The carriage door ripped open, torn from its hinges. Cold air rushed in with the night, and the night was enraged. It washed over me, its intensity so stunning, it overwhelmed me, shutting down my senses.
And then Chaney was gone, along with the crushing weight and the heavy, too-sweet cologne, but I couldn’t stop. Blinded by rage, pain, and an old, all-too-familiar panic, I kept stabbing at the air, at the night, at the shape that filled the gaping doorway, and then at what appeared above me. Until a hand caught my wrist—
“It’s okay. Shh, it’s okay, Poppy. Stop. Look at me,” a voice demanded. “Look at me, Princess.”
Princess.
The Ascended wouldn’t call me that.
Breathing ragged, my wild gaze swiveled around the carriage, stopping when I found him. He hovered over me, cheeks spotted with blood. “Hawke,” I whispered.
“Yeah. Yes.” He sounded shredded and windblown. “It’s me.”
“I..I didn’t want to go with him,” I told him, needing him to know that I understood—that I really saw the Ascended for what they were, even before I woke up in the carriage. “He had a boy, and I—”
“I know. I found the wolven dagger by the stables. I knew you wouldn’t have left that behind if you’d had a choice.” Gently, he pried the knife from my hand, placing it on the bench. The normally striking lines of his face seemed fuzzy. “And here I thought I would make this grand entrance, rescuing you. I’m not sure you needed rescuing.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. My rolling gaze landed on the bloodied knife. Even as dazed as I was, as much as my thoughts were muddied, I knew I wouldn’t have killed Chaney. I wasn’t even sure how badly I’d wounded him. He would’ve recovered quickly, and he would’ve bitten me again. He would’ve kept biting me, feeding off me, and—
“Hey, stay with me.” Casteel’s soft voice intruded, ending the spiral of panic before I realized I was even falling down it. His fingers touched my chin, drawing my gaze from the knife. His eyes roamed over my face, lingering where my jaw throbbed viciously, and then his gaze dipped. Tension crept into his jaw. “He hurt you.”
Lifting my head took more effort than I thought it would. It was strangely heavy as I looked down. The front of my tunic was ripped, streaked with red.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, his voice rough as he touched the skin below the corner of my lip. That too ached, but then his hands carefully peeled back the left sleeve of my tunic. He became as still as the statues inside Castle Teerman, as if he too were fashioned from the limestone they were made of.
His eyes were like shards of brilliant amber. “Did he bite you anyplace else?”
“No.” I swallowed dryly, the rigidness seeping out of my muscles. “It hurt. It felt like a Craven’s bite.” A tremor rocked me. “It felt nothing like—”
His eyes met mine, and a long moment passed as he stared down at me like he…like he cared, as if he would do anything to take back the pain I felt. “He wanted it to hurt.”
“Bastard,” I whispered, letting my head fall back.
Casteel slipped his hand under my head before it could make contact with the hard floor. I wanted to tell him thank you, but my face hurt—my entire body ached, and my arm throbbed and throbbed.
“He could’ve killed you,” he said, and for the first time since I’d met him, I thought he sounded weary. “You’re only half-Atlantian.”
Something about that was important—something Chaney had said. But my thoughts were like scattered wisps of smoke.
“Bloodlust would’ve consumed him, and he wouldn’t have stopped. There nearly always has to be another vampry with them to get them to stop. And sometimes, that’s not even enough. I didn’t think…” His exhale was frayed, tattered. “I didn’t think you’d be alive when I reached you.”
Yet again, he sounded concerned, but that had to be the head injury I’d most definitely acquired. Or maybe it was the fading adrenaline.
Or perhaps the blood loss.
“Why?” he asked.
“He had…that boy. I had to do something,” I forced my tongue to move. My eyelids were too heavy. Everything was too heavy, even as I felt Casteel gather me into his arms, lifting me from the carriage floor. “It was the only way he’d let the boy go.”
“But he didn’t,” Casteel said as my eyes closed, and I slipped into oblivion. “He didn’t let that boy go.”
The journey back to the keep was a tumble of hazy images, broken pieces of dreams and pinwheeling stars. Casteel’s face was so close to mine that I’d thought he would kiss me, but it seemed like a strange time for that. There were sounds. Voices I recognized, ones tinged with concern. Then a strange taste against my tongue that reminded me of spice, citrus, snow, and Casteel. Warmth like the summer sun invaded my veins, and when the heat started to seep into my muscles and spread across my skin, I thought I heard the trickle of water and smelled something sweet, like lilac. But Casteel was a heavy whisper against my skin, and then there was nothing.
When I opened my eyes again, confusion swept over me. I recognized the exposed rafters of the ceiling and the dark spice and pine scent that lingered on the blanket tucked around me, but I had no recollection of how I got back here. My gaze shifted to the gray light creeping through the small window. The last thing I remembered was Casteel carrying me out of the carriage. There were disjointed images, things that didn’t make sense no matter how hard I tried.
“Poppy?”
Heart kicking suddenly against my ribs, I turned my head toward the sound of his voice.
Casteel was near the fireplace, rising from a chair. He was dressed as he had been when I saw him last, all in black. Only the swords were missing. He prowled slowly toward the bed, his face clear of the spots of blood. “How are you feeling?”
I had to tug down the cobwebs choking my thoughts to answer that question. “I…I feel okay.” And I did. I felt like I’d spent an entire night in restful sleep.
He stopped by the edge of the bed, one eyebrow raised. “You don’t sound like that’s a good thing.”
“I don’t understand. I should—” My next breath caught in my throat as I pulled my arms out from under the blanket. The loose sleeves of the nightgown slipped down to reveal…skin that was more reddish pink than normal in two spots, but not an angry shade, not torn. Slowly, I lifted my fingers to my mouth and then to my jaw. The skin wasn’t swollen there either. There was only a faint ache when I swallowed. I lowered my hands to the soft blanket as the spiced citrus and snow taste blossomed in the back of my mouth.
“Poppy?”
I swallowed again. “How did I get into this nightgown?”
There was a heartbeat of silence, and when I looked back at Casteel, both of his brows were raised. He seemed utterly caught off guard.
“Did you…did you do it?”
He blinked and then shook his head. “No. Magda did. We thought you’d be far more comfortable.”
That meant Magda was alive.
“Is that all you have to ask?” he said.
My gaze fell back to the faint puncture wounds on my arm. “You gave me your blood.”
“I did.”
“Was I that badly injured?”
“You were bruised and bleeding, and that is bad enough,” he stated, and I looked to him once more. “There was also a worrisome lump on the back of your head. Kieran didn’t believe it was all that serious, but I…I will not take any chances.” His jaw flexed. “And we cannot risk lingering here to allow time for you to heal. Others will be coming for you.”
Others.
“They were following us,” I said, clearing my throat. “Lord Chaney told me that they’d discovered that—”
“I know,” he said, and a hint of a grin appeared. “I had a small conversation with the vampry, and I can be very persuasive when it comes to obtaining information.”
Fragments of what Lord Chaney had said slowly pieced together. “He…he saw the bite mark on my throat, and he knew that I’d learned the truth.” My brows knitted. “He said he couldn’t understand how the Duke or Duchess had never fed from me—how they resisted knowing what I was. He said my blood is potent.”
His jaw clenched. “To a vampry, Atlantian blood would taste like a fine wine. A full-blooded Atlantian would be like—”
“Aged whiskey?”
He cracked a small grin. “Very aged, and very smooth.”
I shook my head. “Well, I guess the Teermans resisted because they knew the Queen and King would be mad. Plus, it would expose the truth about them.” I toyed with the edge of the blanket. “Chaney was wounded.”
“Elijah got a good swipe in before the coward ran off.”
I wished I’d seen that, but something else Chaney had said slowly fought its way to the surface. “I told him…I told him that I knew why they needed me alive. He insinuated that I wasn’t correct.”
Casteel smirked. “Of course, he would. I doubt the Queen or King would want you to know the truth or to believe it. They want you willing, to not fight them—for them to be able to lie to you until they have you where they want. If he hadn’t been wounded, he probably would’ve told you that everything was a lie. He would’ve worked to gain your trust.”