Chapter 38 #3
So many answers, a whole lot of new questions, and no time to ask any of them. The person I want to talk to the most isn’t even here.
“Tomorrow night we’re taking down the ward,” I tell Grey, and there’s no substance to my voice.
It’s numbly distant. “And at dawn we’re getting all of you out.
” Grey’s eyes light up. “Make sure everyone is ready,” I urge him, glancing at the cages behind me.
“Tell them to reserve as much energy as they can and to be prepared to move.”
The former Captain stares back at me, and his smile is so achingly familiar that all I can manage is a shallow nod before turning from him.
My heartbeat is a dull thud in my chest as I move to stand before the Hound, my limbs heavy as I raise my hand to cover my mouth and nose.
Salem doesn’t hesitate, but there’s a crease between his brows as blue mist fills the room, concern in the glow of his irises. I must look as empty as I feel.
This time, when my eyes feel too heavy, I let them close. I keep hold of my consciousness, but I allow whatever magic this is to take the edge off.
I’m only vaguely aware of his grip on my arm and waist, far too busy slipping into a state of unfeeling, and when my feet hit solid ground, I push off Salem's grip and stumble into his bedroom.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as I use the furniture for support in crossing the small seating area. By the time I make it to the window, I’m steady enough to stand on my own. “Lucina?”
“Nothing,” I bite out, staring out at the stars. “He…said I was the key to breaking the curse.” Anger swells in my chest and tears well in my eyes. “So, you were right. Everyone seems to know a lot more about me than I know about myself. It never does get easier.”
Salem appears beside me, and a star begins blinking a second later.
Safe, Callan says.
I huff out a broken laugh, feeling the weight of the Hound’s attention searing into my profile. “What did he say?”
“He asked if I was safe.”
Salem is quiet for a moment. “And that’s…funny?”
“No,” I exhale. “It’s not funny at all.” Magic floods my veins, enough to flash my reply—Safe.
A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe it before it reaches my chin, hoping the Hound didn’t notice.
Callan’s response comes a heartbeat later: Ready?
I wipe another tear. “He asked if we were ready,” I translate for Salem.
“I am,” he replies without hesitation. “Are you?”
Sniffling back another tear, I don’t reply, keeping my gaze straight ahead as I signal back to Callan: Yes.
I sever the connection with my magic and turn away from the window.
“We need to figure out a way to open the cages,” I announce, unclipping my vest and throwing it onto the couch. “I think they require some kind of magic, but I’m not—”
“I’ll handle the cages.”
I fall onto the cushions, bracing my forearms to the tops of my thighs and stare into the dark fireplace. “And the sources, how are we going to—”
“I have a plan.”
The Hound moves towards the sitting area, lowering himself into the chair across from me.
I look over at him, and instantly regret it.
There’s too much concern on his face. Too much of that calm curiosity. The blue in his eyes has dimmed, but I can sense in his stoic stare that he knows something is wrong.
Tearing my gaze from his, I reach over and help myself to a small pour of what I quickly learn is indeed whiskey. The sweet burn of it wafts up to my nose as soon as it splashes into the glass.
“Are you going to share that plan with me?” I ask finally.
“I’ll handle the killing, and you handle the burning.” The silence that settles after his words confirms that that’s the extent of his plan. “Are you going to tell me why you’re upset?”
“I’m not upset.”
“When you lie to me,” Salem starts, snatching my drink off the table, “do you do it thinking that I won’t figure it out?”
He raises my glass to his lips, and I glare back at him.
It wasn’t even a lie so much as it was denial. There was no thought to it other than upset feels too small a word for what I feel right now, and I don’t want him to know about any of it.
His brows are raised expectantly, but I don’t deign him a response, silently reaching for another glass instead.
I pour this one quickly, raising it to my mouth even faster. At the initial burn heating my throat, I sigh, sinking back against the couch cushions.
Without flames in the fireplace, the room is lit only by a dim lantern by the bedside, the silvery light of the half-moon, and a few stars. It’s dark enough in here that I have the illusion of feeling hidden. Not as exposed as I’d feel in a bright room.
“Deception smells sterile,” the Hound explains, “and it’s almost always accompanied by guilt—which smells of grease. But you don’t feel guilty lying to me.”
I keep my gaze straight ahead, content to drown myself in this glass and then another. My face pinches at the next mouthful.
The Hound shifts in his seat. “And that’s a problem, because you and I are supposed to be on the same team.”
I roll my lips together, anger swelling in my chest, tightening my jaw.
I’m not angry at him. I’m not even sure I’m angry at Callan.
Childishly, I’m mad at my parents, and I feel ashamed for even thinking that way.
I’m upset that my entire existence had a purpose I was unaware of and had no say in.
The Lure was just the breaking point. One final piece to the puzzle that is my predestined life.
I was always going to wash up on that beach. The Lure in my necklace probably pulled me straight to Callan, and it has likely been nudging me in that direction ever since. Yet another thing that was decided for me.
The discovery of the Lure doesn’t bother me as much as the possibility that Callan’s known about this whole time.
Learning how to find me with the Lure was one of the first lessons I’d taught him.
“Lucina,” the Hound prompts, and my irritation reaches a fever pitch.
“Salem,” I fire back, breaking my stare with nothing to finally meet his gaze.
He stiffens, falling unnaturally still. Any previous tone of arrogance vanishes, and his slow blink back is the only proof I have that he’s still breathing.
I take another sip of my drink. “That is your name, is it not?”
“It is.” I watch his jaw work, crystal gaze narrowing on my glass. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve heard someone else say it.”
I watch him for a moment, shoulders falling. It’s hard to imagine him as a prisoner—chains, overgrown hair, dirty ivory skin. His pristine appearance now makes it difficult to picture…with his perfectly styled hair and spotless black clothes.
The Hound doesn’t walk around with armor. He doesn’t need it. He is the weapon. He is the thing you’d keep in a sheath at your side, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to look at him and wonder how the hell I could help him.
But that was before I learned that my existence is purely an experiment. Salem knew that before Grey had told me, and considering everything else I learned tonight—I wouldn’t be surprised if Callan knew too.
It’s more than irritating; it’s humiliating. I’m not even sure how to voice the feeling.
Finishing off the rest of my drink, I pour myself another. The heated burn soothes the feeling, giving me enough courage to ask: “Do you know anything about Lures?”
My question is followed by a brief silence, and when I look over at the Hound, I can tell he isn’t trying to come up with an answer. He’s trying to figure out why I’m asking. “I know they’re rare and hardly used,” he replies.
“Why?”
His gaze narrows. “Because they’re powerful,” Salem explains. “Lures draw two things together, but then it keeps pulling. Close isn’t close enough. It’s never satisfied.”
The sound I let out is something between a snort and a laugh.
Every time Callan and I touched. Every time we kissed. Every time he left and I longed for him to come back…had all of that been the Lure?
What I feel for Callan isn’t as simple as the way I’m drawn to him. It can’t be.
Setting my drink down, I run my fingers over the warm silver pendant before lifting it off my chest. The metal glints in the moonlight, as unsuspecting as it’s always been.
Learning how to find me with the Lure was one of the first lessons I’d taught him.
I slide my fingers along the chain, searching for the clasp.
There’s no way Callan knows. No way he has known this whole time.
Magic floods my veins, pulsing through my fingertips, and I wince when I feel the metal loosen.
But what if he has? What if he’s let me be pulled into him over and over again? Allowed me to blame our connection on Fate. On love. I mean, how much can a Lure really affect two people? How much can it really change who we are and what we feel?
Then, an even scarier question takes root, splintering through my brain and leaving a fractured mess of uncertainty in its wake.
The chain falls from my neck; its familiar weight on my chest, gone for the first time in my life. I drop it onto the table and sit back.
How much of it was real?