“Going to sleep,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Here?” I ask, looking at the bed barely large enough for one person. “In my bed?”
“We’re attempting to kill a god tomorrow. I’d rather not sleep on the floor.”
“It’s the day after tomorrow, but I get your point,” I sigh. “I guess you can stay.”
Cal’s presence will be a welcome distraction from the thoughts that haunt me. At most, I have two nights left in this realm. I know it’s not right to lead him on, to let him believe that there’s a future where we coexist, but underneath the callous exterior, the poisonous nickname, and the stubborn will, there’s a person who just wants to spend her last moments pretending.
Cal scoots towards the wall, leaving room for me to sit to remove my own boots. He doesn’t push me to speak, nor does he ask what overcame me at the table or at the window. He’s just there. Solid and stable.
I inch under the thin blanket, careful not to press too close to Cal in the cramped cot. We lay there in silence, the only sound in the home the steady breathing of the man beside me.
But sleep evades me, and I can’t quiet the question that sits heavily on the edge of my tongue. “You really wouldn’t have stopped me?”
I didn’t funnel my magic into him. I only borrowed a thread to use as my own. He can’t stop the former, but he’s stopped thelatter before when I asked. I know he’s capable of it even if he tries to deny it now.
“No.” In a swift motion, Cal props himself on his elbow, his face hovering inches above mine. “Killing our allies may not be the smartest military strategy, but I will never deny you your desires.”
I swallow thickly under the weight of his stare. “None of them? No matter how ill-advised mydesiresmight be?”
“Not a single one.” Thick fingers grasp my chin, forcing me to look into his sleep-heavy eyes. “From your holiest to your most depraved, all you have to do is whisper it and I will make it reality.”
His thumb drags over my bottom lip as he removes his hold on my face. We’re talking about murdering someone, about allowing myself to be overtaken by emotions and elements that have no business ruling me. I shouldn’t be turned on right now.
My entire life has been a performance. The poisonous heir, the bitch heretic. Roles created to portray whatever version of me best served the narrative of others. But I don’t have to perform with him, this truly powerful man who isn’t just saying pretty words.
I know, without a shred of doubt, that his words are absolute truths. Whoever I choose to be in my final days—a rebel, a vengeful god, a murderer—Callan Murphy’s devotion will not waiver.
“Have I told you how sexy you are when you’re wielding my magic?” he whispers against my skin.
“It doesn’t threaten you to know that I control it?”
“To know thatmypower is flowing throughyourveins? Fuck no. Every single part of me is yours, Ivy. Use me. Command me.” Cal’s lips brush delicately across mine, his next words a whispered prayer. “Destroy me.”
Our lips crash together with a fervent hunger that no mortal could ever satisfy.
I cannot love him.
I cannot have a future with him.
But I can have this: one last taste of what might have been had our destiny not been written to end in destruction.
CHAPTER 33
The Amethyst Throne is on fire and the flames smell strangely like …breakfast.Eggs, specifically. My grumbling stomach pulls me from the premonition. Another dream sent by the gods to remind me of my impending demise. An ending that is rapidly approaching.
I fumble around the small room for my clothes, but come up empty handed. Gnawing hunger urges me to abandon my search and simply wear the brown garment that hangs on the doorknob. Finding no other option, I slip into Cal’s oversized shirt and out of the bedroom.
Standing in front of the fire wearing nothing but low-slung leather pants, the captain holds a cast iron frying pan with two perfectly cooked chicken eggs. Much larger than the ones he cooked for me in the woods, but no doubt equally as delicious.
“Good afternoon, princess,” he says with a smile that could thaw even the most frozen of hearts.
“Afternoon?”
“Afternoon,” he restates, motioning for me to sit. “It was nearly dawn before you fell asleep. Figured you could use your rest before everyone else arrives.”
That explains why my stomach was so vocal. I didn’t eat dinner and slept right through the morning meal. The table is set with mismatched plates, chipped cups, and tarnished silverware. An empty vase sits in the center. I wave my hand and fill the vessel with deep purple godsbane blooms while I wait for Cal to serve the eggs.
