The morning after the Harvest Night felt like waking from a fever dream—except the ache in my body was real. So was the pain on my neck where Cassian's bite still throbbed beneath the bandage. Elias's mark burned just as fiercely on my hip, as if the two were trying to outdo each other inside me.
My skin didn't feel like my own anymore.
The sky outside was grey, smothered by clouds that refused to break. Rain hadn't touched Ashwood yet, but the storm was close. I could feel it pressing on my chest.
The house creaked around me. I moved through it slowly, stiff, haunted by memories I couldn't name. I remembered the music from the Harvest Night, the flash of moonlight, the way Cassian's hand had rested on my lower back as if he owned me.
The way Elias had looked at me like I was prey. Or a possession. Or both.
I made tea I didn't drink.
I paced rooms that smelled of old wood and something more feral.
And then I heard the knock.
Three sharp raps at the door.
I didn't answer.
The door opened anyway.
Elias stood there—wet from the mist, eyes darker than they had any right to be.
"Why didn't you come when I called?" he said.
"I don't answer to you."
Wrong thing to say.
He stepped inside, dripping rain onto the floor, slamming the door shut behind him. "We warned you not to act like this was normal. Not to pretend you were like them."
"I am human."
"You're ours."
My stomach twisted.
He moved closer. "When Cassian touched you last night, I almost tore out his throat."
"He said the same about you."
That made him pause. His jaw tightened. Then he laughed—a bitter, humorless sound.
"You're poison," Elias said softly. "To both of us. And we're addicted."
He touched my jaw. I flinched. He didn't care. "But you'll learn. Who you belong to. Who your body listens to."
His hand dropped to my side. Then lower.
"Stop," I said.
But he didn't.
I shoved him.
He caught my wrist.
And then the front window shattered inward.
Cassian appeared in a blur of black.
He grabbed Elias and flung him across the room. Wood splintered. Elias hit the far wall and snarled, already shifting, eyes going gold.
Cassian stood between us.
"I marked her first."
"She bled for me," Elias spat.
"She bled because you couldn't control yourself."
"And you can?"
I screamed.
Both froze.
"I'm not a toy," I said. "Not a prize. Not a thing."
They looked at me—really looked.
And for a moment, I saw something like shame in Cassian's eyes.
Then Elias turned and stormed out the ruined door, shoulders shaking with fury.
Cassian stayed.
"Go," I whispered.
He didn't move. "I can make it hurt less."
"You are the hurt."
---
The Council came the next morning.
Four robed figures. No names. No faces. Only verdicts.
"You were warned," one said.
"She provokes us," Cassian replied, voice steady.
"She is human," another snapped. "You swore on your blood."
"She's more than that," Elias said from the shadows. "You feel it too."
"More is not an excuse."
"She awakened something," Cassian said.
"Then un-awaken it. Or we will."
The warning hung in the air like smoke.
I didn't speak. They hadn't addressed me. To them, I wasn't a voice. Just a cause. A complication. A risk.
---
That night, I dreamed of chains.
Of my own hands clawing at my skin, trying to dig the marks out.
Of blood that didn't belong to me pooling at my feet.
When I woke, the claw marks on my door were real.
And I wasn't alone in the room.