Chapter Twenty
Dylan
‘WELL, IF IT ISN’T MY FAVOURITE PALMER SIBLING.’
Callum’s familiar, amused voice affected Dylan in ways he still wasn’t used to. Was it the tone, low and magnetic? Or the fact that he wasn’t supposed to find anyone as attractive as he did Callum?
Either were reasons not to trust him.
The Empyreal was lounging on a blood-red couch in one of the main living spaces when Dylan strolled in, an ankle resting on the opposite knee, reading something in another language. Callum lowered the book, exposing his eyes, his face.
And that clever mouth whose upper lip was slightly darker and more violet-brown than the lower. It pulled up on one side in an almost-smile.
‘Actually, I take it back. I prefer your adorable little sister.’
‘Most people do.’
It wasn’t exactly true. Before Kyan had come to Estwood, Dylan had been a lot more sociable. It had been a long, hot summer of drinks on the beach, parties, sports. He was more than comfortable in a group of people – as long as those friendships remained surface-level.
He’d laughed, he’d played in the college rugby team – extremely carefully and right up until he’d hurt someone badly enough that they had to go to A that he was safe.
They even tried weeks with breaks in between.
But every time they checked in, he wanted to check out of the conversation, finding himself mentally and emotionally removing himself from the memory, which was no doubt making it harder.
Callum’s eyes remained on his, undeterred. ‘I can imagine.’
Anyone could have said it, but the tone and the serious look … Callum knew very well what it was like.
Dylan found he didn’t like the idea that something could shadow those eternally glinting eyes. Couldn’t imagine this eloquent, powerful man as anything other than those things.
For half a moment, he almost allowed himself to explain his standoffishness, his difficulty.
But how could he explain the kind of subtle, drowning panic that rose when Bells gently tried to take him back to that night?
That he could barely stand to look at her innocent face as the veins in her eyes darkened like a slow wave of blood crossing over them?
Blood.
Had there been much blood that night? What if there had been a knife in the blurred fight? What if he had to watch it like some horrific repeat performance? The stabbing, again and again. What if the blood of their mother had spattered over him and he’d blocked it out?
He couldn’t see the moment of her death. Just that figure. Huge and unyielding and overpowering.
Something stronger than fear chased up his throat. An awful kind of despair.
He couldn’t help her, even though he’d screamed to, even though—
‘Hey.’
Callum had risen and come closer, what looked like genuine worry flittering across his features.
Dylan schooled his, slamming a wall down on the memories, the old, unshed tears.
He hadn’t cried since that night. Not really.
Callum might be able to hear his heartbeat increase, scent the sweat misting his palms.
But he wouldn’t see a tear.
Dylan forced hatred into his eyes instead. Let it keep them apart. Let it keep him away. He had spent his whole life determined to never see history repeat itself. Don’t get too close, don’t let them see who you are.
And the most important rule, the one he didn’t think about too closely.
But Callum was smart enough to figure him out. To push and flirt until he got to the core of him. And Dylan couldn’t allow that.
Yet, there it was again: a look that told Dylan Callum knew what he was doing. The Empyreal’s smile tugged up slightly.
They’d been so vigilant about their secret, and now Callum knew.
So did the Wake.
Which meant there was no real reason to fear Callum knowing, and all the more reason to find out Callum’s secrets. Continuing to brush off the other Empyreal was only going to be detrimental. Callum knew more than he was letting on.
So Dylan didn’t leave like he was tempted to, like he was trained to.
Instead, he forced some ease back into his limbs, dredging up and dusting off the version of himself that had once been more relaxed. Then, he headed to the crystal glass decanter on a side table, and poured himself a drink.