Page 38 of Twisted Bonds
Without another word, I turn on my heels. I hear her call after me, and I mumble something about finding a bath first. Anger seethes through me as I stomp away, but not at her. At myself. Why did I even come up here? Clearly, I’m disappointed with how it went, so that means I must have had an expectation of how it would go.
Expectations, desires, wants…
Those are the roots of all evil, not Chroma or money or privilege.
If I didn’t want something, I wouldn’t be disappointed.
What could I even want from her?
seventeen
Mira
As time passes, neither Shard finds their way back to my rooms. The afternoon sun sets a buttery glow dancing off the white marble floors of my sitting room. A sitting room. I almost laugh to myself at the idea. Here I am trapped in a villain’s secret lair deep in a mountain range like the fucking fortress of solitude propped up in a chaise lounge in my sitting room. My life just keeps getting more and more bizarre.
I wonder what Lisa would say about this, and my heart aches just a little at the thought. I miss my best friend. I’d give anything to have her here with me right now. She can make any situation seem light and easy.
I let out a heavy sigh as I brace myself to stand up. My leg is better than yesterday already, so hopefully in a few days it won’t hurt to walk anymore. If Sunder were here, he’d make me walk on it to get stronger or at least to practice enduring the discomfort because you never know when you’re going to need to run or fight.
The growl of his voice in my head brings a sad smile to my lips as I make my way to the empty corridor beyond my rooms. I need to find Callum and talk about earlier. I just want to make sure he’s okay. He’s probably back down in the dungeons though, and the idea of walking that many stairs with this pain running the length of my leg is not appealing. But it’s not like Tairyn would deliver a note for me or anything. Besides, I don’t think I want them talking to each other more than they already do.
The tension and anger between them are palpable. For good reason, I know.
Two flights of spiraling, medieval style steps and long halls later, I’m leaning against the stone wall trying to take some weight off my injured leg for a moment.
There’s no way I’m going to make it all the way down to the dungeons. This was stupid. I turn around and hope the throbbing will go away after I get back to my room and sit for a while. With each step, the pain becomes sharper, radiating from my knee into my hip and thigh. I take a sharp intake of breath as my foot lands at an odd angle, stumbling over the uneven stone floor, just as two hands grasp my arm to steady me.
I gasp in surprise as Callum emerges from an open doorway, a towel slung low around his hips and the perfect V of his muscles pointing to what I’d like to see next. His lean body glistens with drops of water, and he shakes his wet blonde hair to clear it from his eyes. My heart stutters like I just walked into a men’s body wash commercial.
Freshly shaven, the scar running down his cheek is more visible now, puckered and angry pink. The slash runs from his cheek down to his chest and curves across his shoulder. I blink a few times, a bit stunned by his appearance. I barely miss the Chroma that should flow between us.
Damn shield.
“What are you doing down here?” He asks, almost chiding me like a misbehaving child. “You should be resting.”
I yank my arms from his grip, feeling ashamed of myself for leering at him like a piece of meat. “I’m fine,” I lie. Averting my eyes, I continue my pathetic little limp down the hall, but Callum falls in step beside me. His hands hover beside me like a parent behind their toddling baby.
“Just let me help you.”
His voice is frustrated and soft. I take another step, wincing at the shooting pain racing down my entire leg. I’ve clearly overworked the still-healing limb. My teeth clench with the deep determination to refuse assistance. Why am I like this? I’m just so stubborn that I won’t admit that I need help?
It unsettles something deep inside of me. It’s not pride or ego, I know. The opposite, if I’m honest with myself. I flash back to times when good people offered me help when I truly needed it, and I still told them no thank you and insisted on struggling alone. From big gestures like offering to help me move and even small things like ‘can I help you carry that?’, I’ve always declined.
Despite the genuine offers, I think a part of me believed I don’t deserve their help. I don’t want to be an inconvenience to anyone else. I’m not worthy of their trouble.
I’m nothing.
I swallow the lump in my throat at the revelation, and my desire to refuse slowly unravels. I blink back a tear and turn to Callum, meeting his soft gaze that seems to analyze every inch of my being, every subtle movement of the lines I know etch my face.
In the back of my mind, my old mantra flows through me. And for the first time, I realize I’m finally starting to believe it. He doesn’t see me as a nuisance. He wants to help me because I’m a person who is in pain, and he wants to ease my burden. I am worthy of his time.
I nod at him, and wordlessly he scoops one arm beneath my knees, taking care to be gentle with my leg. His other arm slips around my back, and he pulls me close to his chest. I’m lifted from the ground. Water droplets fall from his hair onto the exposed skin of my arms, feeling like soothing rain on a warm day. The surprise at how easy it feels to just let him, a virtual stranger, take care of me makes me laugh softly.
“What’s so funny?” Callum asks, his voice vibrating against my ear as the damp skin of his body warms me through. When I don’t answer, he doesn’t press me for one. I study him up close for the first time as he carries me through the eerie quiet. Despite only knowing him for a very short time, there’s a familiarity to him I find so comforting. I feel like I know him.
His face in this proximity is a sweet torture. Every feature stands out in sharp relief, the dark shadows etched beneath his electric blue eyes, the faint lines that crease at the corners and tell of sleepless nights.
My fingers reach up to touch the scar on his cheek, but he flinches away, a flicker of something painful flashing in those mesmerizing eyes. I retract my hand quickly, feeling a pang of regret for overstepping the boundary.