CHAPTER 316: THIRSTY

"This is more important! I need to awaken my magic, and I need to awaken it now!"

Violet’s voice echoed sharply through the small chamber, her hands clenched into frustrated fists at her sides. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her face flushed from a mixture of urgency and desperation. Her long curls bounced with every movement, wild and unbrushed, as if she hadn’t bothered to groom herself before rushing here. Her boots were muddied from the rain-drenched courtyard, leaving damp imprints on Uva’s pristine stone floors. But despite the heated declaration, Uva said nothing. She had already begun to inch toward the door.

Uva’s movements were deliberate. Her pale blue robe—an oversized garment stained with potion spills and ash from her previous spell—rustled softly as she moved, the hem trailing behind her across the uneven stone tiles. Her fingers grasped the iron handle of the thick wooden door, her knuckles tense with restrained emotion.

She pulled it open with a loud creak, revealing the dark corridor beyond, flickering only with distant torchlight. There was no mistaking her intention. Uva didn’t just want Violet gone—she needed her out of that room immediately.

"I understand, and I will keep it in mind and help you find someone!" Uva said, her voice sharper now, drawn tight with a mixture of panic and irritation. "But right now, I need my room to myself!"

Each word was enunciated with such precision that Violet, for all her passion and stubbornness, faltered. She glanced between the open door and Uva’s rigid posture, then finally took a slow step back.

"Fine! I’ll come back another time!"

Uva responded with a frantic nod, her short, choppy curls bouncing slightly as she moved—eyes wide, posture tense. The instant Violet’s boots crossed the threshold, she slammed the door shut behind her with a dull thud, causing dust to stir from the corners of the room.

Violet stood on the other side of the door for a beat, staring at the wooden panel as if it had betrayed her. She wasn’t even angry—not really. How could she be? Not when the sting of Cain’s recent dismissal still burned fresh on her skin, like a wound pressed with salt.

She sighed and turned away, walking slowly down the hallway, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the thick runner that stretched over the stone. Her coat—a navy-blue piece with a fraying hem—hung awkwardly over one shoulder. She hadn’t even buttoned it properly.

"If our places were reversed..." she whispered to herself, her voice bitter with self-loathing. "I’d be just as anxious to prove myself to Cain."

’I am useful!’ she growled under her breath, curling her hands into fists as she walked. Her boots thudded softly against the floorboards as she headed toward the staircase, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of her insecurities.

But even as she spoke it, she couldn’t banish the image of Uva—already adept in potions and spells—standing tall in her confidence. Magic. That was the difference. That was what made Cain look at Uva as more than just a body to protect.

When will I get to wield magic like that?

She tried not to let the envy get the better of her, but it simmered beneath the surface like a barely suppressed flame.

In her heart, Violet understood: the moment she wielded magic, truly controlled it, Cain would never be able to look down on her again. Not as just a girl to be guarded. Not as a liability. But as his equal.

The thought made her pulse quicken. Her lips parted slightly as she imagined it—standing beside him during battle, casting spells with effortless grace. Burning anyone who dared mock her.

She was tempted—truly tempted—to head out right then and seek out a witch. Any witch. Someone reckless enough to teach her, to awaken the dormant power she was sure slept within her veins. But another thought halted her stride.

The last witch she’d met—aside from Uva—had tried to gouge her eyes out for potion ingredients.

Violet shuddered at the memory, pausing on the stairs.

’I guess I’ll have to wait for Uva...’

She bit the inside of her cheek as she climbed the final steps, her hand trailing along the polished wood of the stair railing, cool beneath her fingers. When she reached the top, she turned toward Cain’s wing, her pace quickening.

She hadn’t seen him much since that night. Since the last time they’d—well... been together. And ever since, it felt like he was pulling away, putting distance between them like a wall she couldn’t scale.

Her knuckles hesitated for half a second in front of the double doors to his study. But in the end, she didn’t knock. She didn’t see the need.

She pushed the door open.

And froze.

The study was pristine. Not a single paper out of place. The fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering amber light across the bookshelves and stone floor. A decanter of dark liquor sat untouched on a side table. The scent of aged wood and faint tobacco lingered faintly in the air.

But none of that registered.

Not when Cain was sitting at the far end of the room, leaning against his desk.

Not when his eyes—once a golden honey—rose to meet hers and revealed themselves to be crimson.

Two deep red orbs stared into her as if reading every secret she’d ever kept.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Ca—Cain!" she stammered, eyes wide, limbs locking in place as she stood frozen just beyond the doorway. Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest.

She barely registered the way he rose slowly, unfolding from the desk like someone made of brittle bones and pain. His mouth parted as if to speak, but what caught her attention were the fangs—just barely poking from beneath his lip.

Fangs.

Something was wrong. She had known it for days, had sensed something eating away at him. But now, seeing the truth in full view, she didn’t know whether to run to him or run away.

Her memories betrayed her. The last time she saw those red eyes, she had been pinned. Dominated. Hurt.

But he looked so... unwell

.

"Are—are you alright?" she asked softly, her voice shaking. Her body edged forward on instinct, even as every nerve screamed caution.

He nodded slightly and responded.

"Just—just a little dizzy," he muttered. There was a faint stutter in his words, the same way someone might slur when they were injured. Weak.

Violet stepped closer without thinking, until only a few feet separated them. Her boots clicked softly against the stone floor, the hem of her coat brushing against her ankles. She reached out slowly, arms wrapping around his waist.

"This—this looks bad..."

She couldn’t imagine what sort of agony he must be enduring. His skin was pale, his breath shallow, and the shape of his teeth—his whole face—was subtly shifting in unnatural ways.

She held him tighter.

Cain didn’t move. He let her hold him, their bodies remaining pressed together in silence. Violet rested her cheek against his shoulder, feeling the strange coldness of his skin beneath his shirt. So unlike the usual heat he carried.

But just as she started to pull away, ready to ask what could ease his pain, she felt his grip tighten around her wrist.

She looked up in surprise, only for his voice to whisper close to her ear.

"I’m thirsty."

She blinked.

That was all he said. No emotion. Just need.

She nodded quickly, already turning toward the bar to pour him something strong. His complexion was too pale. Maybe it would help—

But he didn’t let go.

His hand remained firm, fingers tightening just slightly. She turned back slowly.

"I’m thirsty, Violet," he said again.

And this time, when she met his gaze, the full meaning of his words settled into her chest like a weight.

Those crimson eyes bore into her. Hunger shimmered behind them—not for food, not for water.

But for blood.