This is chill.
It’s totally okay and normal that I brought a demon to the human realm and am currently showing him around my childhood home.
Callum inhales. “Witches live here?”
A startled laugh breaks in my chest. “What makes you think that?”
“This place smells like magick.”
I sniff. “Huh. Never noticed. Guess your nose is better than mine.”
I only catch a second of his satisfied smirk before I turn and lead him to the stairs up to the second floor.
“And yes, to answer your question,” I call back over my shoulder as he follows me. “Witches live here.Ilive here, actually. Well, sometimes.”
Callum hums as he processes that, but doesn’t offer any further comment as we pass through the second-floor landingand reach the spiral stairs. It’s a bit of an ordeal for him to navigate his way up with his big wings tucked in tight, but he manages, and he fills this space, too. Way up here in my bedroom, he looms even larger with the low, slanted ceilings and the cozy, if slightly cramped, quarters.
Callum inhales deeply. “Your room?”
“Smells like me?”
He nods. “Like your magick. And your scent. It’s… wonderful.”
Color creeps up my cheeks, and I hope it’s too dark for him to see it.
I look at him, then look away, shift from one foot to the other, raise a hand to smooth out my hair, then drop it when I realize how awkward the gesture looks.
Goddess, when did I become such a dork?
There’s nothing to be nervous about.
This is… fine.
Just fine.
But Callum’s not, and that’s the whole reason we’re here. Gathering my courage, I take a step closer to him.
I run my fingertips over the worn leather of his armor. It’s smooth, supple, expertly crafted and exquisitely tailored to his frame.
“This has got to go.”
“What?”
“The armor. I know you’re bruised under there. Let’s see it.”
Callum’s face goes entirely blank.
“Off,” I tell him, and arch a brow when he doesn’t obey right away. “I’ve got something that might help those bruises heal faster.”
“Another of your sister’s concoctions?” he asks, and I nod. He finally starts moving, shedding the intricate leather armor that sculpts against his torso and around his wings.
As he removes each piece, I take it from him and lay it out on the bed. It gives me something to focus on other than the fact that with each piece, Callum is more bare.
My face heats as he takes off his bracers and exposes his thick forearms, and I’m positively sweating by the time he maneuvers the main plating around his chest and off over his wings.
It leaves him in nothing more than his linen undershirt and trousers.
He pauses again, hands hovering near the hem of his shirt where it’s tucked into his pants.
