Chapter 22
Callum
The ward stones emit a steady blue-green pulse that bathes my quarters in soft light. I’ve triple-checked them myself—full spectrum protection, like Nova’s setup at the main Lodge, but enhanced with my own Guardian tricks. Nothing gets in or out without my knowledge.
Not even scent.
It’s why Lyanna’s presence here hits me like a physical force. Her scent mingles with the sharper notes of stress-salt and something warmer underneath that makes my wolf pace restlessly behind my ribs. In here, she doesn’t need to mask her scent or watch her expressions. In here, we’re truly alone.
She sits across from me at my small table, investigation notes spread between us like a barrier neither of us wants. Her fingers trace absently over a page detailing the contract specifics, but her eyes haven’t moved in minutes.
The wall clock ticks steadily forward. Each second takes us closer to a deadline I refuse to accept.
“This clause about familial obligation,” she says, breaking the silence. Her voice carries the practiced smoothness of her diplomatic training, but I catch the slight tremor beneath. “It’s standard language, but potentially vulnerable to challenge if we can prove undue influence.”
I nod, trying to focus on the document instead of the way the ward light catches in her hair or how her throat moves when she swallows. My wolf prowls closer to the surface, aware of our mate mere feet away in a space that smells only of us.
Time is running out. Soon he’ll expect to take her. Some fucking dragon prince who’s never even met her claiming what isn’t his to take.
My eyes catch hers over the scattered papers. The practiced serenity she maintains in public has fractured here in private. The mask slips, and I glimpse the storm beneath—fear, determination, and something fiercer that makes my pulse quicken.
What if this is all we get? What if the investigation fails? What if the tribunal rejects our case?
The thought makes my hand clench involuntarily, crumpling the edge of the document I’m pretending to read.
“Callum?” Her voice is soft, concerned.
I reach across the table, my hand finding hers. I expect her to pull away—maintain that careful distance we’ve been keeping in case of surveillance.
She doesn’t.
Her fingers intertwine with mine, warm and steady despite everything. The simple contact sends heat up my arm, settling in my chest where my wolf rumbles with satisfaction.
“I’ve been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes,” I admit, my voice rougher than intended.
She lets out a soft exhale, almost like relief. “Me too.”
The pretense of work has finally collapsed between us. Her thumb traces small circles against my palm, and the gentle friction makes it impossible to think about anything except the woman in front of me.
“I don’t want to go.” The confession breaks through her composed mask, raw and undeniable. “I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s the right thing—that duty matters more than ...” She swallows hard, her forest-green eyes meeting mine with raw honesty. “But I don’t want this marriage. Any of it.”
Heat floods through me, cracking through every wall I’ve built. My wolf surges forward, recognizing the claim in her words—my mate choosing me.
“I won’t let them take you.” The promise escapes before I can measure it. “If there’s any other way—any loophole, any alternative—we’ll find it.”
“And if we don’t?”
I stand, pulling her up with me, the documents sliding forgotten to the floor. “Then we fight.”
The space between us has vanished. I can feel the heat radiating from her skin, see the slight rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickens. Her scent shifts subtly, the sharp notes of stress softening into something warmer, more aware. My wolf recognizes it instantly—mate recognizing mate.
“I didn’t expect you,” she whispers, her free hand tentatively touching my jaw. The contact sends electricity down my spine. “When I came here, I thought I was choosing freedom from court politics. I never thought I’d find ...”
“Someone who matters?” I finish for her, the admission slipping out without planning. “You became that to me, Lyanna. Not just to the pack. To me.”
My hand slides into her hair, cradling the back of her head. Silky strands slip through my fingers like water. “You’re mine,” I whisper against her lips. “Whatever comes. However we have to fight. You’re mine.”
When her mouth meets mine, the kiss is deep and claiming—crossing that final threshold from emotional vulnerability to physical connection. She tastes like honey and magic, sweet and wild and right. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer as she opens for me.
I walk us backward toward the bed, my hands roaming her body—the curve of her waist, the arch of her spine, the softness of her hips. Every touch feels like discovery, like learning a language I was born to speak.
When the backs of her legs hit the mattress, I break the kiss long enough to ask, “Are you sure?”
Her emerald eyes are dark with desire. “I’ve never been surer of anything.”
“We never get a chance to just be us,” I say, my voice lower than intended as I guide her to sit on the edge of my bed. “Not without looking over our shoulders.”
“We have now. This room.” She reaches up, pulling me down to her level.
I move closer. “Can I touch you?” I ask, the words rough with need. “Really touch you.”
Her eyes darken further, a flush creeping across her luminescent skin. “Please,” she whispers, the single word carrying weight beyond its sound.
I trace my fingers along her jaw, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my touch. The rapid beat matches my own racing heart. Slowly, I reach for the first button of her blouse, giving her time to stop me. She doesn’t. Instead, she watches me with that fierce intensity that first drew me to her.
Each button reveals another inch of fair skin with that subtle luminescence unique to fae. I press my lips to the hollow of her throat as the fabric parts, breathing in her scent mixed with arousal, unmistakable and primal. Her breath catches, and I feel the vibration against my mouth.
“Beautiful,” I murmur against her collarbone, sliding the blouse from her shoulders. My lips follow the path of the fabric, trailing across the curve of her shoulder, down to where her skin meets the lace of her bra. Her skin is impossibly soft, almost too delicate for my scarred hands.
She shivers, her hands finding purchase in my hair. The way she breathes my name nearly undoes me.
I take my time, kissing each newly exposed inch of skin as I help her undress. The soft curve of her waist that flares into her hips. The delicate arch of her spine, where I can count each vertebra with my lips. The sensitive spot behind her knee that makes her gasp when my mouth finds it.
Reverence isn’t something that comes naturally to me. Protection, yes. Vigilance, always. But this slow worship of her body feels like discovering something sacred. I’m learning the map of someone who’s become part of my world.
When she’s bare before me, I guide her gently back onto the bed.
Her hair spreads across my pillow, catching the blue-green ward light like captured sunshine.
The contrast of her on my bed—all soft curves and fae grace against my utilitarian space—hits me hard.
She’s too beautiful for this rough place, too perfect for someone like me.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I tell her, voice raw with honesty. “And not just your body. Everything you are.”
Her eyes shine with emotion as she reaches for me, tugging at my shirt. “Then show me. Let me see you too.”
I strip quickly, suddenly self-conscious about the network of scars across my torso and arms. Battle marks, training accidents, proof of a life spent fighting.
But when I look down at her, there’s no hesitation in her gaze—only hunger as her eyes drop to my hard cock.
It twitches under her stare. She licks her lips.
I settle between her thighs, drinking in her essence—both scent and sight. The warm honey of her arousal mingles with something sweeter, intoxicating my senses. My wolf surges forward, eager and possessive.
“Perfect,” I murmur against the inside of her thigh, my breath hot on her skin. The muscle quivers beneath my lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
She shivers, her emerald eyes holding mine as I lower my mouth to her center.
The first stroke of my tongue pulls a gasp from her lips—fae words I don’t understand but recognize as pleasure.
I take my time, learning her, memorizing what makes her breath catch and her thighs tremble against my shoulders.
“You taste like magic,” I tell her between slow, deliberate licks. “Like something I’ve been looking for without knowing it.”
She arches toward my mouth, her luminescent skin flushed with desire. I savor her reactions, drawing patterns with my tongue before focusing on the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes her fingers clench in my hair hard enough to sting.
“Callum, oh God, yes,” she whispers, her voice carrying that musical quality that emerges when emotion breaks through her composure.
I suck gently on her clit, watching her reaction carefully. Her back arches further, thighs tensing against my shoulders. The ward lights cast blue-green shadows across her skin, highlighting every tremor that runs through her body.
I slide one finger inside her, moving slowly, giving her time to adjust. Tight heat grips me immediately. “Is this okay?” I ask, needing to be sure I’m not hurting her.
“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes half-closed. “More.”
I curve my finger upward, searching for that spot I know will drive her wild, keeping my mouth working in rhythm. When I find it, her reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, her entire body going taut like a bowstring.
“There,” she gasps, her accent slipping into something more ancient.