Chapter 12
Lucina
“How do you not remember anything about Callan’s initiation?” I ask Gemma as she finishes with my hair.
We spent most of the day together, something we haven’t been able to do in a while with all the long training sessions Callan’s been putting me through, but he gave me the day off. He said I should save all my energy for Initiation, which only made me more nervous. I didn’t think that was possible.
I’m pretty sure Gemma has been distracting me.
Keeping my brain preoccupied with senseless conversation, helping me with my dress, and insisting she roll my hair into big, bouncy curls.
It’s a waste if you ask me, getting all dolled up for this.
If Initiation is anything like Albatross, I doubt these pretty curls or the beads in my dress will withstand it.
“I remember that he survived it,” she replies with an encouraging smile, fidgeting with the shorter front pieces that just won’t curl in the direction she wants them to. With a sigh, Gemma meets my gaze. “And so will you.”
I glare at her through the mirror.
“Come on, Cin.” She rolls her eyes, pulling apart a bobby pin with her teeth, and pinning the curl out of my face. “If boys can do it, you can do it.”
I snort, opting to shift the subject. “What was your Initiation like?”
“Boring,” she exhales, reaching for another pin. “For other covens, it’s more of a formality. A simple test of the power you’ve inherited. The Disciple-born covens—the Dianic and Ajax—they take it a bit more seriously.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “Their roles are more important.”
“Than healing people?” I volley back, and Gemma shrugs again.
“Every coven is important. The hearths, diviners, floras…we all work together. We all need each other.” She steps back, admiring my hair, and then moves to lean against the bathroom counter beside me.
“It’s an honor to Split—to finally inherit your power—and to then be Initiated.
I know you’re scared, but you should also be excited. ”
I sigh, trying to roll the tension out of my shoulders, but nope, I’m still fucking nervous.
What if I fail? What if I slip up and expose myself? What if I’ve been parading around like I’m capable of being in this coven and I’m not? What if I’ve led myself to believe I deserve it, and I don’t?
“Speaking of boys…” Gemma drawls, rifling through the bag of makeup she brought over.
“We weren’t talking about boys, G.” And it’s not a conversation I’d like to start right now.
I take one of the glosses she sets onto the counter. There’s a gold shimmer to it that I don’t mind, considering everything else in her makeup bag has glitter in it. I twist off the cap and swipe the sweet-smelling cosmetic across my lips, feeling the weight of Gemma’s silence.
A quick glance in the mirror confirms that she is, in fact, staring impatiently back at me. “What?”
“Are you going to make me pull teeth? Cause I will.”
“Pull teeth about what?” I toss the lip gloss back in the bag.
Gemma’s stare falls flat. “Callan, you asshole.”
Traitorous color blooms over my cheeks, and I hate it. With a huff, I turn from the mirror and walk back into the bedroom. “What do you want to know?”
Gemma follows me into the room, plopping down at the end of the bed. “Do you love him?”
My heart drops, and I huff a laugh to cover any evidence of panic on my face. It suddenly feels way too hot in this room. “I don’t know, G.”
“You do,” she decides, ignoring my response entirely. “And he loves you too.”
There’s a flutter in my stomach, and now I know I’m blushing. “Shouldn’t that come from him, then?”
“Probably,” Gemma sighs. “But it’s true. The last time I saw Callan this…mad about something, he was sixteen and had just killed his first Rogue.” In the reflection of the mirror, I see her shiver.
“Mad?” I ask, turning to reach for the dress laid out beside her.
“Mad,” she confirms. “As in insane. Lost his mind a bit. It was all he could think about for a while—revenge. It was the only thing that made him feel better when nothing else could. And after he grew out of that, he was kind of numb for a while. He needed something to make him feel alive again.” She smiles up at me.
“Callan doesn’t do anything halfway. If he cares, he cares.
I’m just glad that you’re one of the things he cares for. ”
I look down at the soft, beaded material in my hands, trying to just accept the compliment instead of drowning in the guilt that follows.
I exhale, releasing all my reservations. “Me too.”
Gemma reaches out and squeezes my hand, then jumps off the bed to search for some shoes while I step carefully into what’s probably the nicest thing I’ve ever worn.
Selene got it for me, and I think I’ll let her pick out my clothes from now on.
The dress is made of a deep jade fabric that ripples like silk, tiny beads in the same hue woven across it in a pattern that reminds me of the sea.
Swirls and whirls of what look like thunderous waves trail over the front and up the bodice.
There are two straps over the shoulders, a straight neckline, and fabric that falls midway down my thigh.
The skirt moves like liquid, true to its resemblance to the sea.
It’s beautiful, but more importantly, I feel confident that I can run in it. My only gripe is that there’s nowhere to hide any weapons.
Gemma appears behind me, helping me get the zipper up, and when I turn back around, she’s holding out a pair of gold heels, her smile hopeful.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Lucina.”
“Absolutely not.”
I reach for a different pair of shoes, and she points an accusatory finger at the ones I’ve selected. “You can’t wear those boots with that dress.”
“G, I had to cross a wooden plank over a ravine and crawl through a muddy swamp in Albatross while being chased by two Boglen impersonators. I won’t be caught dead in heels.”
Wearing tennis shoes would be an insult to the dress, but the boots have outlasted many hours dancing at Selumira, and they are the most comfortable out of the acceptable options. Shoving socked feet into the boots, I force my heels to the bottom and stand.
Gemma has given up on the heels, the tall strappy things dangling at her side. Her other hand is propped on her hip, and there’s amusement in her eyes when I look back at her. “So, that’s why you’re wearing those shorts under that dress?”
“Yup.” I round the bed, pulling two daggers out of the nightstand drawer, and Gemma sighs when I slide one under the waistband of my shorts and the other into the side of my boot.
Once armored, I look around the room for something else to procrastinate with, ignoring the sinking of the sun outside the window.
Sensing my hesitation, Gemma grabs me by the shoulders, squeezing until she gets my attention. “You’re going to be fine. If boys can do it, you can do it,” she repeats, and I roll my eyes.
“They aren’t boys, Gemma. They’re—”
“If boys can do it, you can do it. Come on,” she gestures for me to repeat it back to her. “Say it.”
“Gemma.”
“Say. It.” She tilts her chin up, waiting patiently. “I won’t let you leave until you do.”
I take in all the air my lungs can hold, and then I exhale fully, trying not to laugh at the words that are about to come out of my mouth. “If boys can do it, I can do it.”
“Atta girl.” She winks, pleased enough with my declaration that she releases me and opens the bedroom door to the sound of voices filtering down the hallway. “Let’s go,” Gemma urges, and I follow her out before my legs can lock me in place.
Gods.
Pax and Hunter are in the kitchen, glasses clinking mid-cheers when Gemma and I enter. They’re both dressed in suits, black jackets over white button-downs, and black belts looped through their perfectly pressed slacks. They even went through the effort of brushing back their hair.
I cut off Pax’s low whistle at my appearance with a glare, nodding to the glasses they hold and the amber liquid inside. “Give me one of those, please.”
“Me too,” Gemma adds, and Hunter smirks as he reaches around to grab the decanter of whiskey off the counter.
He pours two generous servings, and I take the one that’s the fullest, knocking it back with everyone else.
It’s a soothing kind of burn compared to what’s churning through my blood—nerves, anxiety, and two different beasts with opposite desires.
Fighting them off would be senseless, but the alcohol at least takes the edge off.
“Nervous, Cin?” Pax taunts, his gaze falling to my white-knuckled grip on the counter.
“No,” I lie, pushing off the counter when Hunter and Gemma head towards the door. Pax walks with me, and Devon peels off the couch as we pass, his deep hazelnut skin making the white of his undershirt pop.
“Nerves are a good thing,” Pax tells me, holding the screen door open for me. “Means your blood is pumping.”
“Blood?” Nix whips his head up from where he’s leaned casually against the porch railing.
His auburn hair is spiked up, his lashes thick around his green and white eyes, and the scar cutting through his brow is somehow more menacing when paired with his black suit.
When his heterochromatic eyes fall on me, I instantly want to crawl out of my skin. “Your hair looks nice.”
The compliment catches me off guard, but I manage a polite smile. “Thanks.”
Phoenix nods, then begins digging through his pockets in search of something. When he finds what he’s looking for, his face lights up.
“Here,” he enthuses, darting his hand out to give me a…rose? The petals are crumpled from being in his suit pocket, but the ruby red of the flower is undeniable.
It’s…kind of sweet.
I reach out a hesitant hand to take it, but Pax slaps my fingers away.
“Chiaros, Nix,” Pax curses, squinting at the stem of the rose. “Where’d you get a rose with thorns that sharp? Are the Floras growing these?”
Nix laughs as if it were a stupid question. “No.” He holds the rose up to the light, and oh gods, the thorns. They jut out like thumb tacks.
I’m a little embarrassed that I didn’t notice.
“I sharpened them,” he confesses with a shrug.
My eyes bulge, and Pax exhales a defeated sigh.
Trying to interpret our reactions, Nix looks genuinely confused. “You’re not supposed to sharpen them?” he asks.
We both shake our heads.
“Oh.” I kind of hate the way the light on his face dims as he puts the rose back into his jacket. Then, as if an idea has struck him, Nix quickly turns to whoever is standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Easton, did you know—”
“Yes, Nix, you’re the only one in this world that would sharpen the thorns on a rose,” Easton grumbles back, both hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. His long, shoulder-length hair is pulled back into a neat bun, and he even trimmed up his beard.
Glancing over at the setting sun, Easton turns from the cabin. “Boss.”
I trail his gaze, finding Callan farther in the yard with his back to us. His hands are propped on his hips, and he’s in a stare-off with…Selene and Kimber?
“You. Can’t. Come,” I hear him grit out.
Selene glares back at him, mimicking his tone, “Why. Not?”
Kimber’s tugging on her arm, urging her to stand down—like that’s ever worked where Selene’s involved.
They’ve both dressed up too. Kimber is in a pale yellow dress with a white ribbon tying half her hair up in a bow, and Selene is in a deep navy pantsuit, her braided hair loose around her shoulders.
Gemma moves in beside them, the shimmer in her mint green dress bringing out the blue of her wide eyes.
“Because I said so,” Callan argues back.
“Boss,” Easton calls again, and when the Captain whirls around, it takes conscious effort to keep my mouth from hanging open.
His suit is all black and perfectly snug, tight across the shoulders and tight across the thighs.
The top button of his black undershirt is undone, revealing the silver chain of his medallion beneath, and my fingers itch to feel how warm it is.
His dark brown hair is styled and smooth, just the right kind of messy, and even the annoyed expression he pelts Easton with suits him.
“What?” he snaps, the tension in his shoulders sliding away when his eyes meet mine.
Callan’s entire demeanor shifts, his fight with Selene forgotten. My friends take the distraction, Gemma tugging Selene along with Kimber, quick to follow. I’d bet my favorite pair of boots they’re off to find a hiding spot at the Yard.
If Callan knows what they’re up to, he doesn’t let on, and he doesn’t seem to care.
At least not enough to take his eyes off me.