Page 39 of Fallacies

Callan looks back at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Lucina, what?”

“When she died,” I attempt to explain, remembering what Sable had told me that night I used the Eldral, “she forfeited her place in the afterlife, and what was left of her soul transformed into the Barrier around Draycott. Everything that made Esme, Esme, is in that Ward.”

He blinks a few times, a bit dumbfounded. “So you’re telling me that the barrier…is your mom?”

I nod, my smile spreading. “Kinda cool, isn’t it?”

He laughs, his breath fanning over my cheeks. “In a morbid kind of way, sure, Chaos, it’s kinda cool. How do you find that out?”

Shit.

My face falls. I hadn’t really thought that through. I can’t very well say, My Velkan, a dead Rogue, who is also my father, gifted me an Eldral, and I used it to talk to my dead grandmother.

“Um…Kimber told me.” I manage to play it off as if it were actually true, and he doesn’t question it.

Callan nods, twirling the end of a curl around his knuckle. “You know,” he starts, “I hate spending time in this office.” His other hand runs across the leather stitching in the armrests. “I dread sitting in this chair…”

“Is this another ploy to get me to come back to bed?”

Callan smiles so wide that a dimple flashes. “No.” Then something more serious flickers across his face. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever enjoyed sitting here.”

My mouth starts moving on impulse, “So, that’s what’s pressing into my back.”

For a moment I’m afraid I’ve ruined a perfectly sweet moment, but then his laughter splits the air, a raspy sound that the whole cabin seems to wake up to. It’s not a jolt awake, but a slow coming back to life, like the golden light flitting in through the windows. The rising sun.

“Yes, Lucina,” Callan sighs, defeated. “That’s what that is.”

Color blooms in my cheeks. “Must be painful.” I slide further back against the armrest with a smirk, but when I try to drag the book with me, Callan snatches it out of my hands.

“I wasn’t done with that?”

He doesn’t seem to care as he silently marks my page, shuts it with a snap, and tosses it onto the table. “But I want your full attention.” His hands slide underneath the blanket, and I shiver when his calloused fingers brush the bare skin beneath my thighs. “Please.”

My heart starts racing, and I feel that silent pull that begs me to get closer. It never goes away. Damn him and whatever kind of spell he’s put on me.

“Fine,” I huff, pushing my hair over my shoulder. “Tell me why you dread sitting in this chair.”

The dark look in his eyes tells me that’s not the kind of attention he was seeking, but I don’t think he minds.

Callan’s hands crest up and over my thigh, toying with the edge of my shorts. “I don’t know. I guess…I associate it with getting bad news, or late nights that end with no answers.” He sighs, the mischief on his face fading as he recalls some memory. “I see this room, and I remember…the look on your face when you found that letter. I remember how awful it felt to watch you leave. After you did, I sat in this chair. For a while,” he admits. “I think I was punishing myself for it. I was sitting here when I decided to track down Ivy…get you that letter.”

All I can do is stare back at him for a moment. I watch as he takes a deep breath—pulling a lungful of air through his nose before exhaling it slowly. Now I’m certain I’ve ruined a sweet moment. But I didn’t know that I was part of his resentment for this chair. This room, apparently.

I’d been so mad at him that day, and rightfully so, but something about the image of him sitting here as punishment makes the chunk of my heart that belongs to him…sad.

My head tilts, a devious idea taking root in my brain, and as if Callan senses it, his eyes narrow. “Lucina?”

I want to fix it. All of it. That’s what he would do for me.

Without a word, I dig up enough magic to tug the door shut, and Callan flinches at the sound of it slamming. Then I toss the blanket to the side and peel myself out of his lap.

“What are you doing?” He reaches out for my wrist, but I dodge his grasp.

“I’d like to give you a better memory of this chair.” I press my palms into the tops of his thighs, and Callan goes rigid as I sink to my knees before him.

When I look up, I don’t think he’s breathing. “If that’s okay with you?”

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