Page 32 of Fang Fiction

“Maybe this is silly,” Tess started, “but I’ve always wanted a bedroom that was green?”

An hour later, the entire room had transformed under Sylvie’s touch: dark green walls patterned with delicately painted chinoiserie, soaring arched windows with sprawling views of the forest below, a gargantuan mahogany sleigh bed, floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with books, and a squashy leather armchair and a velvet settee beside a stone hearth that housed a crackling fire. Sylvie left Tess to shower and change (though not before upgrading Tess’s bathroom with shiny penny tile, a rough-hewn teak vanity, and an oversized copper soaking tub that Tess was dying to try). Tess stood under a steaming shower, feeling the vestiges of her nightmare rinse away. She pulled on her new robe and enjoyed a delicious cup of coffee and a perfectly crisp croissant that rivaled the best Tess had ever had, the way she dreamed they tasted in Paris. Tess had always wanted to visit Europe, but her family only ever went wherever there was a free place to stay. They never had money for vacations, so books had been Tess’s escape. It made her smile to think that not even her richest, snobbiest classmates had ever been to a place like this.

She put on a ribbed black turtleneck and tucked it into a pair of faded, high-waisted blue jeans that hugged her hips and legs. She opened a drawer of her bathroom vanity to discover Sylvie had thought to stock it with all manner of creams, serums, and makeup; it made her feel more human to put on a coat of mascara and some cheery red lipstick.

She heard her bedroom door creak open—Sylvie must be back.

“I’ll be right there!” she called.

“By all means, take your time,” a smug voice replied. “Your life will end eventually. Who cares how much of it you waste?”

Callum. The moment he spoke, Tess’s dream came rushing back and her heart started pounding; she could feel his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut to force out the image—no. She had to stay grounded, stay present. No matter what protections Nantale had ordered, if Tess made one wrong move, she was certain Callum would kill her without a second thought. If she wanted to live through this adventure, she had to keep her wits about her. She couldn’t show him even a modicum of fear.

“I’m sorry,” Tess said crisply as she walked into the bedroom. “I didn’t realize you were waiting.”

He was sitting on the velvet settee, thumbing through one of the books from Tess’s lovely new shelves. He was even more handsome than he’d been in Nantale’s great room—he looked less rumpled, more alert. He wore gray jeans, brown leather ankle boots, a navy crew-neck sweater, and a buttery chocolate suede jacket; every item fit his body perfectly, because of course everything anyone wore on the Isle was essentially bespoke. His posture was easy but not slack; it was as if his muscles were forever holding tension, ready to lash out and strike.

“I’m an immortal creature trapped on an island.” He smiled wryly. “Time is rather a relative concept, wouldn’t you say?”

“Must pass slower when you’re sober,” Tess quipped before she could stop herself, but Callum laughed, then stood and walked toward her.

“Too right.” He grinned.

He laid his hands on her armoire, his eyes glowing briefly just as Sylvie’s had—but there was something different about how he looked when he performed the glamour. If Sylvie’s eyes had been soft and golden, Callum’s were hard and fiery, like his glamours were forged in steel. He opened the door of the armoire, where a tray of glass bottles filled with clear and amber liquids had appeared next to Sylvie’s little coffee station. He popped the cork out of something brown and took a long draught, then wiped his lips on his sleeve. He held out the bottle and offered it to Tess.

“What do you say, human? Want to pass the day a little faster, or would you rather we take it nice and slow?”

Was he flirting? Or just toying with her like a cat teasing a mouse before the fatal claw?

“I think we’d better get going,” Tess muttered.

“Oh?” Callum took another drink and gave Tess an amused look. “What’s on our itinerary?”

“I thought we could visit the graveyard where Octavia disappeared.”

“You want to take me into the deep dark forest, just the two of us?” Callum pursed his lips, mocking her. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Tess tamped down her rising fear. “You know, for someone who was convinced his sister was dead until I showed up, you don’t seem that invested in getting out of here and actually finding her.”

Callum opened his mouth to respond but then seemed to think better of it.

“Fine then,” he said smoothly. “Did you want to put on shoes before we trek into the forest, or are you one of those dirty little hippies who prefers to go without?”

“Oh!” Tess flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t think Sylvie made any. I have my sandals from yesterday—”

“No need.” Callum crouched before Tess, wrapping his hands around her calves; his grip was just as strong as she’d imagined. He moved his fingers firmly against her muscles, slow and rhythmic—she let out a soft, involuntary exhale.

“Everything all right?” He looked up at her, his gray eyes glinting—and in that moment, kneeling in front of her, he was so unbelievably attractive that she forgot to be afraid of him.

“Fine.” She breathed.

A slouchy pair of black leather boots formed around Tess’s feet, and Callum stood straight up again, towering over her, looking down with a smug smile. Tess refused to give him the satisfaction of showing how much he—and all of this—unmoored her.

“Thanks, that was super helpful.” She stepped away from him and turned toward the door. “Shall we go?”

He made a small, displeased humph sound and stalked out of the room. Tess felt her stress ease the tiniest bit: She’d survived five minutes alone with Callum Yoo.

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