37. Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Seven
After her adventures around the Realm, returning to her small study in the Silvergard Estate felt akin to returning home after a pilgrimage. Every aspect of her life, even the most challenging, suddenly seemed trivial. With a sigh, Nova began to sift through the stack of correspondence on her desk.
As the Emissary of Silvergard, she grasped, more than most, where the Lunar Court stood in the eyes of the other territories.
Nivali, Tundara, and Sonnend had acted as faithful allies, fighting valiantly alongside Silvergard in the battle against Omen’s Enchanted.
Under Lord Arthur’s fickle rule, Maedwen would likely cooperate going forward.
With Omen defeated, the Wyldlings would don an agreeable smile, but with the point of a blade always concealed beneath the table.
At least, Nova thought, it seemed she could rely on Riven.
Lifting the last letter she’d received from Lady Estrid more than a month past, before .
. . everything, she read the elegant, looping text.
The tone of the missive chiding, but warm.
Nova doubted she would ever speak with Lady Estrid again, let alone receive such a letter from the Noble.
She tossed the parchment onto her desk and flexed the fingers of her right hand before curling them into a tight fist. Evander, his parents—they all blamed her.
Nova chewed her bottom lip and drew in a steadying breath.
Fawn lived. That was the important thing.
She’d likely never speak to her friend again—Evander would see to that—but she lived. That would have to be enough.
Sensing Callan’s presence on the other side of the door, Nova straightened in her seat, her lips lifting in a faint smile as she awaited his knock. He, too, wore a smile when she bid him enter, but a nervous energy clung to him, permeating the room.
She stood to meet him, and Callan embraced her, his anxiety easing greatly once she was in his arms. Nova buried her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly in a way she knew he found pleasant.
“Are you well?” he murmured.
The question had become a common refrain in the week since she’d been raised from the dead. Not only from her mate, which was to be expected, but from her uncle, her lady’s maid—gods—even the stable hand who’d readied Shade for a recent ride into the city.
Though Nova appreciated the kindness behind the question, it served as a constant reminder of what she’d endured. Everyone, it seemed, had taken to treating her like a priceless glass vase: fragile and, perhaps, best kept upon a shelf.
The lore surrounding her brief death had spread through the encampment like wildfire.
Those who heard the tale carried it with them when they returned to their own Courts, like grains of sand stuck to the hems of their cloaks.
Lunar folk regarded her as if she were Illora made flesh, their eyes dipping to her chest where her scar lay hidden beneath her clothing.
She’d taken to wearing a delicate glove on her right hand to cover the markings Kinslayer had permanently etched on her palm and fingers.
When folk saw a scar, they often asked questions without regard for the pain behind the mark.
The life-altering circumstances that had caused it.
As someone who’d spent her life keeping others at a distance, it unnerved her to no end that strangers knew the intimate details of what she’d experienced.
Only Lucan still handled her roughly. The commander pushed her to resume her training alongside the Guard immediately upon their return.
He challenged her during their sparring sessions, sparing no thought for her supposedly delicate state and pushing her to fight with everything she had within her.
She relished the exhaustion that followed, the ache in her muscles proof that although she had been broken, there was both beauty and strength in how she was putting herself back together.
“I am well, my love.” She laid her hand on his chest, the rapid beat of his heart thumping beneath her palm. “Are you?”
Callan forced a thin smile, taking her hand in his. “I must leave for Nivali.”
Nova lowered her eyes and nodded. Following the battle, Callan’s parents had been both weak and confused. While his mother seemed to recognize him, his father remained entirely unaware of the world around him and unable to speak.
“Your parents have improved, then? That’s wonderful,” Nova said. “You must go to them.”
“Whether I wish to or not.” Callan blew out a sharp breath and flexed his wrists as if the markings there pained him. “My mother has summoned me. I’m bound to appear before her.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“You must,” Nova said absently. “You’ve carried the weight of their deaths upon your shoulders for far too long. It will ease your burden to see them. To say what you’ve always wished to say.”
Nova nodded once more before turning away from Callan and crossing to the window. The night was clear beyond the glass, the sky an endless black sea speckled with stars. She joined her hands in front of her, her grip whitening her knuckles.
The moment had arrived. One she’d secretly feared perhaps more than facing her father.
More than facing her own death. While they’d been traveling the Realm in search of the sword, she’d been plagued with worry over whether she’d be able to save his parents.
Now, she feared Callan’s duty, to them and to Nivali, would take him from her.
No stranger to how the world worked, she’d sought to enjoy her time with him while it lasted.
To banish her fears for the future from her mind and simply bask in the warm glow of his love.
To memorize the feeling of his hands—his lips—on her skin.
How safe she felt in his arms, or with the weight of him on top of her.
For centuries, Callan had blown about the Realm on a breeze. For a time, longer than she believed she deserved, she’d kept him tethered to her. A kite caught in the branches of a tree. But she couldn’t keep him any longer.
The disappearance of his parents had defined his life. He was so young when they were taken. She could hardly blame him if he wished to pick up where he left off. To return to Nivali and become the Noble Lord his parents always expected him to be.
Callan sidled up behind her, wrapped an arm around her ribs, and drew her tightly against him. Nova leaned into his solidness, tipping her head back as he kissed her temple.
“What troubles you, Starlight?” Hooking a finger under her chin, he turned her face toward his.
Slowly, Nova shifted her body to face him, their chests pressed together with her hands resting on his shoulders.
She couldn’t meet his eye, focusing instead on the hollow at the base of his throat.
For a brief moment she was silent, struggling to condense the breadth of her emotions into a simple explanation.
“I fear this is a goodbye,” she said finally. Closing her eyes, she forged on. “I fear you may not return to me. It is your right. I would never fault you for choosing to remain with your family. To return to the home that was taken from you—”
Callan gripped her waist, the warmth of his hands seeping through the bodice of her gown, and she opened her eyes but kept them downcast.
“Nivali is where I come from, but it has never been my home. When I was young, I was desperate to roam. After my parents were taken, it was too painful to return. But I have always been adrift—seeking something I could never name. Then, one day, whether by chance or fate, I was charged with traveling to the Human Realm to collect the long-lost daughter of a stranger.”
Callan paused, and Nova, at last, tilted her head to meet his gaze, his dark eyes shining, gold flecks glinting like sunlight through leaves.
“I haven’t been the same since. From the moment I first glimpsed you in the Wood, I knew I had to hear your voice.
Had to touch you. Once I touched you, it was over for me, though I didn’t understand why at the time.
Even when everyone around me—when my own eyes—told me you were gone.
” He shook his head. “Even then, I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—leave you. ”
He brought his hands to her face, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks.
Nova leaned back against the wall and pulled him against her by his tunic.
Desperation flooded her veins, desire overwhelming her senses.
For so much of her life, she’d felt unlovable.
Abandoned. Cast aside. His devotion intoxicated her.
Callan growled low in his throat, no doubt sensing her arousal. His left hand went to her nape, fingers tangling in her hair as he pushed his hips against hers and pinned her to the wall.
She could think of nothing but her want. The warmth pooling low in her belly. The wetness slicking her sex in anticipation of being claimed by him. Nova surrendered to it, a soft moan escaping her lips.
Releasing his grip on her, Callan pulled away abruptly, as if the sound had awoken him from a trance.
“Forgive me, love.” Breathing heavily, he held his hands out, palms hovering in the narrow space between them.
“What have you done that needs forgiving?” she panted.
His gaze flicked to her chest. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Nova shoved him hard with both hands. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Treat me like a bird with a broken wing.”
“I didn’t—” Callan bowed his head then nodded once. “I’m sorry, Starlight. I can’t banish the vision from my mind.” He laid a hand lightly over her heart, and a crease formed between his brows.
“I died,” Nova snapped. “But I refuse to live the rest of my days as though I’m already dead.”
Nova placed her hand over his and tugged it lower until he cupped the swell of her breast. Her heartbeat pounded through her bodice. She brought her mouth to his, speaking softly against his lips.
“I need you, Callan. I need to feel alive.”
Callan pressed his body against hers once more, kneading her breast as he brought their foreheads together. Nova dragged her hand down the front of his tunic to the hard ridge of his cock and gripped him through his breeches. As she rubbed her palm along the length of him, she murmured in his ear.
“I won’t break. I promise.”
Callan pulled back, wild eyes roaming over her face, her pulse thumping at her throat.
Taking her chin with one hand, he shoved her back against the wall and claimed her mouth with a bruising kiss.
She matched his intensity, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him close, their mouths joining in a desperate clash of teeth and tongues.
Settling his hands over her bodice, Callan tore the delicate laces and ripped the garment open.
Breaking their kiss, he pulled down the collar of her gown, stilling for a breath at the sight of the pearly scar marring the skin above her left breast. Swallowing, he traced a finger along the thin, raised line, then took her bare breasts in his hands.
Dipping his head, he pressed a gentle kiss over the marking.
Nova’s nipples tightened at his breath dancing over the surface of her skin before he drew her into the heat of his mouth, sucking gently and pulling a moan from her.
Anticipation bloomed in her core, wetness gathering between her thighs as Callan bit down, a quick flash of pain heightening her pleasure.
Her mate didn’t linger but lowered himself to his knees before her, dragging his face along the front of her gown as he went.
Pressing his mouth to her cunt, he worked his jaw, his mouth rubbing against her clit through the layers of fabric.
Nova’s head fell back against the wall, and she tunneled her fingers into his hair.
Desperate to find the precise friction she needed, she tilted her hips, a frustrated whimper escaping her.
Sitting back on his heels, Callan’s dark eyes locked on hers as he brought both hands to the hem of her gown. Slowly, he lifted her skirts, fingertips grazing her calves and the backs of her knees. Nova propped her foot up and turned her leg out, opening herself to him.
His gaze fell. “Gods, you’re a sight,” he growled, ghosting his mouth along her inner thigh, his beard scratching deliciously against her sensitive skin. “Pretty cunt dripping for me.”
Curling his fingers at her hips, Callan pinned her against the wall roughly. Nova gave an experimental roll of her hips, but he held her firmly in place. With a satisfied groan, he tasted her, gliding his tongue from her entrance to her clit.
Callan was relentless in his worship, his lips and tongue keeping a steady rhythm between her thighs. Nova moaned and tugged his hair, his answering hum of pleasure sending her heat clenching around nothing.
“I need you,” she breathed. “Now.”
Callan rose at once, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
Reaching between them, Nova undid his laces and took his cock, feverishly hot and impossibly hard, into her hand.
Pumping him slowly, she eased the skin back to reveal a bead of arousal poised on the swollen tip.
Nova gathered it on her thumb and painted it across her bottom lip before savoring the taste of him with a swipe of her tongue.
Callan clenched his jaw, eyes darkening as he hurriedly drew up her skirts, far less gently than he had only moments before.
Cupping his hands under her ass, he lifted her off her feet and pressed her against the wall.
He slid his cock between her legs briefly, gathering her wetness before entering her all at once.
Nova wrapped her arms around his neck, gasping at the delicious sting as he stretched her, making room for himself inside her.
Their mouths joined, ragged breaths mingling, as he fucked into her again and again.
She clung to him as he clung to her, desperate in her need to feel every thrust of his cock. Every strike of her back against the wall. They were alive. They had survived. And they had one another.