Page 72 of Hell Burns Between Us

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was afraid of getting caught and punished.” She sighed. “My family doesn’t exactly condone fraternising with the other magical beings.”

“You could still get caught, you know.”

“I know.” Her gaze lingered on the fireplace. “But I’ve since learnt there are worse things in life than their disappointment.”

The rune took another hour and most of that time was spent talking. She’d gasped as the needle reached the edge of her shoulder blade, then, in a strained but cheerful tone, had begged him to distract her.

He’d begrudgingly told her about his favourite books because he just knew that would be something she’d care about. Then for lack of anything else to say, he’d told her about his siblings, his childhood in the Rune Circle, and then absentmindedly the problems he was having with his current knitting project.

She, in turn, had told him stories of harvesting peat beneath a crescent moon with Brennessel; of the two of them learning to dive properly from the nixies who lived in the nearby lakes, or of spending weeks perfecting a poultice that would render them invisible… only to discover it worked only if they were naked.

There was an ease to their conversation that felt both remarkable and mundane. The balance of inquisitiveness and thoughtfulness made time and, perhaps also her pain, fade. It was like slipping into a warm pool of water, knowing that at some point you will have to leave but desperately not wanting to.

There was a lull in their conversation which Perine filled by asking, “Oleander, did you—did you sharpen your horns?”

He didn’t look up. “No. Of course not.”

“Then why do they look pointier now?”

“Stop being a pest.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“It’s just that I never realised you were so vain.” Her tone was almost thoughtful, even as she gritted her teeth against the pain. “I don’t think having dull horns is shameful at all.”

“Perine,” he growled, lifting his eyes long enough to shoot her a withering glare. “Can you spend even one moment of your life not talking?”

“Of course not!” she shot back indignantly. “Especially not when you’re jabbing a needle into me!”

Oleander bit his lip as he finished the last flourish. He tried to sound careless when he admitted, “I may have asked Wisteria to sharpen them.”

His gaze flicked up, just in time to catch her triumphant grin.

Their eyes met and her smile turned into something more pensive, her eyes searching his. He wondered if he should mention now that he’d missed her. Should he tell her that when he called her boring, he was lying? That she’d left a hole in his life he was unable—and unwilling—to fill.

That others at the Academy had mentioned missing her as well? Surely she knew this. She was clever enough. Likely, he would only sound condescending if he told her that since she’d been trapped here, everyone noticed and the world was much less shiny without her around.

Oleander leaned back thoughtfully, checking over his work before nodding. “Alright, you can carefully pull your shirt back up. I’m done.”

As Perine adjusted her shirt, he studied the shape of her hand, his gaze lingering on the sheen of runic magic as it pulsed briefly before vanishing. Good. The spell had taken hold, though its effects would eventually fade.

Then, he noticed the golden snake curled around her throat. It lay against her deep violet skin like a rope of blood.

“Where did you get this necklace?” His hand moved instinctively, fingers ghosting over the serpent’s head. It shifted toward his touch, its tiny tongue flicking against his skin. He heard Perine’s sharp intake of breath. Then, just as suddenly, the snake settled back into place.

“It’s lovely,” he murmured. “Reminds me of the charmed serpent jewellery Wisteria likes to wear.”

His eyes flicked to her face—caught on the dimples that carved into her cheeks, the stray curls framing her features. He let out a slow breath, centring himself.

“Do you have a fire?” he asked, shaking off the moment. “The rest of this ink needs to be burnt.”

“Yes, of course, but—” She hesitated, her gaze searching his with sharp curiosity. “The last time someone tried to touch the snake around my throat, it bit him.”

Oleander smirked. “Yes, well, I am the sort of demon that commands respect. I thought you’d realised that by now.”

Her laugh was bright. Delighted. The sound curled through him like a ribbon of warmth, making his smirk deepen.

Once the ink had been disposed of and the space cleaned, they found themselves standing there, caught in the limbo of parting—neither quite knowing how to say goodbye.