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“Your namesake herb…” He leaned in, brushing ashes from her jacket. “Don’t you have a betrothed for this sort of present?”

Her mouth lost its edge, falling open in outrage. Her cheeks flushed a lovely deep plum. He schooled his emotions into the most innocent expression he could muster all while preening inwardly.

Try as he might though, a devilish smirk crept its way onto his face.

“They’re for our—” Her mouth snapped shut as the realisation that he was riling her up bloomed across her face. In a tightly controlled voice she said, “Just… bring the blossoms.”

Oleander swallowed his complaints about having to go near the Lake of Fire—the shadow-fire expanse that surrounds each Circle of Hell. Instead, he cleared his throat and with an exaggerated wave of his hand he said, “I’d be delighted to.”

She grew distracted, looking away and rubbing at her wrists again. He opened his mouth to ask if she was injured only to be cut off with, “Don’t ruin this for me, Brightmore.”

“I am capable of being a good partner, you know.” It had come out sullen and too close to how he actually felt. He straightened a few of the rings on his fingers, and then stomped his feet in the snow to keep them warm.

She hummed dismissively. “Right.” She was still scrubbing violently at her wrists. “I’m sure you believe that, anyway.”

He cleared his throat and tried to think of something to say but came up with nothing. So, instead, he gave her a mocking salute before swivelling to stride away.

Except.

He’d caught her rubbing at her wrists again, and worry burrowed into him, a sharp parasitic feeling he couldn’t shake. With whiplash speed he turned back and snatched one arm, fingers gentle but firm.

“Gods below, Wilder.” Her eyes widened and a startled gasp escaped her. Slowly, he pushed back her sleeve and found the thick bandages he’d glimpsed earlier. “What the fuck is wrong with your wrists?” His voice gentled as his gaze flicked up to meet hers. “Did somebody hurt you? Are you—”

“I’m fine.” She yanked her wrist away from him, cradling both of them to her chest. “Next time, just… wear something sensible.” Her smile was forcefully cavalier, yet it wavered slightly. “Nobody cares what you look like out here.”

He took a step away from her, folding his concern away as his eyes roamed pointedly down her outfit, raising a brow. “Yes. Clearly.”

She gave him one more reprimanding look before striding away. The sense that something was wrong with her gnawed at him. He ran a hand down his face and reminded himself that even if something was wrong that didn’t mean Wilder needed his help.

He trudged through the snow, walking past the crumpled flower he’d attempted to give her. Then he tried his damnedest to think of other things.

Chapter

Two

PERINE WILDER

Peri clung to Zila’s midnight fur as the world blurred past them, hellcat and rider moving as one. A cornsilk sun rose sleepily higher in the sky, and the crisp winter air whipped around her. She couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face at the rush of it. Zila growled in mutual delight and ran even faster. They leapt ever onwards towards her home in the Holy Circle, the highest Circle of Hell.

Her family estate was sprawled atop a high, treeless hill overlooking a vast prairie. The homes of her Circle lay scattered and distant across the wide, quiet plains enclosed by the Lake of Fire. Thick white clouds hung low in the sky, blending so seamlessly with the snow-blanketed knolls it looked like a painting, the colours softly smudged together. The Holy Circle may have had the least amount of magical power pulsing through it, but she found the simplicity beautiful.

Smoke curled from chimneys, tracing the flat lines of her home as morning sunlight fought through the wintry greys, washing the wide windows in gold. It heartened her, and she dug her heels into Zila to spur the hellcat into a sprint. They turned towards the right wing of the estate, which she shared with her older sister, Sia.

Only, when she stopped to consider it, she hadn’t any idea when she’d even last seen her sister. It had been perhaps a full moonphase by now, maybe more.

Which was… absolutely fine. If nothing else, it spared her from Sia hammering on the door to demand the return of the scarf or sweater she'd lent her. It left her more time to study in isolation. And well, it gave her the perfect opportunity to make shady bargains with powerful spirits.

Being alone really suited her.

Zila padded silently beneath Peri's bedroom window, holding steady while she balanced on the hellcat's back and hauled herself through the window she’d left cracked open. Her family wasn’t entirely aware of how often she left for her different research projects, and she preferred to keep it that way.

The thrill of the ride drained as she yanked her snow-soaked clothing off, tossing them into a heap on her bedroom floor. Of course Brightmore would pester her about her wrists when she clearly didn’t want to talk about them! Everyone else had kept their thoughts about her rather obvious agitation to themselves—as they ought to. That or they hadn’t noticed, which was also fine by her.

Brightmore, however, noticed everything since they’d become partners. At any given moment, Peri would find him studying her, his brow furrowed, asking if she was cold or feeling ill. She’d known him for well over a decade now. He was notoriously self-absorbed and often snide. Except now, as her research partner, he could occasionally be… well, not exactly thoughtful, but something adjacent to it.

It was deeply unsettling.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she unwrapped the bandages around her wrists carefully. On each wrist there were two scabbed-over holes where the snake’s fangs had punctured her skin, each wound the width of her pointer finger. Dark, spindly veins of poison reached out from the snakebites, winding up her forearms. Peri turned her arms slowly, leaning close to the wounds. The bites were hot, itchy things; burning so much it was hard to think of anything else.