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“You…” He trailed off, taking in the network of criss-crossing scars that covered the top half of both my thighs nearly all the way around. There were probably thousands of scars all together, realistically. He traced one that cut across the top of my thigh—thinner than most but longer, too—so softly I shivered. His voice was heavy with emotion. “Sterre, why?”

This was not something I had interest in unpacking while sitting mostly naked on a table in a library study room, but the sorrow in Callum’s expression had me biting back a snide comment. I heaved a sigh and scooted back on the table enough to be able to close my legs. Callum didn’t move, his hands soft where they held my knees.

“I… We were passed from house to house. Pretty often. Some were all right but many were… not. Especially when we got older.” I grimaced and then traced one of the scars, the very first one I ever laid. “When I’d make them, the stress and fear would fade for a bit. They wouldn’t feel quite so overwhelming. So I kept making them, the cuts.” I kept my gaze on the mess of scars. “When the assault happened—the first one—I was able to meet with a therapist, someone who helps people work through traumatic experiences. She helped me find better ways to cope with everything. I haven’t done it in years.”

He pressed his cheek to my knee, still tracing one of the scars. The silence stretched long enough our scents started to fade. All at once, I wanted to crawl into a hole for a while to recover from the vulnerability. He hummed as he twisted and kissed one scar then another and another. His lips were soft but unrelenting as he kissed higher and higher on my thighs. Then he calmly, slowly wedged between my knees, spreading me wide, lifting my legs until they rested on his shoulders.

“Callum.”

I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say. To stop? To apologize for the self-harm? The thoughts fell away as he run his tongue along my center, back to front in one long stroke. I moaned as my head fell back. He pulled me closer with a satisfied, masculine grunt.

He tasted me with the same precision he sparred with, methodical and unrelenting. The memories of the cuts fell away as desire burned anew in my stomach. My scent snapped out from me, surrounding us again, just as he finally circled my clit. My legs trembled as sensation roared through me, more overwhelming than before.

Between one breath and the next, I needed to feel him, needed to know I was giving him pleasure, too. I palmed the nape of his neck to steady myself and then skimmed my other hand down his chest and to the waistband of his pants. He arched up toward me, letting me feel the line of his dick. I cupped him over the fabric, and I shivered at the size. I needed to know how he would feel, how he would make me stretch around him, how his chest would feel against mine as he watched me take him to the hilt. I whined as he speared me with his tongue. It wasn’t enough. I needed him, all of him.

“Please,” I whispered.

“Not yet, Sterre,” he murmured. The words vibrated against my clit, and more wetness coated my thighs, soaking his chin. “Let me taste this one. Give me that pleasure.”

I didn’t drop my hand from him, but he didn’t seem to mind, pushing up into my hand as he took my right to the edge again and held me over it with a skill that would be terrifying if I wasn’t so desperate.

“Oh gods, please.” It was a true whimper, and I didn’t care.

He chuckled against me, and then he speared me with two fingers, slowly and unrelenting. The stretch was enough to have me detonating. I cried out, forgetting entirely we were somewhere someone might hear, as the orgasm ripped through my limbs, curling my toes and tightening my hold in his hair. Vanilla whipped out from me, its own bomb, and the proof of my pleasure only sent an aftershock through me. He continued licking me, curling his fingers until I whined from overstimulation. Even as he pulled his touch away and rested his cheek against my thigh, he arched harder into my hand. On instinct, I tightened my grip, pressing my palm into the hard line of his dick. He grunted, and the sound alone had my toes curling again. Wisteria exploded from him, and then I felt a warm heat.

Holy shit, you just made him come in his pants.

He panted even as he palmed my thighs and guided them off his shoulders. I twisted a strand of his hair around my finger, luxuriating in the feel of it. His touch was soft on my thigh, too, where he traced another of the scars. I tried to soak in the feeling of contentment, of the intimacy that didn’t make me want to take a cheese grater to my skin.

“This is okay?” he asked.

The words caught in my throat. “More than okay.”

42

CALLUM

Ididn’t dare open the door to the study room until I’d redressed Amethyst and cracked the small window enough to allow our scents to dissipate. She flushed as I helped her tie the laces of her stays and then adjusted the pins in her hair that had come loose. While she quietly ate one of the tarts still on the tray, I shrugged into my abandoned tunic, arranging it so it would hide most of the stain on my pants. Then I gathered the books into two stacks, the same as they had been when we arrived, and put both the original prophecy and Amethyst’s written version in the satchel. Luckily, the strap was long enough I was able to position the satchel on my shoulder to cover what the tunic could not.

Had I ever walked out of somewhere with my pants wet with my own release? No. Eighteen year old me was dying of mortification, though present-day me couldn’t find it in myself to be embarrassed about it. Not when the sounds of Amethyst’s moans and pleasured cries were still ringing in my ears and her hand was a phantom sensation on my dick. My scent pulsed from me again. Amethyst’s cheeks flushed a heartbeat later, her gaze flashing to me.

Without a word, I handed her the lapis lazuli pendant. Her flush tracked down her throat as she slid it over her head and tightened it. At once, the vanilla and oranges scent fell away, dissipating at once in the light breeze stirred by the open window. I missed it already. I leaned over the table and kissed her, soft enough she would know I didn’t expect anything else. Her gaze was sated when I pulled away, her lips curved in a smile. It was easy as breathing to cup the nape of her neck and run my thumb across her cheekbone.

“I’ll arrange a date with the Votarists for our rites,” I whispered.

She shivered and then pressed a kiss to my wrist. “All right.”

A knock on the door kept me from kissing her a second, longer time.

“Callum.”

Simeon’s voice pulled me out of the intimate moment more effectively than a rock dropped into a lake.

I let my hand drop from Amethyst and slid the door open. Simeon wore the tunic of the mage school, the gold raven pendant stark against the dark blue fabric. His frown was deep enough the small lines around his mouth were visible, and the worry line was between his eyes as well. His gaze flashed to Amethyst for a heartbeat before returning to me.

“Your father has sent word,” he said.

My stomach pitched. I motioned him inside the small study room and then closed the door again. Without comment to either of us, he murmured a word and pressed a palm to the door. The shimmering air told me he’d laid a silencing barrier.