“Perhaps they were just intimidated by your abilities.”
“It wasn’t just that, though,” I insist. “And believe me, I didn’t always use my abilities for good. I was wild when I was younger. Wilder than I am now, if you can believe it. And so restless. So angry about everything. Part of me doesn’t blame them for making it clear I couldn’t ever come back if I left.”
Callum hums thoughtfully. “They couldn’t accept you for who you are. And that’s their fault, not yours.”
I shrug, though I’m almost certain he can see right through it.
“Maybe it’s a quirk of my magick that makes me like this,” I begin, speaking slowly, trying to put words to the thoughts I’ve never been able to fully articulate to anyone. “Or maybe it’s me, shaping my magick. I don’t know. We’re all so different, Crescent witches, but our powers always seem to reflect who we are at our core. And my reflection didn’t win me many points with Esme and the other coven leaders.”
Callum continues those maddeningly gentle strokes up and down my back, but doesn’t speak.
“I don’t know what it says about me.” I huff a humorless laugh. “That I’m always running, that I’m always… always…possessedwith this urge to test limits, to act so impulsively, to follow instincts I barely understand. That I can never just stop to think for a damn second before I—”
Stop. I have to stop.
I’m tired.
Too tired to be talking about this.
Too tired to be baring my soul to a demon I barely know. A demon who looks at me like he hears what I’m saying and understands it.
And maybe Callum can see that, too, with his soft crimson eyes lit with that same damned tenderness I can barely stand to look at.
“Sorry,” I say on a rush of breath. “I’m rambling.”
“It’s alright.” He removes his hand from my back, and I swallow a plea for him to keep it there. “And it’s late. Perhaps we should both get some rest?”
“Sure.” I stand and look around the room.
There lies a new problem. The settee is only a two-seater, cramped, but I suppose I could make it work if I scrunched up. Because the alternative would be…
“You’ve only got one bed,” I murmur.
He gives me a strange look. “I, uh, yes? I live here alone.”
“Right.” I shake my head. I’m still way too far out of it to find the humor in the situation. “Do you have a sleeping bag or something, then? Somewhere I could crash for the—”
“You’ll take the bed.”
Again, he doesn’t give me any time to protest before he stands and crosses to a closet in the back corner of the space.
Damned high-handed demon.
From the closet, he pulls a bedroll, a pillow, and a few blankets.
“I’ll take the floor.”
“No way.” I shake my head vehemently. “There’s absolutely no way you’re taking the floor after everything you did for me today.”
“There’s no wayyou’retaking the floor after all you’ve been through today.”
“Callum.”
“Seren.”
He holds his ground. I hold mine. By the firm, determined set of his jaw and the glint in his crimson eyes, I’ve got a feeling he could stand here all night and wait me out.
And maybe it’s the day wearing on me, maybe it’s the way my name on his lips sends a shot of inexplicable warmth through me, maybe it’s the fact that for once—just once—I want to let myself be taken care of.
