Chapter 7 · Vera's Last Warning

I woke up dressed. That was the first wrong thing.

Cain's flannel hung past my knees, sleeves rolled three times, smelling like wood smoke and something sharper I didn't want to name. I was on the cot. Alone. Blanket tucked in like I was cargo he'd secured for transport.

The second wrong thing was the silence. No fire. No footsteps. Just the wind scraping snow against the cabin walls and my own pulse hammering in my ears.

I sat up. My head spun. Everything ached—bones, skin, the space behind my eyes. I looked down at my hands. Normal. Human. Nails short and blunt.

No blood.

I remembered blood. His neck. My mouth.

"You're up."

I flinched. Cain stood in the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable. He'd changed shirts. The one I was wearing had probably been his spare.

"How long was I out?" My voice came out scraped raw.

"Sixteen hours."

Sixteen. I stared at him. He stared back.

"You didn't—" I started, then stopped. Didn't what? Didn't kill me? Didn't leave me in the snow? Didn't tie me down?

"No." He said it flat. Like he knew every question I wasn't asking.

I pulled the blanket tighter. "Your neck—