Chapter Eighteen

Qadaire

Coward.

Qadaire dug his heel into the dirt and launched into the air.

How dare she? How dare she ask for his venom? The darkness possessed by vampires and other dark species was not something one played around with willy-nilly. It was dangerous.

Besides, the only way to coax it out would require her smooth, dainty skin be punctured by his fangs, and what if he couldn’t stop? He hadn’t had human blood in centuries!

What’s worse, his cock still ached from his accidental peek. He’d been practicing with his new guitar and needed to check whether she was still deeply asleep, or if he should put the guitar away to allow his fingers to heal. The sight of her with his pillow between her legs, her breath coming in little pants he knew to be hot against his neck, her hand on the button of her nerves—it had taken every fucking fiber of his willpower to cease the connection in time for it not to be considered spying.

He beat the wind with his wings, each pump making his muscles tense and release, tense and release. His cheeks hurt from scowling by the time he reached the friendly couple’s nest, where both mother and father were watching over the sleeping hatchlings. They bristled and shushed him at his brash perch on the branch. He adjusted his grip.

Their nest had two little ones and an unhatched egg, which Qadaire knew was from an extramarital pairing. Crows mated for life, but if the male became injured or unfertile, it was not uncommon for females to copulate with another male, whom they likely never saw again. The mated pair would care for all the young as their own. A beautiful example of unconditional love, it usually brought him a smidgen of happiness. Now it conjured only anguish.

“She’ll leave now.”

Does she know how you feel?

“Yes.” She was too bright not to.

Have you done the nuzzles? Warbles?

“Yes.”

He had, albeit by accident. He hadn’t been able to stop the sounds from pooling in the back of his throat every time he was knuckles-deep in her sweet, hot cunt, her delicious honey and citrus scent strong from his place in the nape of her neck. With his fangs so close to her supple skin, it was a wonder that he’d refrained from biting her for this long.

Have you properly courted her with gifts?

“Yes!” She’d worn the jewel-encrusted comb. Was that a sign his advances were appreciated?

How many times have you serenaded her?

Not a single time. He grunted noncommittally, to which they responded with a slack-beaked look that told him he hadn’t done enough.

Listen to your heart.

“How do I know if it’s my heart or my desperation?”

A delicate crack sprouted on the egg. It grew as a soft squawking sound peeped under the layer of film. A fuzzy gray ball with a pink bill squirmed inside. Both parents rushed to the hatchling’s side, encouraging their new arrival into their new world. Qadaire watched for a few moments, his chest aching.

Listen to your heart, master.

Qadaire caught a glimpse of the mother’s earnest look before she turned back to her young.

His heart.

He had to go back. He would bare his soul, even though he had no song to serenade her with. He would tell her how he felt and hope that she reciprocated it enough to stay. At least stay to see the project through, to buy time until he could produce a proper serenade.

He would give her the venom regardless. He would do anything she asked of him. Perhaps he should’ve been using his venom to answer more health problems all along. Perhaps he’d been selfish by not wanting to be like the mad king, and in doing so, he hadn’t utilized everything he could’ve.

Cassandra and Zero were in the backyard. He saw her glance at him and away nonchalantly, but he could hear her heart beat an allegro tempo against her ribs, could smell the uncertainty bordering on fear. Fear. This knowledge was a sledgehammer to the bricks around his black heart.

He landed with as much grace as he could muster and used all his strength to keep from crossing his arms. He tucked his lower arms behind his back, fidgeting with his thumbs while his uppers lay stiffly at his sides.

“Cassandra.” His throat was clogged, like a dam holding back the force of a river.

“Qadaire, look, I’m sorry—”

He cut her off with a wave of his upper right hand, not sure if he would have the courage to say what he needed to say if he didn’t rush. He immediately wished he’d let her speak when her arms crossed, her weight shifting backward.

“I’m unaccustomed to all of this. Any of this.” The words dammed at his lips rushed out, ready to drown them both. “I need to know if you care for me. Assurance that you care for me, that you’ll stay. Stay with me, Cassandra.”

He watched her jaw clench, something small and sad crossing her features. Uncertainty? Pity? He tried to speak, to ask, but couldn’t find the words.

“Qadaire, that’s not fair.” Her arms uncrossed, only to grip her hips.

“Cassandra, please—”

“This was a mistake.”

Rejection eviscerated his chest. He stepped forward to plead his case, not too proud to drop to his knees and crawl if that’s what it took. She held both palms up between them and gave a slight shake of her head, shifting farther away. The space between them yawned wide as a canyon.

If he had the option to turn to dust and blow away, he would’ve.