Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
GWENNA
After leaving Emrys’s classroom, my walk back to Camlann House is more like a trudge.
I don’t know what I expected.
I don’t know why I thought that Kingston would be anything different than the way he always is in class: aloof, distant, businesslike, uncompromising. And then he needs to kick me out so that he can do some golden boy power play with the professor.
I sigh and wrap my arms further around myself, buried in another cashmere sweater—bought and paid for by Kingston’s father, no less.
How did my life get so confusing? I think.
At least the campus is pretty today. The leaves are all but gone, but that only serves to highlight the castle-like architecture, with only a few black spidery branches to block them.
I pass Caliburn Memorial Chapel and look up at the front archway, thinking of how different things were when I burst through those doors my first day on campus.
How he had been there too—Kingston—and just about as warm and fuzzy as he is now after knowing him for weeks.
I know he has this vow, knows that fencing is his life, and school a very close second, but can he not have friends outside of the team?
Maybe not if they’re girls , I think.
Or maybe just not if they’re me.
A buzz against my leg snaps me back to reality. I fumble in my pocket and pull out my phone, only for my heart to plunge into my stomach when I see who’s calling.
Mom.
Who else? I think. Who else even cares enough to be in contact?
I chew my lip and slow my steps. I think about hitting the reject call button, about how I could tell her I was in class, or studying—deep on the B level where there’s no cell reception—but that would only be a temporary reprieve.
And if she’s concerned enough to call in the middle of her workday, it’s probably something I don’t want to let linger.
I suck in a breath, swipe the screen, and lift the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Why did the housing office say you no longer live in your dorm? And you missed your last two sessions with Dr. Riggs? What on earth is going on, Gwenna?”
My pulse spikes. Panic, bright and sharp as broken glass, cuts into me, but I resist. Instead, I clamp my mouth shut and try to marshal some words, unsure of where to start.
“Mom, hang on, slow down,” I say. “It’s fine, everything’s fine.”
“Is it?” she says, her voice quick and pointed as a poison dart. “I saw that your room and board payments were paused, so I called campus. And they informed me that there was smoke damage in your room?”
Shit , I think. They had to be that specific about it.
“I don’t like this, Gwenna,” she says. “I don’t like it at all.”
“I…Mom. Mom! I’m fine.” It’s all I can think to repeat. I sc ramble for an explanation. “It was just…it was my stupid roommate. She loves these scented candles and knocked one over. It caught on one of her scarves and the whole thing…”
I trail off, my breath baited, hoping that my semi-reasonable, semi-finished explanation will be enough to satisfy her.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. I stop walking completely.
“Mom,” I say softly, “are you there?”
“I’m here,” she says, sounding irritated. Then, after another long moment. “You should have asked for a single.”
I roll my eyes to the sky. Well, if that’s all she has to say about it.
“Where are you living now?” she bores on. “Shouldn’t I be paying for something?”
“I…” Fuck. I didn’t think this far into my lie. Maybe there’s some version of the truth that will work.
“I’m rooming with the fencing team,” I say. “As their equipment manager.” Where that came from, I have no idea—so far as I know, the team has no manager. “They have an extra room so that I can stay nearby and keep on top of things, and I got really into the sport, so…”
“The fencing team ?”
Her tone is utterly incredulous. And I can’t say I blame her: a tipped-over candle is one thing. A sport I’d barely even heard of before coming to Caliburn is another. The skepticism is merited.
“I know, it’s really random,” I say, switching my phone to my other ear so I can shift my bag and walk faster. “But my roommate’s stepbrother is on the squad, and?—”
“Your roommate?” my mom echoes. “The same one who almost burned down your dorm?”
I wince. “She’s…nice,” I hedge, “just a little scatterbrained.” Sorry, Morgan , I think silently, for throwing you under the bus. Not like my mom would have liked you anyway. “It’s all been a little hectic, so…”
“So you missed your appointments,” my mom finishes for me.
I don’t say anything. Let her fill the silence. The one interrogation technique I picked up from having two lawyers for parents.
At last, she sighs.
“I’m glad you found something that interests you,” she says, almost mechanically.
And I hear the subtext loud and clear. Something that isn’t a dead language or religion adjacent.
Something normal.
Ironic, isn’t it, that my life is maybe the least normal it’s ever been.
“When’s the next fencing match?”
I’m not stupid. She’s testing me. She wants to make sure that my story is airtight.
“It’s Friday,” I say. “A big rivalry, actually. Should be exciting. I’ll take pictures,” I add, as a cherry on top.
“That’s great,” she says, with the flattest possible tone of voice for someone who thinks something is great.
“I’ll look forward to seeing them.” In the background, an indistinct voice calls for her, and she calls back an answer, her palm audibly pressed over the phone.
“I need to take this, Gwenna. Take care now.”
The call disconnects, and I realize I’m breathing hard. My skin crawls as I slide the phone back into my pocket, too exposed. Too visible.
The twin sensations of guilt and terror coil around each other in my stomach. I hate how easily she can shake me, hate how easily she can zero in on everything I’m unsure about, or still figuring out, or simply okay with not knowing right now.
My steps quicken, and then I break into a near run, my boots echoing against the bricks and flagstones, not caring if anyone notices or stares. How much worse could they think of me now, anyway?
I pound up the steps to Camlann House, desperate for the calm and hush that I know is in there.
Heart still pounding, I get to the top of the step, throw on the front door, and rush into the foyer. There, I freeze, breathing hard, letting my thoughts and blood pressure catch up with me, when I hear it.
No—him.
At first, I think it’s a groan of pain, like someone’s hurt.
But then the sound comes again, and my body seems to realize what it is before my brain.
Because my skin prickles. My lips part. Heat floods my entire body.
“Unh.”
Because it’s not pain.
It’s a…moan.
Low. Male.
Wanting.
I freeze, stock still, a fawn on a highway. Listening intently, whether I want to or not.
There’s a…rustling sound. Like fabric, or clothing. And then another human one.
A growl. Deep and guttural.
Oh. Oh my God.
My pulse races even as my rational mind kicks in.
No, my brain chides me. There’s no way. It can’t be…that .
And there is no way, right? These guys have…a vow. A whole thing.
They don’t…do that.
Right?
As I stand frozen, the growls turn to words. Thick and choked, breathing heavy .
“Yeah. Yeah . That’s it…”
I shouldn’t be listening. But I am. I can’t help it. More heat is flooding my body, pooling in my belly and lower, deeper, and I’m powerless to stop my gaze from drifting to where I now realize it’s coming from.
The left, to the living room.
And—oh God.
Two bodies. Pressed close, tangled together. Mouths fused, hands skimming, kissing , desperate and intense.
Lanz and Callahan.
Stunned, I step back, trying to get back, slip out as quietly as I came, when my bag hits the floor with a thud.
And then I’m exposed.
Lanz, on top, swivels to me first, his bright eyes blown wide.
“Oh,” he says, “Gwenna.”
He lifts back, his shirt half-buttoned, sweeping a hand through his hair, visibly frazzled, trying to stammer what must be an explanation, while Callahan sits up: his face blank, his jaw tight, his eyes anywhere but meeting mine.
A chill follows the heat under my skin as the full realization of what I’ve witnessed takes over me.
“I didn’t…I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I’m sorry. I—you?—”
I don’t know if I’m addressing Lanz or Callahan or both of them, but it’s Lanz who speaks first.
“You’re…back from class early.” He looks at me, desperate, almost frantic, but then, more intently, at Callahan.
Like he’s checking that he’s okay.
“I’m…”
Lanz gulps in a breath, sits back on his heels a little, his posture awkward enough to make me realize oh my God, he’s hard. .
Jesus. Of course he is, Gwenna. They’re…this is…
“They don’t know.”
Callahan. Simple, strong. Yet his eyes on me aren’t angry .
Only…soft. Neutral, at worst.
Almost…pleading.
I lick my lips.
“I won’t tell,” I say quickly. “No way. Why would I tell?”
“No one’s saying you would,” Lanz says, equally quickly. “No one’s accusing you of…”
Callahan pushes up a little more, and I can see now down his own collar, where a few rough red bruises pepper the strong column of his throat.
My mouth goes drier still, and a twist of…something stirs inside me.
“Well, um…” I scramble for a way to end the conversation elegantly. “I’m actually—I was just going to get some air. Actually.”
I pick up my bag, wave at them for some freaking reason, and head right back out the door, face burning and mind’s eye blazing with the memory of what I just saw.
Lanz’s teeth on Callahan’s neck…
Callahan’s head tipped back, mouth open, eyes closed…
“Wait,” comes Lanz’s voice. “Gwenna?—”
“Let her go.”
I hit the walkway and immediately hang a right, walking away from the quads, away from campus, no idea where I’m going beyond the fact that I’m going there quickly.
And as I go, despite everything—the sheer awkwardness, the implications that are still clicking together in my mind like Lego pieces—the overriding takeaway for me is…
I liked that.
And that might be more confusing than anything.