29. Lucina
LUCINA
Here’s the thing about the truth: once you learn it, you can’t escape it, no matter how much you wish you could. Sometimes the truth is something you hoped for, and sometimes it’s not. You can ignore it, and you can run from it, but it will always be there. It becomes your shadow, your ghost.
I feel like the truth is something I’ve searched for my whole life, and now that I’ve found it, I don’t want it.
I trace my fingers over velvet blue petals, a soft wind blowing my unkempt curls before the flower shrivels in my palm and falls lifeless to the ground.
Thunder rumbles, drawing my attention to the clouded sky as the first drops of rain hit my skin.
It blows sideways as it sweeps over the endless rolling hills and showers the wildflowers.
I sit in it, the rain.
My boots squeak in the damp grass as I pull my knees to my chest, and when I look up, he’s there. Tall and grim and shadowed, his face filled in now that I’ve seen it. His black hair is swept back, every sharp angle of his face is ashen, the thin line of his lips is stern, but his eyes—
I’d always wondered what my father looked like.
I jolt straight up in bed, gasping for a breath as I do, and Callan’s there. Instantly.
“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” His hand gently brushes down my forearm. “You’re safe.”
No, I’m not. Neither is he.
My breaths are long and unsteady, but I let him pull me back down, and I let him drag me back into his chest, even though I shouldn’t. Even though this…and him, I can’t have it.
I can’t have my truth and Callan.
I roll over in the warm sheets, all the drapes drawn to let the sunlight in, and I take in the sight of him.
Dark hair tousled from sleep or stress…probably both.
His face is calm, serene even, his grey eyes a lighter shade than they’d been the last time we were in this bed.
Heat pools low in my gut when I imagine him there, eyes wild and hands gripping my thighs as if they belonged to him.
And gods, I wish all of me could belong to him.
But that would be selfish.
His callous fingers run through my hair, tracing the lines of my face while I trace the lines of his tattoo. His skin is soft and warm, as I move silently through each dip and valley and each corded muscle.
I trace the Syla Ren, and he gives me a lazy smile. “Is this still a good distraction for you?”
I laugh then, a small one, and it feels so foreign that it almost hurts. “I guess so.”
His tongue darts out across his bottom lip, and his eyes search mine.
Maybe I could keep Callan. Maybe I could keep my friends and Pirn…just a little while longer.
We both jerk our heads to the door when a stampede tramples through the living room, and hushed voices stop just outside the bedroom.
“Let us in,” Selene all but orders. “I’m not afraid to see either of you naked, but Kimber will definitely faint.”
“I’ll cover my eyes,” Kimber groans.
“Lucina, I need to make sure your body is healing.”
“Oh good, they’re all here,” Callan says with the utmost level of sarcasm, then he props himself up on one elbow and bends down to whisper, “If we’re quiet, maybe they’ll leave—”
“We’re not leaving,” Selene snaps, then the doorknob rattles. “Let us in.”
Callan groans, and I pull myself up in the bed while he rolls out of it.
He doesn’t bother with a shirt, striding up to the door and opening it proudly.
Selene grimaces, pushing past him, and Gemma hardly spares him a glance, her eyes instantly pinned on me, but Kimber…
sweet little Kimber is left frozen in the doorway, eyes bulging.
Callan doesn’t move, but his smile is smug.
“Hey,” I get Selene’s attention, nodding to the door. “Help her, please.”
Selene groans, going back to snatch Kimber’s wrist, then she pulls her over the threshold and all but tosses her onto the bed beside Gemma, who’s already funneling Mender magic up through my arms. Selene perches herself on the edge of the bed and glares at Callan.
“You got coffee?” she asks, and his brows rise.
“I do.”
“Great. I’ll take some.”
Callan turns fully to face Selene, folding his arms across his bare chest, broad shoulders flexing, and then I’m no better than Kimber, who’s now intentionally avoiding where he stands.
The two of them glare at each other in some unspoken contest, then Callan looks up at me with softer eyes. “Lucina, would you like some coffee?”
“Sure.”
Callan looks back down at Selene. “You can have whatever she doesn’t drink,” he says, then leaves, gently closing the door behind him.
Selene huffs, turning to face me. “Everyone’s talking about you.”
“New topic,” Gemma snaps, her brows pinching as she concentrates entirely on prodding my vital organs. Her magic is warm and soothing as it sweeps down my limbs and pools in my chest, flaring bright just like it did last night. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” I reply quickly, then I turn my attention back to Selene. “What do you mean everyone’s talking about me?”
Gemma shoots her a warning glare and Kimber winces, but Selene couldn’t give less of a fuck. “There were already rumors about you and the Captain, but nurses are the biggest gossips here, and he made such a scene last night that even the band stopped playing.”
“She was dying,’’ Gemma fires back, as if her comment was insensitive, but I like that Selene will tell me how it is. No sugar coating and all truth.
“No one is saying anything bad,” Kimber assures me with a gentle hand on my knee. “They’re just talking to talk. Pirn is one big rumor mill—”
“It’s not a rumor,” Callan says, shouldering through the door with two cups of coffee. He hands one to me, then reluctantly gives Selene the other. “Let them talk,” he shrugs, looking over at me from the foot of the bed. “Unless it bothers you.”
All eyes swing in my direction as I take a slow sip of my coffee. “Even if it did bother me, what are you going to do? Stop the rumor mill?”
He smiles so wide, a small dimple shows. “It’s not a rumor.”
Gemma’s fighting a smirk, and Selene exchanges a knowing glance with Kimber.
“No,” I exhale, my breath shaky. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“Good.” He pulls a shirt out of the dresser, slides it over his head, then grabs his boots and vest from where they lay in a neat pile on the floor. “I’ll be back in time to take you to your meeting with Her Grace, but Pax and Hunter are out front if you need them.”
My brows scrunch. “Where are you going?”
Callan clips his vest into place, a shade of seriousness sliding over his face.
The events of last night come flooding back in, and my eyes slide warily up to him. He’s going to kill Fenton Thorneveil. His coven probably has him tied up somewhere, ready and waiting for the Captain to torture.
What comes out of my mouth next, I can tell, is the last thing he expected to hear. “I want to come with you.”
He pauses in the doorway, head tilted to the side in curiosity. “Lucina, you need rest—”
“I’m rested and I’m perfectly fine,” I tell him, turning to Gemma. “Right, G?”
She pulls her hands away, and that gold light vanishes, slipping back through the pores in my skin. “She’s fine, all healed.”
I look back at Callan, brows raised in a silent challenge.
“Alright,” he sighs. “Get dressed.”
The Ajax coven has a bunker in the woods. It’s nothing but a hatch door in the ground, and Devon and Pax are out front when we get there. Their long stares turn skeptical when they see me.
“Boss?” Devon queries, gaze tracking mine.
“She wanted to come,” the Captain tells him, and Pax’s smile is taunting.
“Feeling okay, little Reenan?” His red hair is tousled, and there’s a small splatter of blood on the edge of his white shirt. Fenton’s blood, I bet.
“I’m perfectly fine, Paxton.” He grimaces at the name. “Just figured I should be involved.”
“Well, you’re in luck, Lucina,” Pax taunts, brown eyes swinging to Callan. “You’re about the see the Captain in all his glory—”
“Fuck off, and open the door, Pax.”
My eyes spring wide, but Pax obeys—grinning as he does—and the hatched door in the ground creaks open to reveal five or so stone steps leading down into the damp earth. Callan’s demeanor shifts entirely, his face stone-cold and vacant as he takes the first steps down, and I trail close behind.
Dim lights flicker on, cutting through the dark space and illuminating—
Fenton Thorneveil is tied to a rusted metal chair in the center of the room. His ankles are bound to the metal, and his wrists are secured behind his back; a white strip of cloth is tied around his mouth.
The second he sees the Captain, his eyes widen in fear, but the second he sees me—
He starts screaming.
The sound is muffled by the cloth as he thrashes against his restraints, a vein along his forehead bulging.
Fenton’s blonde hair is soaked in sweat, a portion of it matted with blood, and dried drops of it trail down the side of his bruised face.
Before I can even inhale my next breath, magic cracks, and Fenton’s entire body stiffens as Callan strikes him with—
Lightning.
Holy gods. Ropes of it pour from his outstretched hand, and Fenton’s body jerks against the metal chair—his teeth gritted so hard that blood pools at the corners of his mouth.
I break out of my stunned silence when his eyes roll back. “Callan!”
The Captain’s hand falls away instantly, and Fenton sags against the chair, panting and grunting against the gag in his mouth. Callan stalks towards him, not a single ounce of remorse on his face, and the blonde Diviner tracks his movement with wide, fearful eyes.
“Good morning, Fenton. Sleep well?”
When he doesn’t answer, the Captain yanks down the bloodied cloth in his mouth. But instead of pleading his innocence or begging for his life, Fenton looks me straight in the eyes and snarls, “You filthy bitc—”
Callan’s fist slams so violently into Fenton’s face that the chair topples backwards, and I flinch when metal clashes with stone.