All Chapters of Bite my Tongue: Chapter 21 - Chapter 29

Back in Emery's room, I tuck her into the princess bed and smooth her tangled hair. Sir Fluffington is positioned on the pillow beside her, his glassy eyes staring at the ceiling."What was your bad dream about?" I ask.She is quiet for a moment. Then, in a small voice: "The water. The cold water from before."My heart cracks. "Oh, Em.""You said we were going swimming. But it was so cold. And then you were crying, a

 He moves slowly. Not because he's uncertain. Because he's giving me time. Every touch is a question. Every brush of his fingers is a request. He cups my face in his hands—those same hands that pulled me out of the river, that bruised my chin, that draped a jacket over my shoulders—and tilts my head up to meet his eyes. "This doesn't have to be anything you don't want," he says. "We can just scent. Just proximity. Whatever you need." "I know." "But if you want more—" "I know." I reach up and grip his wrists. Not pushing him away. Holding him there. "

POV: KaelI wake to silence.Not the peaceful silence of early morning, when the city is still shaking off sleep and the light through the windows is gray and gentle. This is a different kind of silence. Heavy. Wrong. The kind of silence that settles into a room like something waiting.The sheets beneath me are damp. The air is thick with the mingled scent of us—cedar and steel and the soft, sweet Omega scent that Arielle's body has finally begun releasing after years of chemical suppression. The Nest around us is a wreck. Blankets tangled. Pillows scattered. The evidence of what happened between us written into every rumpled fold of fabric.She is curled on her side, facing away from me. Her breathing is shallow. Her shoulders are still.I reach for her."Arielle."Nothing.My hand settles on her shoulder, and her skin is warm—too warm—and limp beneath my touch. She does not stir. Does not flinch. Does not ma

 Emery asks about Arielle seventeen times before noon.Mrs. Hartley handles most of the questions with the calm, practiced patience of a woman who has raised children and managed crises and learned that panic never helps. But eventually, the questions become too pointed, too frightened, and Mrs. Hartley comes to find me in the study."She wants to see her sister, sir.""No." The word comes out sharper than I intended. "She can't see her like this.""With respect, Mr. Draven, the child is terrified. She knows something is wrong. Keeping her away may make it worse."I rub my hand across my jaw. I ha

As Arielle's strength returns, so does her sharpness. She argues with me over breakfast. She criticizes the way I organize the refrigerator. She accuses me of hovering, which I am, but I am not about to admit it."You're like a shadow," she says, pouring herself coffee with hands that only tremble slightly now. "A very tall, very brooding shadow.""I'm making sure you don't collapse again.""I'm not going to collapse. I'm fine.""You said that before. Then you passed out for eight hours.""That was different.""How?"