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“Amethyst,” he murmured, all smooth honey again. And damn if it didn’t send a shiver of awareness through me. I shoved the reaction away as best I could. “I know so much has changed for you in a very short time, but I swear to Persynthia herself that I won’t hurt you. Not if I can help it.”

The windows were slowly lightening with sunrise, washing the room in a pale gray light filtered by the thin curtains covering the glass.

“Persynthia?” Apparently the early hour combined with the awful memory-turned-nightmare left my distaste for looking and feeling incompetent completely nonexistent.

“The Goddess of All,” he explained. His thumb continued tracing my jaw, softer than a feather. I couldn’t help but shiver. “The one who gave all of Avicourt life, love, magic, and—most importantly—choice.”

With a shaky breath, I licked my bottom lip and then admitted the truth, saying the combination of words for the first time in years—since I had those scant few appointments with the court-appointed psychologist prior to his acquittal.

“Y-yes, I was raped,” I whispered. And then, because it felt necessary to admit the full extent of it, I said, “More than once.”

A muscle feathered in his neck and the scars that ran down the left side of his face stretched taut under the strain of him clenching his jaw. His pine scent pulsed again, almost like a warning signal. My stomach clenched. I wasn’t sure if it was out of an excited anticipation or something driven by fear, and I was too exhausted to figure it out.

“That’s why you were so terrified when we were leaving the Passage,” he said, more to himself, “outside of not knowing where you were or what was going on. And… and why you suddenly would freeze at innocuous touches.”

A weight pressed on my chest, stealing my breath for a long minute. He frowned and then pulled away his touch, letting his hand drop to the bed. The whine was entirely instinct, falling into the space between us before I could decide to actually show the vulnerability. His frown deepened, his eyebrows furrowing, pulling on the smallest of the scars. Then he slowly palmed my throat again, even softer than before.

“I hope the miserable bastard is dead,” he muttered.

My laugh was brittle. There was a burning heat in my throat, and I prayed I wouldn’t actually start crying.

“No, he’s not dead. Far from it unless something happened since we ended up… here.”

His scent lashed out, the same pulse as before, though there was that edge to it that had me wanting to hide in the blankets of the bed. This time the whimper was softer, and I didn’t fight it. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving, and then he nodded.

“I’m so incredibly angry for you. It’s a good thing your Arizona is not somewhere I can easily access, or the worthless scum would find himself under my blade.”

A flush warmed my cheeks, and I ducked my head. He traced the shell of my ear. The silence surrounded us again, different than before. The room grew lighter, the rich colors of the blanket and curtains splitting from the inky darkness of the night.

I had no idea what to do. Part of me wanted to reach out and touch him, loop my fingers around his wrist like they all did with me, but most of me was still too raw and actively revolted against the idea of needing any kind of reassurance. That need left you in someone else’s power, exposed to them in a way I detested.

Callum’s nostrils flared, and the oil lamp burned brighter for a moment.

“Sweet Valyn, I’m so angry,” he admitted, voice hoarse.

“It’s okay,” I said, needing to fill the building quiet and diffuse this entire conversation before more intimacy would be required. “It’s not like it was your fault.”

“No, it’s not okay. In no possible realm is that okay.” He shook his head. “Gods above, no wonder you were so scared of being alone with me those first few days. To know you spent those initial hours terrified I would⁠—”

He cut off with a disgusted grunt and stood from the bed, running his hands through his hair and over his face as he put space between us. All at once, I felt cold. Alone. I pulled the blanket up to my chin, but it didn’t seem to help at all. The adrenaline letdown from the dream, kept at bay by Callum’s touch and questions, hit in one consuming blow. I shook with the stress of it, tears lining my lashes even as I attempted to blink them away. I sucked in a hard gasp, trying to pull myself together before I dropped into a true anxiety attack.

Callum looked over his shoulder with a heavy frown, and then he was crossing the room. He crouched beside me, taking me in like Reuben had that first morning. Without a word, he slowly circled my wrist without messing up my death grip on the blanket.

“Breathe, Amethyst,” he instructed with that undertone that brooked no argument and that I wanted to follow on a primal level.

I didn’t have it in me to fight it—or even figure out if I wanted to fight it. His lips thinned as I panted, short, hard gasps that did nothing to slow the furious rhythm of my heart. He crooned, so soft I thought at first I’d imagined it.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “Breathe through the distress. Use my scent to get yourself steady.”

On principle, I pulled away from him. I could do this without any help. I had for years. He sighed and tightened his hold on my wrist without rising from the crouch.

“It’s not a sign of any kind of weakness, Sterre. Just a tool to help you settle faster. Use it.”

The words were laced with a command. It wrapped around me, stronger than any physical restraint. I breathed in his scent, dropping my nose to his wrist. At once, the pine and wisteria flowed over me, soothing me more effectively than any aloe on sunburned skin. My heart slowed until it no longer pulsed in my ears, and the frantic tears blinked away at last. When I could breathe without wanting to throw up, he let his touch fall away, perching his elbows on his knees and steepling his hands in the space between them.

“Have you had partners?” The question came with little fanfare.

I frowned. “What?”