Page 72 of Split or Swallow

“Tem.”

She turned. Caspen was behind her.

“Give me your hand,” he said quietly.

Tem hesitated. Then she held out her hand and he took it in his, unfolding her fingers so they were splayed open. Tem winced as he did so, and his eyes flicked up to hers before immediately returning to her palm. Her skin was red and raw, tiny drops of blood seeping to the surface between her freckles.

Caspen didn’t say a word. He simply placed his palm over hers, and she felt a pulse transfer through his hand. Unlike the hot, lingering ones he sent her through the claw, this one was cool and soothing, and the fireplace dimmed for a brief moment before the pulse disappeared. When Caspen lifted his hand, her palm was smooth and healed.

“Thank you,” Tem whispered. She curled her fingers tentatively, surprised to see there was no lingering pain.

Caspen didn’t reply. He merely turned and disappeared into the shadows.

With no other option, Tem left.

It was the first time in a long time that Caspen hadn’t walked her to the head of the trail, and she felt his absence deeply. Tem had no idea where they stood after tonight. She couldn’t understand why everything had gone so wrong—it felt like things had progressed in a way they never had before. Clearly they were connected on an unprecedented level. Tem had never heard of anyone else bonding with their basilisk like this. There were so many unfinished conversations between them—so many frayed threads that led nowhere. It was nothing short of torture. But each time they got closer, Caspen pushed her away. Like he always did.

By the time Tem got home, she was in the depths of despair.

Her mother was already in bed, and Tem had no desire to lie in the dark with nothing but her thoughts for company. Instead she walked out to the garden, sitting on her favorite bench and looking up at the stars. She saw the Alpha Serpentis—the brightest star in the Serpens. It was supposed to shine brightest for the viewer when they needed it most, and tonight, Tem felt as if it were shining just for her.

She wondered if Caspen was looking up at these same stars. Or perhaps he had simply retreated beneath the mountain and removed her from his mind entire⁠l⁠y. But Tem refused to believe that. It didn’t seem possible that he wasn’t thinking about what had happened tonight—that he wasn’t thinking about her. Surely, their connection wasn’t truly one-sided, like he’d claimed.

Tem decided it was time to find out.

She closed her eyes and concentrated, saying his name in her mind as forceful⁠l⁠y as she could:

Caspen.

Silence.

But Tem was determined. She would not let things end like this—she needed to know that what they had was worth repairing. So she said his name again, this time crying it out in her mind:

Caspen!

Silence.

When Tem opened her eyes, they were filled with tears. Perhaps she shouldn’t have bothered—perhaps communication with Caspen was contingent on his consent, and she was wasting her time trying to speak to someone who didn’t wish to speak to her.

It was utterly unfair.

She was sick and tired of choices being made for her. She was sick and tired of Caspen holding all the power. A wave of frustration swept through her, and she stood up, screaming his name to the stars as if she could shake them from the sky:

CASPEN!

Silence. And then:

There is no need to yell, Tem.

CHAPTER TEN

Tem froze.

Caspen’s voice was inside her head, as it always was, deep and luxurious and knowing. It shocked her so much that she sat back down on the bench, her mouth hanging open.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Speak to me using your mind, Tem.