by Ann Aguirre
Callum trudged out into the courtyard, long after the rest of the squad headed to the bathhouse. He had no idea how long it had been since breakfast, and he was fucking starved, but before he ate a single morsel, he needed to visit the families who didn’t know yet that their children weren’t coming home.
As he stood, trying to figure out if he should visit the morgue first or ask Jere to help him make an address list, Joss bounded out of the shops nearby, arms wrapped around a package that bulged with yarn of all things. And her expression was just so gleeful that an answering smile tugged at the edges of his mouth.
Callum knew the moment she spotted him because her arms loosened on the bag, and she took two steps, like she was about to drop everything and run to him. He’d never seen such naked joy in anybody’s face before. Fucking never. Her gaze skimmed him from head to toe, seeking reassurance that he was whole. And he felt it, like she was touching him everywhere. His skin prickled to life, and the sensation was so strong that he could barely breathe.
Then she took a breath. Checked herself and mastered her expression. When she came to him, it was in sedate steps. Part of him wished that she could’ve just run, hugged him hard if she wanted to that much. Because it felt fucking incredible to know that she was so happy to see him.
When he’d done nothing to deserve it.
“You’re okay,” she whispered, like his physical well-being was a secret they were keeping. Together.
His heart galloped in his chest, breathing her in discreetly, little gulps of raspberry and lemon that he shouldn’t be noticing. Not when he smelled of death. Of blood. Of heartbreak.
“More or less.”
She leaned in. “Injured. How bad?”
“I’ll heal. If you need anything, it’ll have to keep. I have…something important to do.” The pause revealed more than he wished about the grim nature of the task.
“Let me help you,” she offered at once.
“It looks like you’re busy.” And what could she do anyway? But he wasn’t precisely eager to pass on bad news alone when his social skills were so rusty.
“Not at all. Give me five minutes to drop this stuff off, then I’ll accompany you.”
“You’re not even asking what I have to do?”
She shook her head quickly, burnished curls tumbling in the motion. Callum imagined that her hair would be soft, maybe even softer than her hand. The one he’d barely touched.
“Fine. Meet me outside the security office. You know where that is?”
“I’ll find it.”
Without consciously deciding, he headed to consult with Jere, who wrote down who he needed to visit. If the families wanted Callum to go to the morgue with them after they heard the bad news, he’d hold on somehow. Loss and anger warred in his head, leaving accusations in the wreckage. Only the fact that Joss was coming back kept him calm, and hell if he knew why, but her friendship was like an umbilical that let him breathe while the water rose over his head.
“Ready,” she said, pulling him from particularly dire thoughts.
“I have to tell the bereaved families about the soldiers we lost. Still want to help?”
“Oh. Want is the wrong word,” she said softly. “But I’m here for you. And them. Would it be okay if I sang a hymn with them in honor of the fallen?”
That…it was beautiful. Perfect. Exactly the sort of thing he never would have thought of his own. Kindness cost nothing, but he hadn’t learned that virtue in the order. Saint Casimir hadn’t been a tender soul, and he didn’t preach about helping others, just about not hurting them.
“Thank you,” he said then.
“For what?”
He cleared his threat, struggling to get the words out past the tightening emotions. Relief. Longing. Other feelings he refused to scrutinize. “Being my friend. Hell if I know why you want to, kit, but… it means a lot to me.”
Dammit. I used the nickname that I’ve only ever said in my head.
Her eyes went liquid, shining as if he’d given her a box full of precious gems. The warmth of that look glided over him, tangible as a caress. He fought the rush of purely physical response.
“You’re welcome, truly. Hey, what’s your favorite color?” Judging from her expression, she had a reason for asking.
He wondered what it was. “Why?”
“Just tell me.”
“Green,” he said. It always had been, but her eyes… “Definitely.”
8.
This is the second hardest thing I’ve ever done, Joss thought.
The first was identifying Leon Bristow’s body and trying to comfort her mother afterward. It was good that she had volunteered to go with Callum because his manner as he informed each family was too calm, cool and remote, and their shock might have given way to anger over his apparent indifference if Joss hadn’t stepped forward, held each of their hands, and then led them in the most beautiful rendition of “Carry Them Home” she could muster. Some of the family members sang along; others held each other and cried. Now they stood outside the final door. One more time, and they would be done with this heartbreaking task.
Callum, frankly, didn’t look good. More than the pallor beneath his normal tawny-hued skin, she thought she saw his hands trembling before he shoved them into the pockets of his brown jacket. Joss knocked before he could, deciding to bear the burden for this final call.
A woman of indeterminate age opened the door, and Joss already hated what she was about to say. It was clear that she recognized Callum, because her expression clouded over as she stepped back to invite them in.
Without preamble, Callum said, “I regret to inform you that your daughter, Eloise, didn’t make it. She died a hero defending Burnt Amber from the Gols. I’m sorry for your loss.”
The woman’s knees gave out and she dropped to the floor, sobs bursting forth with a heartbroken intensity. Joss gestured above the woman’s head and Callum moved as if his bones were filled with lead, but he did bend to awkwardly pat the woman’s shoulder. When she rose up and latched onto him, sobbing into his broad chest, he stared at Joss in horror. She pantomimed a hug.
If the order didn’t understand him offering a grieving woman comfort, then they could go to hell. Slowly, he knelt and cradled Eloise’s mother, patting her back with big hands.
Wish he had been there when my dad died.
She turned away to give them privacy, studying the pictures on the wall. All the photos showed two people, first a woman and child, then two women. Damn. I think Eloise was all she had.
“I didn’t want her to join the security team, even as an alternate. I knew, I just knew…” Tears stole the rest of her words. The woman cried in Callum’s arms for a long time.
Joss busied herself making tea and when the woman calmed enough, she served a cup and helped her to a chair. “Would you like me to sing in her honor?”
“That… I’d like that.”
Closing her eyes, she let the emotions of the hymn fill her soul before the first notes left her mouth. This time, the grieving mother didn’t cry aloud; she didn’t sing either. The tears slipped down her cheeks silently as Joss implored the goddess to carry such a precious soul home.
When she finished, she said, “Do you have anyone who can stay with you? Just let us know and we’ll have them come over.”
The woman stood. “That’s kind of you, but I’ll go to my friend’s house after I pack a few things.”
Callum bowed deeply, both hands folded. It must be something he’d learned in the order because Joss didn’t recognize the gesture. The woman seemed pleased by the respect inherent in the display, though. She walked them out and as soon as the door closed, Callum stumbled, one hand braced on the wall.
Joss ran to him and put a hand on his forehead. Fever-hot. This close, she could see that he was shaking all over, sickness or exhaustion, possibly both. “How long has it been since you had anything to eat?”
He didn’t even bat her hands away; that was how shitty h
e must be feeling. “I’m not sure. This morning, I think.”
She noted that he wasn’t sure. “Let’s get you home. I’ll grab some food from the cafeteria after I get you settled.”
“You don’t have to—”
“This is literally what friends do,” she said. “Now stop arguing. If you pass out, I won’t be able to manage on my own, and I’m sure you don’t want the rest of Burnt Amber to know that you’re not absolutely impervious to all weakness.”
“Shut up.”
When he stepped away from the wall and let her shoulder some of his weight, she got scared. She could feel the tremors wracking his big body, and it took all her considerable strength to get him back to their building. The stairs nearly defeated them both, but resting regularly got them all the way up. Finally, Joss helped him into bed.
“Don’t move,” she warned. “Don’t go to sleep yet either. You have to eat something first. I’ll hurry.”
Joss bolted from the room, and she ran all the way to the caf, quickly assessing the options. Chicken soup seemed like the safest, so she got a takeaway container of that, along with some fruit she could slice for him. There were a few people who acted like they might start a conversation, and she pretended not to see them as she waited for the clerk to charge the total to Callum’s account. Once the food was bagged up, she ran out like she was being chased.
“In a hurry?” someone called. “Too bad, I wanted to chat, pretty cat.”
That sounded like Garven, but she didn’t turn to confirm. The errand took less than ten minutes, but she was still worried when she got back to Callum’s room. She’d left the door unlocked, but she bolted it behind her. There was nothing scandalous going on, but he wouldn’t want anyone else to see him this way.
Callum was still in bed, not asleep but groggy, when she went into his bedroom. Joss helped him prop up on the pillows and he took the container of soup with shaky hands. He shoveled the food in with grim determination, and to her, it seemed like he wasn’t even hungry, but he knew his body needed food, especially after a day of battling in bear form.
As he ate, she cut up the apples and passed the fruit to him, slice by slice. He devoured that in silence too. When everything was gone, he quietly said, “Thanks.”
“I’ll make you a drink,” she said.
Probably not tea, but some herbal hot drink would help. He didn’t argue, but when she came back in ten minutes, he was already asleep. Joss pulled the covers up and wished she had the right to smooth the tousled hair from his forehead.
With an aching heart, she gazed down at him and finally pulled herself away with slow, reluctant steps. In the other room, she checked the time. No chance for rehearsal now. But she could wait a little while here to make sure he didn’t need anything before she had to get ready for her first show.
Joss tidied up the remnants of the meal and went back into Callum’s room to drop off the tisane she’d brewed. He’d kicked off his covers, his skin glistening with sweat.
I didn’t imagine the fever.
There was no question that she’d leave him this way. If she hurried her makeup, she could stay for half an hour more. Joss filled a bowl with cool water in the half bath, got a cloth, and went back to tend him.
There’s nothing wrong about me doing this. And even if there was, she wasn’t leaving him alone and miserable.
She tried to keep her touch impersonal as she smoothed away the sweat from his face and arms. The coolness seemed to soothe him and he stopped scowling and struggling. Wish I could touch him. But the cloth formed a necessary barrier to learning the lines of his body, something that would certainly cross the boundaries they’d set.
When he seemed calmer and more comfortable, she pulled the sheet back over him. “I have to go now. I’ll come back after the show to check on you.”
For an endless moment, she feasted on him visually. Even sick and incoherent, he was beautiful, soft lashes against strong cheeks. There was something impossibly moving about a strong man in need of care.
Joss reached out, wanting to touch him so badly that her hand shook, but just before her fingers met his hair, she pulled back. He trusts me. I can’t.
Quietly, she went to play her role for the rest of the troops, a silly cat who was born to sing.
Callum had no idea what time it was, but his room was dark. He didn’t entirely remember coming to bed, but his memory gave him patchy glimmers of Joss, passing him apple slices, gently wiping at his face with a cool cloth. Did that really happen?
His head swam as he sat up, and he realized at once that he wasn’t alone. Joss was asleep in the chair next to his bed with a bowl of water on the floor beside her. There was a damp towel in her hand, so she must have dozed off while ministering to him.
Of all things, he got pissed that he’d missed her first show. He should be angry at finding her in his room, too much intimacy in waking up next to someone, even if they didn’t share the bed. But he couldn’t muster even a smidgen of indignation over receiving her care.
The fever seemed to have broken, leaving him a little weak, but nothing food and sleep wouldn’t cure. He couldn’t imagine how he would’ve coped without her, a humbling realization.
The moonlight was good to her, making her look like a perfectly carved statue. Daylight didn’t do her justice, as if hers was a secret nocturnal beauty—that of pure lines and deep shadows. He could have stared at her for hours, freed from the need to pretend that he didn’t burn because she existed. Except her eyes opened, and she was gazing back at him. Catching him in that moment of naked longing.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked.
His heart twisted. Why did she care so much? He had done nothing to merit her regard, but he was starting to crave it. This was like watching the earth he’d built a house on slowly crumble away while knowing there was nothing he could do to shore up that diminishing foundation.
Sooner or later, I’m going to fall.
Callum hardly knew if that prospect filled him with exultation or dread.
“I’m fine,” he said, scarcely recognizing his own voice.
Perhaps she’d take that deep huskiness as a relic of his illness when he knew that the rasp came from finding Joss in his bedroom in the middle of the night. There was a limit to how much provocation he could resist. Part of him didn’t even want to fight the pull. Falling could be fun; it was the crash at the bottom that hurt.
She frowned, evidently not sensing how much danger she was in. Her words were stern. “Hardly. You spend all your time and energy looking out for others. It’s no wonder you got sick.”
“You’re scolding me?”
Why is it so adorable when she yells at me? Callum wouldn’t put up with this from anyone else, but he could’ve listened to Joss chastise him for hours. Maybe it’s her voice. Even when she was annoyed, it was still golden and musical, lilting the litany of complaints she had regarding his lack of self-care.
“You’re not even listening!” she accused.
“To your words? Not really, kit.”
Suddenly, ridiculously, he felt like laughing. Everything was terrible, untenable, maybe even unsolvable, but his spirit lightened as if she’d filled it with some anesthetic that made him want to laugh.
“I’m not a kit.”
“Trust me,” Callum said. “I’m well aware.”
“Then why do you call me that?”
Callum smirked. “I wonder.”
He wasn’t about to tell her that it was more of an endearment, one he couldn’t control, even when he was irritated with her. Those moments came less and less these days. He had no handle on his emotions any longer, and with his heart in turmoil, his body followed. Callum ached for her with an intensity that only grew with every consideration she showed, every kindness she offered.
Is it truly this easy to make me forsake my vows? The worst part, she wasn’t even trying. She wanted to be his bloody friend. Even when he had been mostly insensate, she’d been car
eful about how and where she touched him.
She stood with an adorable huff. “Never mind. Do you think you can tolerate the covers now?” Without waiting for a response, she tugged the blanket up from where it was folded at the foot of the bed, gently tucking it around his body, and the gentle scrape of her fingers along his sides, even through multiple layers of fabric created a powerful rush. His skin tingled.
For the first time since he’d joined the order, his cock hardened for someone else, urgent and riotous. He’d had erections, of course, but they were easy to ignore.
This one, not so much, mostly because Joss was so close, smoothing the covers and smelling of raspberries. He’d never thought that was a particularly seductive scent until this moment.
Callum fisted his hands in the covers to keep from reaching for her. “It’s late. You should go.”
Before it’s too late.
The strain must have communicated itself to her, but she read it the wrong way. Worry dropped her to her knees beside the bed, and she pressed her cool palm to his forehead. “You’re feeling worse?”
He swallowed a groan as he imagined her soft hand sweeping down his body. I wonder how she tastes. He wanted to find out, and he absolutely shouldn’t let her stay a moment longer.
Through clenched teeth, he got out, “I’m a monk, not a statue. Think about the situation, will you?”
Inhaling through her nose, she scrambled backward. But she didn’t retreat entirely. Joss had Animari senses just as he did, and Callum pulled the covers across his face, aware that she must be breathing in his pheromones, proof of his arousal. Sometimes their shared skillset was fucking inconvenient.
“Oh,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know you weren’t. This is my fault. You were…being a good friend.” Not that he had much experience with those either.
She breathed in. Out. And it played hell with his head because he understood exactly what she was experiencing. Only as he did the same, his whole body went hot with what he was tasting, the spiced brightness of her response. She was two meters away and she wanted him.
