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I wanted to laugh in her face. As if I didn’t know better than anyone exactly how wary I had to be around pretty vampire men. No, I didn’t trust Raihn. I didn’t even know if I especially liked him—Really? a voice whispered in the back of my head, at this thought—but I knew he didn’t do this. I knew it with unshakable certainty for one reason, and one reason alone: Mische.
I saw the devastation on his face when we found her. That was love. No one could fake that.
I bit my tongue as Jesmine sauntered off and slipped Vincent’s parchment into my pocket.
I remained at Mische’s bedside until it was time to meet with Vincent. She hadn’t spoken since we dragged her out of the apartment, though her lashes shuddered as if with constant dreams. Her skin was burning hot—especially bad news for vampires, who were usually resistant to infection. I stood over her and dabbed at her with a cold washcloth, washing seeping pus from her wounds. I pulled up her sleeves and frowned at what I saw beneath them. The fresh Nightfire burns clustered around her wrists and hands, which had been exposed that night. But the smooth brown skin of her arms was dotted, too, with old burn scars—countless, all layered over each other. Some were clearly very old, and others much fresher, though not from the attack.
How could she have gotten these?
A mumbled whimper interrupted the thought. Mische stirred, her fingers shaking. I lowered her arm and leaned closer to her. She couldn’t even move her head, and her eyes twitched, like she was trying to open them and failing.
It affected me more than I would have expected it to—seeing her this way. Before, Mische had flitted about like a butterfly, and now someone had ripped her wings off and left her here to wither.
You’ve known her for a month and a half, Vincent’s voice reminded me. And she would have killed you in that ring the moment the Halfmoon was over.
True. And true.
Still.
“What is it, Mische?” I asked softly. “What?”
With great effort, she rolled her head over, revealing her face. Bruises darkened the hollows of her eyes and the corners of her lips with mottled black.
“He didn’t come,” she moaned. “He didn’t answer me.”
Raihn. A strange, unexpected pain twinged in my heart. If he knew that she had awoken and he wasn’t there…
“Raihn is coming back. Soon.”
I hoped.
Her eyelids fluttered, the cracked corner of her mouth tightening in an almost-smile. “Raihn? I know. Raihn always comes back.”
The smile collapsed. A tear streaked her cheek. “I called and called,” she whimpered. “I called and called but he wouldn’t answer. He’s left me.”
“He’s coming back,” I said again, but she just kept weeping, faster and harder until she couldn’t speak—until she couldn’t even breathe.
I hurried to our packs, stacked in the corner of the room, and rummaged through them. The medical bag was well stocked, but not with anything strong enough to help her. Then my gaze fell to my pack. I dropped Mische’s bag, went to mine, and withdrew the last potion I had left. It was mostly empty. Not much remained. It wouldn’t be enough to heal Mische—not even close—but it would keep her alive through the night, and it would sedate her.
Still, I hesitated. This medicine was one of the few that could help me, as a human. I hadn’t healed my own burns yet. And the Halfmoon trial was right around the corner.
Mische let out another agonized sob. The sound cut through me, slicing the last of my restraint.
I couldn’t listen to her like that. I couldn’t.
I returned to her, tilted her head back, and poured in the final drops of the medicine. And I didn’t leave her side as her tear-streaked face smoothed and she fell into sleep, heavy and dreamless as a child’s.