Bellanore
I’m not sure when I started to do this, but I’ve been testing my aura-reading powers to see if I can sense emotions from greater and greater distances. That’s how I first learned that Ellamaria has a crush. I could sense her heightened anxiety, her embarrassment, her lightheartedness. I still haven’t asked her who she likes yet, and she hasn’t said. Makes me wonder if she’s afraid to tell me because she doesn’t know where I stand with Robb.
Honestly, I don’t know where I stand with Robb.
I’m in my weather immunity class. Professor Gremma offered to let me out of it early if I do some kind of crazy stunt with her, and I’ve been thinking about it. So far, I’ve just been doing the lessons day by day. It’s too bad that fireballs don’t ever rain down from the sky. Maybe then I could finally get over my fear of fire.
Not that I want fire to come down from the sky. That would be utterly terrifying and would probably make my fear that much worse.
Of course, outside of Ellamaria, the one person I concentrate on the most is Robb, and when I feel a flash of fear and then acceptance, I know something is terribly wrong.
Without thinking, I stand.
“Going somewhere?” Professor Gremma asks me dryly.
“Yes.”
“You cannot walk out that door.”
“Try to stop me.”
Her eyes narrow. “Do you want to fail?”
I eye her. “Go ahead and fail me. You wanted me to test out of your class already, and you and I both know I can handle any kind of weather already. This class is a waste of my time.”
Her nostrils flare. “You better—”
“You need to teach them,” I tell her, pointing to the rest of the class. “There’s a storm coming, and it’s going to rain blood. Not just vampire blood. Werewolf blood. We need to know as much as possible, so fine, I’ll take whatever challenge you want me to face to test out of this course. Make it even harder now just to punish me. I don’t care.”
She calls after me, but I bolt out of there, racing and then teleporting away. I’m far from the castles that contain our classes, but I’m not sure where Robb is. My eyes close, and I focus on him, on his emotions, but it’s harder and harder to sense him. His aura is fading.
And then I feel him. It’s just a flicker of… I’m not sure what, but it’s enough for me to pinpoint his location, and I teleport there.
Robb is curled over on the grass, in a puddle of blood. I exhale slowly even though I want to chase down whoever did this and slaughter them.
Yes, slaughter them. A bit extreme of a reaction, maybe, but I am part demon.
It almost feels like someone else is the one to kneel beside him. I can hardly prevent my hands from shaking as I draw him into my arms. His breathing is slow, his pulse weak, and he groans as I shift him so that his head is in my lap.
“You’re bleeding all over me,” I admonish.
“Your fault,” he rasps.
“My fault?” I ask as I appraise him. Should I remove his shirt? I’ll have to see his wound.
“Yes. You moved me.”
“Ah, so I should’ve left you in your bloody mess, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Come now,” I rebuke gently. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” he mumbles.
“Yes, but that’s all right. You should’ve seen Professor Gremma’s class. I just stood up.”
“How did you know?” he asks.
“Can we worry about all of your silly questions later?” I ask. “I need to wash this, and maybe you should see a witch—”
“No witches,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Fine,” I grumble. “You’re going to make me learn how to sew, aren’t you? I never wanted to take up needlepoint, but now I’m going to have to thread your skin together.”
“It’ll be practice.”
“Practice for what?”
“Ask me in a few months,” he mumbles.
“Months?” I lift my eyebrows, torn between happiness that he thinks that he’ll be around in months and also scared out of my wits that he won’t be. “Can I at least teleport you to the cave?”
“No.”
“No?”
His head rolls to the side, and I wait patiently as he struggles to right it again so he can stare up at me. “No.”
“But—”
“I’m not sure I can handle that.”
“But—”
“I won’t die on the way,” he vows.
“You can’t promise that,” I protest. Tears sting my eyes.
I hate this.
I hate him.
I hate everything about this.
I yank off my cardigan. Then, I demand, “Close your eyes.”
He grunts, and I realize his eyes are already closed.
Quickly, I remove my buttoned-down white shirt and then put the cardigan back on. The shirt is a lot easier for me to tie around him. I don’t bother to remove his ruined clothing. For now, the materials can soak up his blood. I tied my shirt around him as tightly as I could to try to apply pressure.
“Lean against me,” I command.
“Who knew you were a drill sergeant in another life?” he mumbles.
It’s not that funny, but I laugh anyhow. It’s either laugh or cry, and I don’t want to cry right now. I can be strong for Robb. I know I can, but he’s hurt and in pain, and I just know even without asking that he’ll refuse to let me take his pain away. His anguish is causing me anguish, and I can’t do this. I can’t handle this anymore. How is he able to cope and deal with the fact that he’s dying?
But this isn’t because of the curse. This is something else altogether, and now, instead of anguish, I’m trembling with rage. A bit too harshly, I force Robb onto his feet. He grunts a little but doesn’t protest, and I drape his arm around the back of my neck, and I wrap my arm around his waist.
“Geez, you need to lay off the food,” I grumble. “What do you weigh?”
“All muscle, baby,” he huffs.
“Sure, it is.”
“You’re welcome to pinch my stomach or at least try to.”
I snort. “Not now.”
“Don’t want blood on your hands?” he asks.
I flinch at his word choice. “Let’s see if you can walk, all right?”
“Changing the subject, I see. Why? Blood and demons….”
“What do you want me to do?” I snap.
“Leave me be.”
He sounds a little stronger when he says that, but when I shift forward to see his face, he looks far too pale. He doesn’t want me to see him as weak. What a ridiculous notion.
“You are the strongest wolf I know,” I inform him. “You’re also half-wolf, half-pig.”
“Oh, yeah? Do I have a pig’s ass?”
“No, a pig’s head. You’re so pigheaded that you make me want to scream, and you pick fights like a bull that sees movement.”
He grunts. “If a bull sees me—”
“A bull would leave you be because you aren’t moving,” I inform him.
“The red—”
I snort. “Bulls react to the movement of the cape, not the color.”
“They can’t see any colors?”
“Not red,” I tell him.
“So they can see… what?”
I appraise him. “Your eyes.”
“Blue, huh? Can they see yours?”
“Yes, but I thought I said no more questions. You want more answers? Then you better start walking.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What do you want me to call you?”
“How about my name?” I ask dryly.
“You need a nickname.”
“No, I really—”
“Princess of Light.”
We’ve been walking, just a few steps’ worth, but his words make me draw up short.
“What did you call me?” I ask coldly.
“Princess of Light,” he mumbles.
He’s leaning heavier and heavier on me. He’s lost too much blood, and he’s trying to walk, which means I have to, and he’s staggering along, unable to keep his feet in front of him.
My mind is racing. Is he making fun of me? Or am I reading too much into it? I’m probably overreacting. I know and understand the emotions Robb’s going through between the curse and even his abuse of Mystic Twilight. Sensing them allows me to tell what he’s dealing with, but that doesn’t make it any easier to handle the bitterness. He can be so argumentative at times, and I’m that way back to him. It’s not right or fair on my part. I should be able to rise above it all, but sometimes, he knows just how to get under my skin.
But this… that nickname…
“You don’t like it,” he mumbles.
“Let’s get you to the cave,” I say firmly.
For a few steps, we’re silent, but then he murmurs something I don’t quite make out.
“What was that?” I ask.
“You’re my light,” he says softly.
“I can’t be.”
“Why not? You aren’t a full-blooded demon.”
“I’m about ready to go full-blooded demon on Nia,” I growl.
He grunts. “She didn’t do this?”
“Who did?”
“No questions now,” he says in a faintly higher-pitched voice.
“Is that your impersonation of me?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“It’s terrible.”
“I’m sorry. Let’s try that again. ‘Robb, stop asking questions because I can’t help myself, and I’ll answer them anyhow.”
“You!” If I could, I would’ve playfully hit his shoulder. Instead, I squeeze around his hips, pulling him closer for a one-armed hug.
It’s happened. I tried to fight it, to ignore my feelings.
Doesn’t matter.
I’ve fallen for Robb Aline all over again.
And I can’t help him.
Well, I can help him with his injuries now, but the rest of it? Not so much.
I swallow hard. The scar on his chest from his fight with Roald, that injury shouldn’t have scarred. The curse must’ve done it. That suggests that all of these slashes will scar too, and I don’t know if I can handle seeing his skin marred like that. He’s too strong to have those lines of injury on his body.
Gradually, we make our way to the cave. I lie Robb down on the moss that’s mostly regrown, and I clean out the wounds as best as I can. Robb’s face is as white as freshly fallen snow. A human might say he looked like he saw a ghost or that he looked like a ghost, but ghosts aren’t white. They’re translucent.
Robb keeps repeating a word just under his breath, and once I finished washing the wounds, all eleven of the slashes, I lean back, my legs tucked under me, and I watch his lips.
Light. He keeps saying light.
I clear my throat. “I need to suture the wounds,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”
“Are you really going to use a needle and thread?”
“Since you’re refusing to see a witch, I don’t think I have another choice. Unless…” I tap a finger to my chin. “Do you think a fairy could heal you? Maybe I can go visit—”
“No. No fairies. No witches.”
“Martyr,” I grumble.
“The curse means someone is,” he retorts.
“Yes, yes,” I say in a huff. “You don’t have to remind me.”
“I can’t forget.”
I hang my head, teleport to Ellamaria’s room since she actually does know how to sew, swipe her sewing kit, and return to the cave. Just outside, I make a fire since the last thing I want is for Robb to be subjected to smoke inhalation.
Once the needle is red-hot from the fire, I return to Robb. The needle remains red, and I touch Robb’s hand.
“Please, let me take some of your—”
“No!”
I jerk back, surprised by the vehemence power of his denial. “Why not?” I ask gently.
He snorts. “So you can ask questions and expect answers, but I can’t?”
“You can ask me any question you want if you answer me this.”
Robb hangs his head. When he looks up at me, his eyes glow more than normal, and they’re so filled with wonder that it makes me inhale deeply.
“I don’t want you to overtax yourself.”
I furrow my brow. “I won’t,” I promise.
He rolls his eyes, but his lips curl into a rueful smile. “You’ll try to transfer the curse to you.”
“No,” I protest.
“You’ll tamper with it and maybe make things worse.”
I hesitate.
“I know you mean well, but just…” He inhales deeply, which causes one of the wounds to start to bleed all over again. “Go ahead.”
With tears in my eyes, I stitch him up. My hand trembles at first, but when he doesn’t react or flinch, my hand gets surer, and I finish faster than I would’ve thought possible.
Robb’s still the entire time, and I almost thought that maybe he somehow fell asleep, but he’s watching me as I lean back to appraise my handiwork. Most of the wounds weren’t that deep and might not have needed to be sewn shut, but I thought it best to do them all. Only two did I have to struggle to pull the skin together because they were larger, and one of those liked to bleed. All in all, I don’t think I did a terrible job.
“Don’t make me ever do that again,” I murmur.
He leans forward, grimaces, and wipes my tear away with his thumb. “I won’t.”
My heart skips a beat. He’s talking about the tear, about making me cry.
After him calling me his light, it’s too much, especially since some of the cruel kids have called me the princess of darkness before.
“So… you want to join me for the Grand Hunt?” I ask.
“The Grand Hunt?” he asks dumbly.
“It’s tomorrow night,” I remind him.
Robb bursts out laughing. “I’m so not up for that right now.”
“I suppose not.” I grin and pat his hand. “Do you want me to spend the night with you?”
“You think I’m going to die in my sleep?”
“No,” I say quickly, but I choke on the word. The lump in my throat is painful, and tears form in my eyes again.
“You’re not supposed to cry,” he grumbles. “When I—”
I carefully move him to the side so I can jump to my feet without risking bumping him. “Do you want me to get you some food? You should eat or, at the very least, drink.” I eye him reproachfully. “You should drink something other than Mystic Twilight.”
He chuckles weakly. “I just want to sleep, but, Bellanore, when I die—”
“Not when.”
“It’s always when. We all die eventually.”
“I know that. I just… I don’t want to talk about that.”
“When I die,” he continues, his voice faint but also forceful, “you aren’t allowed to cry over me.”
“If you think I’m going to host a party, you’re crazy.”
“No more…” A yawn cuts him off. “No more tears.”
“Then let me help you,” I say desperately.
“You can’t. There is no way to help me, so just…” He pats beside him, and I sit by him. He lays his head on my shoulder, and he’s asleep in seconds.
I stroke his cheek and hum a faint tune, not wanting to disturb him but also wanting to help him settle. I’ve never really thought about my death before, and I think most everyone wants to die in their sleep, a nice, peaceful death, but that’s not how it always goes.
For Robb, I want that. I want him to have as peaceful a death as possible.
But I also want that to be a hundred years from now, not tonight.
But I also don’t want my dad to die either.
Robb’s right. A witch won’t be able to lift the curse, not permanently, but maybe there’s something else that can be done to help stall it? Something safer than the Mystic Twilight?
I lean down and kiss Robb’s temple. He didn’t tell me who hurt him, but I’m sure it was Roald. The Grand Hunt is coming up, and I have a feeling that fool will take part. Maybe I should hunt him instead of the white hart and the other animals we’re meant to hunt…