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“Don’t worry, Gio. Grey will help you forget about all of this,” Lucien said softly when they were comfortable again.
“Maybe I don’t want to forget,” Gio replied sharply. “I mean, I didn’t before I knew what was going on, but it feels even more important now than ever that I remember. You all are out there fighting for us, protecting us, and no one knows about it. Everyone should know. Everyone should be helping you and cheering you on.” Gio shook his head, his lips brushing against Calder’s bare shoulder. “I need to know this. Even if you’re both not mine and I can’t do anything about it, I need to know if you’re alive or dead.”
Calder didn’t know what to say. Maybe there wasn’t anything to say. Part of him wanted Gio to know who he was and who Lucien was and what the Weavers were fighting for. But another part merely wanted Gio to be safe. He didn’t know how to keep Gio safe while allowing him to know about the Weavers and the pestilents.
Whatever the rest of the Circle chose, Calder was afraid this would be the last time he’d feel both Lucien’s and Gio’s arms wrapped around him, and that idea sent an ache down to the very deepest depths of his soul.
Chapter Twelve
Gio stood in the center of the attic, his hand absently caressing the warm wood top of an antique sideboard. For the first time in his life, he didn’t see the amazing antiques in front of him. The passion of his life suddenly felt so small and insignificant.
Weavers.
Pestilents.
Goddesses.
Brainwashed Girl Scouts with machine guns.
It all felt like too much. Part of him wanted to run for the nearest exit and pretend he’d never heard of any of it.
Forget.
But Grey was offering to do just that. The Soul Weaver would wipe away any memory of the attack. He would get rid of his knowledge of the Weavers and the pestilents.
That would also mean forgetting about Lucien and Calder. Even thinking about it left him feeling like someone kicked him in the chest. He couldn’t breathe, and his heart ached with every beat. He couldn’t forget about them. He wouldn’t.
Yet this was upending his entire world, and he didn’t know what to do with it. He needed to help them, but he had no idea how. He was only a handy guy who knew a lot of things about antique furniture. He’d been in a few fights in his life—mostly with his brother and cousins—and knew how to handle himself, but what was he supposed to do in a war that involved magic and spells?
His brain kept spiraling over all these insane thoughts and memories. His mind would flash up the image of being sandwiched between Lucien and Calder as they kissed and touched. Then it would flash to being held by Lucien on the porch, separated from Calder as gunfire filled the air. Even now, irrationally, the panic crept back. Not being able to reach Calder had been one of the worst moments of his life. There was nothing he could have done, but everything in him screamed to have Calder in his arms—in their arms—safe and sound.
This was all fucked up. Everything felt like a confusing mess, and he didn’t know what to do now.
The soft shuffle of feet across the wooden floor had Gio turning to find Calder slowly moving toward him. His heart skipped and he jumped to the injured man’s side.
“What are you doing up? You should be in bed,” Gio admonished. He carefully wrapped an arm around Calder’s waist, urging him to lean his weight against him. Just that small contact had Gio’s heart settling and the panic subsiding.
“I couldn’t sleep, and you were missing,” Calder replied. When he looked up, Gio saw worry in those lovely blue eyes.
“I couldn’t sleep either. I thought I’d come up here and inspect the furniture again. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” Calder rested his head on his shoulder and released a small sigh.
“Lucien?”
“Sleeping.” He paused and smiled. “Ruby jumped up into my spot on the bed. He might not notice us missing for a bit.”
“I’m glad we didn’t leave him completely alone.” Gio carefully ushered Calder over to a rocking chair he’d checked out earlier. It needed nothing more than a bit of cleanup and would easily hold the man’s weight. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Still sore, but it’s nothing rest won’t cure.” He rubbed his hand along the arm of the chair. “My grandfather had one like this. He used to sit in it on the porch.”
Gio nodded. “That’s a Stickley mission style rocker. I already found the joiner’s compass mark on the bottom. Nice, solid craftsmanship that will last several lifetimes.” It was nice to lose himself in the familiar for a moment.
