You’re not leaving.I shouldn’t be surprised the imperious attitude hasn’t changed—considering—but he’ll be fine.I’llbe fine.
I feel bad enough as it is. The least I can do is help in any way I can. You will have full range of my mind while I’m gone. Okay?He doesn’t reply, aside from the dragon equivalent of an eyeroll. So dramatic.
“Yes! I would love to go—and also pay for whatever supplies you need…since it was my fault and all,” I tell Atticus.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I insist.”
“With what money?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
Well, shit. He’s right. I’ve never had to think about money since being here. Gross, that sounds entitled.
Take one of my scales,Voraxis suggests—rather demands, actually. I look back at him inquisitively, and he adds,If you know the right people—and I’m assuming Big Guy does—you can sell it.
I relay the message to Atticus, and he seems rather pleased by the suggestion. I didn’t know dragon scales were a form of bargaining. But I also don’t know a lot about how this realm works. Walking over to Voraxis, I ask,Does it matter which color?It’s a valid question—one could be more rare than the other.
One of each.
How do I–
Cut them off,Voraxis instructs. Don’t get me wrong, I know he has tough…skin? Is it skin? I should really brush up on my dragon anatomy. But either way, that’s gotta hurt. When he doesn’t comment on my curiosity, I peer over at Atticus. “I’m gonna need a knife”—I tug on a scale—“or a machete.”
Finally, the scales come free, and I’m shocked there wasn’t so much as a flinch from him—not even a drop of blood. When I offer him my thanks, he brushes it off and vaults toward the sky, making sure to tell me if anything feels off to him, he’ll burn the town down with a single fireball.
The drama.
Being the hospitable man he is, Atticus offers me a shower before we leave, and there is no way I am passing it up. Before I go into the bathroom, Atticus stops me. “Here, you can wear these.” He pushes a pile of forged clothes toward me.
“I appreciate it, but the clothes I’m wearing now don’t fit. Yours would for sure fall off.”
“They’re not mine.” He doesn’t need to elaborate. The distant, pained look in his eyes is telling enough.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Serena would want you to.Iwant you to.” He pushes them closer, and I hesitantly take the pile and wordlessly close the door. I set the clothes on the counter next to the sink and brace my palms on the edge while my head hangs low.
At this point, the gods and goddesses above have to be playing some kind of cosmic joke. I never thought any of this was going to be easy, but this is maybe pushing it a bit far. I got over the whole ‘my life was a lie’ thing. I was abducted, tortured—multiple times—and betrayed by the one person who made me feel safe. Then, my best friend turned out to be the biggest, conniving bitch of them all. And to top it all off…there was Serena. The only person who understood what I was going through, who figured out how to get us out, and ultimately sacrificed herself for my freedom.
She deserved to be set free too. In some ways, she has been. Hopefully, she’s amongst the stars, finally at peace.
And out of all the people in the realm, I stumbled on Atticus, her brother, her twin, who selflessly offered me refuge—with a small nudge from Odeyssa—and I burned his house down.
Like I said. A fucking joke.
You okay?The intrusion brings a small smile to my lips. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s listening.
Just peachy.Undressing, I step into the shower and turn the knobs until I’m satisfied with the temperature. I surrender to the storm in my mind, letting the tears cascade with it.
I don’t take long—even though I could’ve stayed in there forever—and change quickly, trying to not think about how Serena wore these same clothes once upon a time. Atticus was right, they do fit me pretty well, only a size or two too big. I weave two Dutch braids down the back of my head, and theinstant I get the inevitable burn in my arms, my mind rushes back, remembering Callum doing it for me. How it felt to have his fingers running through my hair, how meticulous he would be if it didn’t look quite right. The way his lips would brush against the nape of my neck when he pulled the last section taut, and shivers would race down my spine.
Talk about fifty shades of fucked up.
Tying off the last braid, I scoop up my dirty clothes and walk out the door. “Took you long enough,” Atticus comments while measuring something on the wall. When he turns around, he looks taken aback, like he’s seen a ghost. It takes him a moment to regain his composure, but I’m already mumbling out apologies. “I’m sorry. This was stupid. I never should have—”
“Kallie.”
“—accepted the clothes. I’ll go change. It’s fine.” I turn to rush back into the bathroom, but he catches my elbow, turning me back around.
