trailed down to his hardening cock. “Show me,” she whispered.
An electrifying moment passed. Tem felt the temperature between them rise. Tendrils of smoke curled over Caspen’s shoulders, skimming down the curve of his muscles. Pure anticipation shot through Tem as Caspen extended his hand to reach for her, stopping an inch from her skin.
A moment passed. Then another. Caspen frowned.
Fear bit suddenly into Tem. Perhaps he was angrier than he cared to admit—perhaps her seduction wasn’t enough.
“Caspen?” she whispered. “What is it?”
His eyes met hers. There was fear in them. “I cannot touch you.”