Chapter 4

I move into Caelen’s room and it smells like mildew and old straw—the kind of place that’s been closed up too long.

I clear a small patch of floor and lay down old clothes over dry hay. It’s ugly and quick, but it’ll do. The snakelings curl into the nest and I tuck them in like they’re the whole world.

Night air slides in through the cracked window, sticky and heavy. There’s a sickly-sweet flower scent riding it—Caspian ripped out my vegetable beds and planted blooms for Aria. The smell should be pretty. It tastes like betrayal.

The babies whimper against my chest, restless. Their little bodies tremble. From the day they were born, their father has never been this cold to them. I lean down and kiss each tiny forehead. My eyes sting before I can stop them.

Somewhere outside, a muffled crying starts. I cover my ears, but then—there’s a loud crash. Footsteps pounding. Everything tightens.

The door slams open.

Caspian fills the doorway, all coiled muscle and that terrible, slit-pupiled green stare. His eyes burn into me, slow and hungry. Then they drop to the loose edge of my shirt.

I know that look. I know it like I know my own heartbeat. A dozen nights of him watching me, then dragging me into darkness, tail wrapping my waist, taking and taking until there was nothing left. He’s in heat.

I back into the corner before I even realize I’m moving.

His jaw tightens like a trap. He doesn’t know why he’s angry, exactly—just that something animal in him is roaring. Thought narrows to a throatless, simple command: She’s his. No one gets to take her.

I shake my head hard. “No—no, I don’t want this.” My voice is thin.

Whatever I say seems to burn him. He stops, hurt splitting his face. It’s almost comical—like I’m the one who ruined him. “Don’t look at me like that,” his face says. “You’re the one who left me.”

“I won’t—” I try to speak, but the word dies.

His hands clamp around my wrists and pin them over my head before I can finish the sentence.

A sharp hiss cuts the air.

The biggest snakeling scrambles forward, tiny tail braced, and plants himself between us. He trembles so hard his whole body shudders, but he raises his head and bares his baby fangs at Caspian. The little mouth is a furious, ridiculous, brave thing.

The other two snap awake and copy him. Three snakelings—no bigger than my palm—line up like a wall.

My tears fall hot and fast. “Babies, no—stay back!” I lunge for them, but Caspian’s grip is iron. I can’t move.

Caspian’s face has gone somewhere cold and sharp. The heat fogs his brain. He reaches with slow, ugly purpose. The little snakeling thrashes, tail whipping, trying to bite free.

“Don’t! Caspian, let him go! You’re hurting him!” I scream. I claw at his arm like a wild animal; my nails rip his skin.

He frowns, annoyed, and then—throws the snakeling like he’s nothing. The tiny body bounces off the wall and slides down crumpled on the floor.

“No!” The sound tears out of me. “My baby!”

The pain is white-hot in my chest. I can’t breathe. My hands shake so hard I can’t stand.

For a moment, Caspian blinks—like someone hit him. He looks at the snakeling curled in the corner, then at his own hand. For a second his eyes clear. Then something darker pulls the line back over his face. He mumbles my name, the sound broken: “Amber…”

A shout from the doorway cuts through everything.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Caspian snaps his head. Aria stands there, barefoot, eyes wide as saucers. He shoves me away like I burned him. His face twists, guilty and frantic.

The words spill out of him before he can stop them. “She—she seduced me.”