“It looks exactly the same,” he murmurs, hover-sitting on top of the desk.
In early October, he entered Callie’s mind to save her from her own nightmarish memories that had left her in a kind of catatonic state. He doesn’t talk about what he saw, so I have to assume he wandered these halls searching for her.
Callie doesn’t respond, putting down the tape dispenser so she can pick up the framed photo. Her fingers trail over the glass, then she holds it out for Felix to see. “That’s my mother. Her name was Helina.”
“Pretty. Just like you,” Felix comments, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze focused on Callie instead of the photo.
She offers him a small smile, while I ignore the happy flutter of attraction that beats inside her.
How do mates handle this? This deep, empathetic connection sounds great, right up until the point where I get bombarded by her feelings for my best friends. It’s one thing to catch the scent of her desire, but it’s a hell of a lot different knowing the full emotions around it.
The truth is, I know exactly how mates live with this connection. There’s no doubt of their complete commitment to the other. That’s the whole point of the damn bond—when it’s done correctly, that is.
Pushing down my instinct to pull her into my arms and claim her as mine, to my wolf’s annoyance, I maneuver around the room to appear like I’m setting up a place to start packing, while getting a better angle to see the picture. It’s a black and white photo of a young couple smiling at the camera on their wedding day. The woman is beautiful with long blonde hair and features that strongly resemble Callie’s. The man has dark hair, refined features, and a loving smile that hides his future psychopathic tendencies.
Finally have a face, I think with perverse pleasure. My wolf is equally pleased that we have another clue. One step closer to removing thathijo de putafrom the mortal realm.Hewilldie, and I will feed his corpse to the pack.
Startled, Callie drops the frame. A jarring clatter fills the room as metal frame meets wooden desk. With wide eyes, she stares at me, because this empathic ability goes both ways and a sudden, murderous rage is surprising.
“Are you alright, darling?” Mildred asks, concern coating her words as she glances up from the binders in her hands. She looks ready to immediately drag Callie out of the house at any sign that this is too much for her.
“Fine,” Callie chokes out, doing her best to plaster a ‘everything is fine’ smile on her face.
Everything isn’t fine, and it shows in Mildred’s expression, but she reluctantly goes back to packing.
I shake my head when Callie looks at me again, hoping she won’t ask me what’s wrong. Now isn’t really the time to talk about how I plan to murder her bastard of a father. Seems only fair since she took care of mine.
Her face looks pinched and she makes an annoyed huff sound. Grabbing a box, she tapes one side shut, and moves to the opposite side of the room to start packing items, clearly unhappy with my silence. Felix follows her, quietly asking if she’s okay, and getting a snarling, “Fine,” in response. At least she’s concentrating on something other than her memories.
∞∞∞
For the next several hours, we pack in relative silence—except for the familiar sounds of D and K bickering. Mildred coughs a few times to cover her snickering at some of the insults they throw at each other. Felix sticks to Callie’s side, doing his best to distract her as we work. Sometimes it works. Sometimes she stares too long at the random items in her hands, due to some memory I don’t know attached to it.
Since the moment I met her, I felt like I knew her. That with one look into her eyes, I could see her past and how it mirrored mine. Standing in this house with its sterile opulence on display and it’s darker secrets hidden behind locked doors, I realize I may understand her darkness, but not what made her that way. There is still a great deal of myreinaI don’t know and need to.
As boxes fill, the guys and I trade off between packing and carrying the boxes out to the moving truck that sits in the large, circular driveway. When we’re far enough away from listening ears, the guys discuss if they’ve found anything useful, but so far they’ve found mostly historical texts that cover human occult practices around the world. Nothing on real magic.
It’s close to sunset when I return from loading more boxes into the truck, and overhear Callie and Felix talking. She’s moved to the big desk, leaving it as one of the last things for her to pack.
“They need to see. I…I can’t do it. I thought I could...” Callie murmurs so quietly that it’s only because of my shifter hearing that I catch it at all.
I want to go to her, but I know her conversation is supposed to be private. There is so much she can no longer hide from me that I have to at least try to give her the illusion of privacy. After lifting my shirt to wipe the sweat from my brow, I pretend to focus on packing the last of the occult items on a far bookshelf, while everything in me is attuned to her.
Felix meets her gaze with a pained expression on his face. “Do you want me…?”
“Tell them everything,” she insists, her eyes glassy and her body shaking, as she tightly grips the aged book in her hands.
“What about you?” he asks, so focused on her that he doesn’t realize he’s standinginthe desk instead of beside it.
Callie glances toward the far side of the room, where her aunt is wearily reading the titles of each book before placing them in the box. “I’ll be okay. I won’t be alone.”
Unlike all the many times before, he intentionally runs his fingers through hers, and I can’t help but stare. He hates phasing through people. Callie shivers, but is momentarily distracted by the sensation, her gaze bouncing from their hands to Felix’s face.
“I feel you,” he confesses quietly in her ear, and I do my best to keep my emotions calm so I don’t draw attention to myself. “Everyone else? Nothing. But you? It’s like these warm tingling currents that go through me.”
“What? Really?” she exclaims in a harsh whisper, her fingers moving in a subtle wave through his, but she’s no longer shaking…or crying. Instead, she’s focused, her brow pulled into a thoughtful frown. Wonder and awe fill her and act as a temporary barricade against her pain. Shaking her head, she snorts and says, “Of course, now you tell me.”
He shrugs with a soft smile—his hand reluctantly pulling away. “Thought you should know. Might be important for your research.”
