by Sadie Moss
I’ve barely laid a hand on him before he shrugs me off, his eyes flying open as he grunts, “I don’t need your help.”
“Clearly, you do,” I retort, refusing to back down. Of course he would act like an ass when all I want to do is help him. Would it kill the man to let someone look after him for once? “Most people are thankful when a friend wants to help.”
“Most people need help,” Callum mutters, his jaw set in a hard line. “I do not.”
“Let me see your injury.”
He attempts to sidestep my grasp, but I’m quick and small. I dart in and drag his hands away from his torso. The fabric of his shirt has been burned away over his side, the edges singed as if he’s come too close to a fire. The skin visible beneath the cotton is a mess of raw, painful burns, and the shirt is fused with the edges of his wound.
I hiss out a breath at the sight, my stomach clenching.
“How did this happen?” I demand, horrified.
Callum shoves my hands away again, then takes a few steps back. “I’m fine,” he says, but before the final word is past his lips he doubles over once more, breathing deeply through what must feel like absolute agony.
Echo and Paris stand behind me, watching us in silence. Unlike me, they’ve obviously long since come to terms with not fighting Callum when he gets in a mood, which is infuriating. But Echo says, “Looks like weave burn.”
“He got blasted by magic,” Paris agrees.
Callum’s glare moves from me to his brothers. “I thought I told you both to shut up.”
“Burns aren’t something to ignore, you oaf,” I say firmly as I move forward to join him again. I take his arm and try to push him to the ground. “They’re a breeding ground for infection. Sit. Let me help.”
I can see on his face that he wants to argue with me, but I glare at him until he finally sinks down to the hard-packed dirt. I’m not sure if he’s actually obeying my command, or if the pain has turned him lightheaded and given him a strong need to sit down. The latter is more likely, given how farsing stubborn this man is. Kneeling beside him, I press my hand against his chest until he lies back with a grimace, then I lean over the wound for a better look.
“I need to get your shirt out of the wound. It’s going to hurt,” I tell him. “Unless we can use magic to do it?”
“No magic.” Callum’s normal blank-but-somehow-still-angry expression has settled back into its usual place. He stares straight up into the sky overhead as if the air and clouds have wronged him somehow.
“Why are you so angry?” I ask. “I just want to help.”
“We’re in the Unclaimed Expanse. Our magic is limited here.”
Regardless of the fact that he hasn’t actually answered my question, I’m distracted by what he did say. I glance around at our surroundings, but nothing looks familiar—although that’s unsurprising, given the way the landscape in this wild place constantly shifts.
We’re sitting on a barren patch of dirt that’s the same rust color I’ve come to associate with certain terrains in the Unclaimed Expanse, though a line of dark, thick trees sits on the horizon like a shadow beneath the mid-day sun. There are few living plants in our immediate surroundings, but there might be some in that forested area.
“Are we safe here?” My gaze shifts to the three men. “From pursuit?”
“As safe as we can be.” Callum shifts uncomfortably on the ground, grimacing when his shirt tugs at the raw skin of his burns. “But that’s neither here nor there. The fact remains you can’t heal my wound. The weave is too hard to control in the Expanse.”
I grit my teeth in irritation at his stubbornness. Perhaps if his two brothers and I all worked together, we could do something for his wounds, but I’m not sure Callum would allow us to try. Using the weave is taxing, and after what they all just did back at the palace, they must be exhausted. I’m sure he’d tell them to save their strength in case we need to fight again.
Still, that doesn’t mean I’m powerless to help him.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I face off with the big warrior.
“I don’t need magic to heal you. I’m perfectly capable of cleaning and bandaging wounds the mundane way.” Because I know Callum isn’t going to be helpful in the least, I turn to address Paris and Echo. “Do you think it’s likely that there are plants in that forest?”
Echo looks taken aback, but he glances over his shoulder at the trees nearby. “I don’t see why not. As long as the landscape doesn’t shift and turn into a desert, I imagine there will be plenty of undergrowth in there.”
“Good. I need you both to go track down some herbs for me—and quickly, just in case it does shift. I don’t know if they’ll exist in this realm, but I’m willing to try if you are.”
“Whatever you need,” Echo replies, and beside him, Paris nods his agreement. They both bear small marks of the fight, bruises and scrapes that leak blood, but neither are as badly injured as Callum.
Guilt roils in my chest as I realize that out of the four of us, I emerged from our escape the most unscathed. At every possible opportunity, the messengers put themselves between danger and me, bearing the brunt of the attack from the guards.
But my shame over not contributing more to the fight only strengthens my resolve to do everything I can to help now. Whether Callum wants it or not.
I stand and confer with both men in a low voice, describing a handful of herbs that could work for what I need. Any combination will do, as long as the remedies my mother taught me in life will even work in this realm.
They assure me they’ve got a firm visual of what they’re looking for, then I see them off toward the forest.
“Quickly!” I call after them, trying not to let worry infect my voice.
“Herbs?” Callum asks, as if I’m a fool playing around in the dirt.
“Yes, herbs.” I glare at him, settling back by his side and bracing a hand on his chest when he attempts to rise again. “A poultice that will help soothe your burns and hopefully keep infection at bay until we’re better equipped to heal you.”
He falls silent as I begin to gently work on the ruined fabric around his wounds—likely because it’s painful and slow going removing the fabric from the raw burns. Each torn and singed strand tugs at the burn, and several of them rip skin away entirely so that fresh red blood wells at the site. He remains stone-faced the whole time, but even a man as stoic and strong as Callum can’t completely hide his discomfort.
“You need to breathe,” I say gently as another edge of fabric tears viciously away from the burn. “You’ll faint.”
“I don’t faint.”
I roll my eyes and internally question if arguing with him is truly worth it. No one else I’ve ever known has the power to get under my skin the way Callum does. His sullenness and silence are counterbalanced by moments of gentleness and sweetness that keep me constantly off-balance, never quite sure of my footing around him.
Keeping my focus on that task at hand, I move as quickly and delicately as I can, making sure to not hold my own breath as I feel Callum’s body tense under my fingertips. Once his shirt is clear of the burns, I work on cleaning it with water from my canteen, thankful my satchel survived the nightmare of fleeing the palace.
I’m immersed in my work when the broad-shouldered warrior suddenly grabs my chin and lifts my face.
His hand is immovable, holding me so that we’re looking straight at one another. I freeze, a strip of cloth in one hand and the canteen in the other, as he looks at me intently. His gaze is unreadable, though I can feel emotions stirring in him through the connection he has to my soul. I recognize anger, though that’s hardly any different than usual with this fierce, brooding messenger.
But under the anger is a current of confusion, which is most definitely a new sensation coming from Callum. He’s the most self-assured of all three of my messengers; not in the way Paris is about his looks or the way Echo is with his easygoing humor, but in the way Callum always has ever
ything under control, always has a plan and a clear idea of his own direction.
His emotions don’t feel under control right now.
Beyond the anger and confusion, there’s a third feeling, something that makes my heart beat faster. This emotion doesn’t feel normal coming from Callum, but it’s the strongest of the three, and it sends a ribbon of desire unfurling inside me.
“What you did today was foolish,” he finally says, releasing my chin and letting his head fall back against the ground, breaking eye contact. “You shouldn’t have put yourself at risk for us. You are never to do that again. Understood?”
I can still feel his fingers cutting into my chin. I should be angry at his cold, callous grip and dismissive instruction. The man is always so gruff and demanding that sometimes I want to strangle him. Instead, I’ve joined him in a confused mix of anger and need, and the emotions are enough to keep me somewhat level-headed. “You and your brothers risked yourselves for me. I returned the favor.”
“We didn’t need your favor!” Callum snaps. He moves fast as a striking snake, sitting up to loom over me. A muscle in his jaw ticks, and the veins in his neck stand out like corded lines as his raw, burned skin stretches with the movement.
“You shouldn’t have moved so fast!” I snap back, putting both hands on his chest to push him back to the ground. “You’re going to rip your wounds open again. Do you want to hurt even more?”
He doesn’t sit up again, but I can feel his heart thudding hard against my palms. Reaching up, he catches both my hands in his. “No. I don’t. Which is why I need you to listen to me and stay out of messenger business.”
I know he’s probably just trying to stop me from pushing him around, but the feel of his hands enclosing mine sends a flurry of butterflies flapping around in my stomach. I scoff and try to yank my hands away from him, but his grip is solid as rock. “Your business is my business. You have a piece of my soul. Or did you forget?”
Something shifts in his moss-green eyes. The pupils dilate as the irises themselves seem to darken, as if a storm is brewing inside his very soul.
Without warning, he jerks me closer, breaking the line of my arms so that my upper body drapes over his and our faces are only a breath apart. “I can never forget, no matter how hard I try.”
His voice is low, ragged, and brutally raw.
Then his lips are on mine.
I melt into him, submitting to his kiss and the rush of heat between us. This feels different than any of our previous kisses—hot and fierce, full of a painful, fueled by a kind of desperate need that I barely recognize coming from this man.
But I don’t question it.
I’m done questioning everything when it comes to the feelings that hover between us.
Cognizant of his wounds, I wrap my arms around him and lose myself in the softness of his lips and the hardness of his body, both of which are driving me mindless with desire. Callum, on the other hand, has fully forgotten his wounds as he slides an arm around me and tugs me onto his lap as he sits up, his other hand spreading my legs so that I’m straddling his muscular thighs.
Shock ripples through me as I settle against evidence of his desire, only our clothes separating our bodies. He spans a broad hand over my lower back, pulling me closer, his tongue searing mine as it delves into my mouth. With a possessive tug, he rocks my hips against his and I gasp, moving with him. When he releases my back, I keep rocking against his body as his lips trail down my neck. He kisses the mound of my breasts above the neckline of my dress, one hand yanking my skirt aside so he can touch my bare thighs.
His calloused fingers on that part of my skin sends a shockwave of arousal through me, and a breathless whimper pours from my mouth.
“Little soul.” Callum’s words are hardly more than a groan, the sound almost tortured. “Sage…”
Our lips crash back together as his hand slides up my thigh, moving under my skirt.
Then a throat clears behind us.
Callum stiffens, and in the next instant, his hands disappear from my bare skin and he shoves me away.
I land on the hard dirt, catching myself with both hands. My head reels and my body aches from the sudden and abrupt departure from Callum’s lap. I glance over at the large warrior, who has bent his knees up as he greets his brothers with a nod.
His cold and stony exterior has returned, falling back into place like a thick curtain.
Paris, on the other hand, grins wickedly. “Hmm. Is this how all herbalists treat burns? If so, I rather wish I’d been the one to absorb a blast of weave magic.”
A flush rises quickly up my neck and cheeks until I’m sure I’ve turned the color of a ripe tomato. I scramble to my knees and adjust my dress back into place, shoving my skirt back down. “Did you find what I need?”
“Did you find what you need?” Paris shoots back, amusement and heat still dancing in his eyes.
Echo elbows his brother in the rib cage, then holds up a bundle of herbs. “We did.”
10
Farse it all. What are you doing, Sage?
My heart is still hammering as I accept the bundle of herbs from Echo and turn away from him without another word.
The heat in my skin is ten times what grew between me and Callum in the short time I was in his arms. I’m embarrassed his brothers walked up on us like that, catching us in the act of tearing at each other’s clothes as if we were two animals in some kind of mating frenzy.
I’m even more embarrassed at how wanton I turned beneath Callum’s touch. I was so lost in my need for him, in the relief of finally touching him again, that I wouldn’t have pulled away from his advances at any point. His hands could have gone between us, touched my most intimate parts, and I would have panted for more. He could have torn my clothes from my body and had me right there on the ground, and I would have opened my legs without a second thought. When Paris and Echo returned, I would have begged them to join their brother.
Even thinking about it now, I have to force myself to breathe normally, to ignore the liquid heat in my core. This incredible desire—this insatiable need—the messengers bring out in me is as breathtaking as it is terrifying. I’ve never felt anything quite like it.
Leaving all three of the men behind, I walk a few paces away and kneel before a large, smooth stone that’s half-buried in the ground. I don’t look over my shoulder, although my gaze itches to rove over them, to analyze and dissect the expressions on their faces. To know if they feel anything even close to what I feel, or if I’m just a sometimes pleasant and sometimes annoying novelty to them. An amusement.
The messengers remain where I left them. I can hear their voices murmuring in low conversation, though they don’t speak loud enough for me to hear their words.
More secrets? Or an inherent understanding that I need a moment to compose myself?
I consider that maybe they’re talking about me—or more particularly, about what they’d walked up on after returning from the woods—and I go lightheaded with humiliation. If they are, it isn’t as if I can do anything about it.
The plants they’ve brought me are more twigs than living flesh, which I suppose isn’t abnormal for the Unclaimed Expanse and its strange, constantly shifting ground. But they were able to find two of the plants I asked for, so I can hardly be picky about the state of them. I wasn’t entirely sure that what I needed would even be here to be found.
I firmly shove away lingering thoughts of what happened with Callum and pile the herbs on top of the large stone. My canteen is dangerously low, which means when this is done, I’ll be out of water. I hope we aren’t so in the middle of nowhere that water is going to be in short supply.
I mash the herbs together on the smooth rock using another sharper rock, adding water a few drops at a time until I’ve created a smooth pulp. Once all the leaves and flowers are completely unrecognizable in the mixture, I do a final swirl of it with my fingers, then scoop the lot of it into the palm of my hand and return to Callum’s s
ide.
“Lie down,” I tell him, kneeling beside him and keeping my tone businesslike. “This will help soothe the sting and prevent infection.”
He doesn’t protest, but he doesn’t catch my eye either. He avoids looking at me completely, which stings almost as much as a burn itself.
Does he regret what happened? Did he kiss me only as a reaction to the pain and his heightened emotions as we pushed each other’s buttons? Was he just asserting his dominance in the only way he knew how?
Maybe he doesn’t even want me at all, and he’s ashamed his brothers caught him touching me.
A wave of wrenching sadness passes over me. I tamp down on it, balling it up and shoving it into a deep corner of my soul, because I can’t afford to deal with something that monumental at the moment.
I rinse Callum’s burn off one more time with the last drops of water from my canteen and then gently begin applying the poultice. He hisses as the mixture coats his wounds, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. If it’s even possible, he’s become more dark and brooding than he was prior to our kiss.
Paris plucks at the air, and I sense the energy of the weave responding to his touch, though it’s incredibly faint compared to what they’re capable of outside the Unclaimed Expanse. He leans in beside me, using the thread to wind around Callum’s body.
“It isn’t much, but it’s something,” he tells me by way of explanation. “Not that I don’t trust your… mold.”
“It’s a poultice,” I tell him, exasperated.
The blond man nods. “Yes. Mold.”
“The healing arts are treasured in the mortal realm.” I push him away testily when he finishes binding the poultice to Callum’s wound. “Humans don’t have the privilege of casually pulling strands of the weave to heal every wound. We have to heal in the only ways possible to us, and many of those ways are actually quite effective.”
Paris lifts an eyebrow, then glances at Echo.