Page 45 of Hell Burns Between Us

But Oleander’s mother had already leapt from the balcony and was gone. She rushed to the window, expecting to see Laurel falling or perhaps climbing onto a branch in a deranged sort of way. Only Laurel had vanished, leaving only the soft whisper of the breeze in her wake.

The book she’d given Peri was old and impossibly heavy, with faded golden script across its worn cover: Aquatic Nymphs and How to Bargain with Them.

Mad or not, Laurel had been eerily lucid about two things—getting Wisteria to read a specific book and ensuring her son drank a protective potion.

Zila stretched languidly. “Here is where I leave you.”

“Wait!” She planted her hands on her hips, staring her hellcat down. “You can’t leave me alone here with him. Who knows what will happen?”

“Yes.” Zila licked her face. “Someone might get poisoned.”

“Hey!” Peri burst out laughing and moved to scratch behind Zila’s ears. “You have a very poor opinion of me if you think I’d poison him.”

“Whistle when you’re ready to go home.” Zila said, feline amusement dancing in her eyes. The hellcat padded toward the open window before pausing to glance over her shoulder, pinning her with a wry look. “And try not to murder the youngest Brightmore.”

A few minutes later, when Oleander returned, Peri did her best to look composed. Unbothered.

Under his arm he had wedged three books, while he carefully carried a tray filled with a gigantic steaming teapot and two small teacups. He set the tray down and with a raised brow handed her the books he’d retrieved. Peri reached out and carefully avoided touching his fingers as she took the books. She wasn’t sure they held any answers for her, but she was hopeful.

She cleared her throat. “I, um, forgot to show you this book I have for Wisteria.”

Oleander’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why would you have a book for my sister?”

Her mind scrambled. “I don’t know, it just made me think of her.” She placed the book on his bed. “Can you give it to her… please?”

Still eyeing her skeptically, he set the tea tray down with an exasperated sigh before picking up the book and regarding it with mild suspicion. “Why?”

She bristled. “Oh, just promise me you’ll give it to her.”

“But… why?” His brow knit and he looked slightly baffled.

“It’s just a book, Oleander. Do I need a specific reason?”

“Alright, fine.” He fixed her with an annoyed glare. “Why are you always so weird about books?”

She huffed out a nervous laugh and busied herself pouring tea, piling her plate with sesame balls. It was a melancholy victory—if the book proved useful to Wisteria, she would be the one praised, not Laurel.

They drank the tea she’d brought with her, a heady rich sort of tea that both comforted the senses and made one feel a bit more alive all at the same time. Their conversation shifting to the potion they were working to develop, and when Oleander was distracted, Peri slipped the potion into his tea.

She grabbed another sesame ball, nodding along to their discussion about how best to use the stolen wyvern smoke. Oleander commented that the tea was fine, but not quite balanced enough for his tastes. A touch too bitter. Her heart pounded as he tipped his cup up to empty it, relief flooding through her as he drank the last drops.

Obliviously, he set the cup down, then turned to her with a bemused grin. “You know, wyverns are some of the easiest beasts to bargain with.” He studied her with mock shrewdness. “But, stealing from them was a brilliant choice.”

Peri rolled her eyes and shoved another sesame ball into her mouth.

She reached for her notes—then froze.

Oleander was grinning, but not with his usual smirk. It was lopsided, unguarded. Almost lovely.

Her gaze flickered over his face. The wisps of icy-blue hair that had fallen from his braids, brushing his cheek.

She’d never been particularly enamoured with anyone’s face before, but damn it—he had these adorable dimples. Her chest tightened, and she had to clench her fists to resist the impulse to press a hand against it. Her eyes snagged on a small flash of lavender from his trouser pocket. Which was strange, as he seemed rather oddly anti-colour when it came to clothing choices. Also, didn’t she used to have a handkerchief in that exact colour? Come to think about it, she couldn’t remember when she’d last seen it.

But then—Oleander laughed.

A real, breathless laugh, still bright with amusement from her horrific wyvern story.

She found herself watching the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the unshed tears of laughter lingering in them. A wild, ridiculous thought overtook her—she wanted to wipe one away before it fell.