Page 3

Chapter 3

Blood gushed down Callum’s back in sheets, hot and thick, pooling under him as his wailed, “No! Stop! I beg you!” Down came her dagger, slicing, scraping, tearing his meat away. He could hear Finn begging between his screams, and the angry curses of the warlock. His baby brother would be next on the altar. And Callum would be gone, unable to save him. He was supposed to save him! He was put on this earth to protect his brother! Sweet Goddess, if one of us survives, please let it be Finn!

The silver haired witch smiled. She was beautiful, with her ruby lips and her lavender eyes. She had been beautiful when she had arrived that summer morning, setting foot into their territory without fear. She was beautiful when she introduced herself, wise enough to only use her first name. And she remained beautiful as she’d peeled the flesh from Callum’s back.

“Such delicious anguish from such a strong male,” She purred. Her blade glinted, its blood stains turning black in the moon’s light. “You alone can power my coven for years, my strong one.” A chorus of cackles joined hers, the surrounding witches cheering in delight at his torture. “Say her name again, my sweet.”

“Stop…” Callum whimpered. “Don’t do this.”

“Say it!”

“...Orlaith.

But Orlaith was dead now. Callum had tried to leap in the spell’s path but was too slow. It hit true, cleaving Orlaith’s neck. Dead. She was dead.

After that was a berserker’s rage. He’d cut down every witch he saw; piercing them with his arrows, cutting them to pieces with his dagger. And when the blade broke, he slashed them apart with his bare hands, the bright scarlet glow of his eyes matching the blood that coated him. The coven had howled in horror, frightened long enough for him to grab Finn and run. They had escaped to the warlock who hid deep in the forest in his fortress of a home. Callum vowing that Finn would not die. The coven may have taken his mate, and their herd, but they wouldn’t take his baby brother. Or so he thought.

Soon the coven had Finn in their clutches, rope around his neck, knife as his throat. His tear-filled eyes pleading as he whimpered, “Cal. Help me! Please!” Callum had lowered his claws and fell to his knees. That was the day he was finally broken.

“I let her die. I let them all die!” Callum cried.

“Cal, wake up.”

The dagger came down again.

“I let her die!”

“Callum!”

Callum gasped, his eyes snapping open. Rowan was there, not the silver haired demon that carved him to pieces. Rowan. Sweet, kind Rowan. “It’s okay. It’s just me,” he said.

Relief was a cold bucket of ice water on Callum’s clammy skin. “Witch-boy?”

“You’re having a panic attack,” Rowan said. “But you’re going to be fine. Just listen to my voice.” Callum nodded dumbly as Rowan held out his hands.” I’m going to touch you, is that all right?” Once again, Callum nodded and was rewarded with firm yet gentle palms on his shoulders. “It”s going to pass, Big Guy. I promise. It always passes.”

“It…it always passes,” Callum lunged, wrapping his arms around Rowan’s shoulders, despair pulling him deep into the dark. “Gods, am I doomed to spend the rest of my days too frightened to face anyone? To do anything?!”

“Of course, you won’t,” Rowan said. “But healing takes time.”

“I’ve been healing for decades! I want it to end!” His claws curled against Rowan’s back. “I want to walk free again. I want to face the world, not be a coward.”

“Hey. You’re not a coward.” Rowan’s thumbs brushed his cheekbones, their gazes locking. “You’re a tough bastard, Cal. And when you’re ready, you’ll face the world out there. Hell, you might even walk right into the middle of town. And if you need it, I’ll walk right beside you.”

Callum’s terror melted away as soon as Rowan’s gentle smile appeared. “Truly?”

“Tell me when you’re ready. We’ll march arm and arm.” His warm hands stroked Callum’s back, coaxing him to stillness. “Say it one more time. Make me feel it. The feelings always pass.”

“The feelings always pass.” Callum swallowed the last of his fear, collapsing against the witch’s chest. He was safe. His gentle, caring witch-boy wouldn’t hurt him. None of his family were like the silver haired one. This is where he needed to be, wanted to be. The steady beat of Rowan’s heart soothed him to stillness. “I fell asleep?”

“A few hours ago. I didn’t want to wake you. Then you started getting restless.” Rowan smoothed Callum’s unruly locks. “Want me to walk you to your wing so you can get some rest?”

The mere idea of being alone made bile rise. Callum shook his head hard, fingers curling into Rowan’s forearms, desperate to keep him close. Don’t leave me. It sat on the tip of his tongue, held back by whatever pride inside him remained.

Rowan fished the potion bottle out of his pocket. “Okay. Then we’ll sleep here.”

Callum shook his head. “That’s for you.”

“How about we split it?” Rowan popped the cork free. “Because I don’t think either of us are going to fall asleep easily tonight.” He took a quick sip then handed it to Callum. With trembling hands Callum took the bottle, downing the rest.

The two laid back, Rowan resting his head on Callum’s shoulder. “You need to talk about it?” he asked.

“Perhaps in time,” Callum replied. “Perhaps I’ll be brave enough again.”

“Meh, you’re brave just for surviving this.” Rowan squeezed Callum’s knee. ‘I got your back.”

The tiniest of smiles softened Callum’s lips as he inhaled the witch’s clean, crisp scent. He wasn’t alone. He could revel in that, tonight. “You are a wonder, Witch-boy.”

The heat of Rowan’s blush tickled his flesh. “No. I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. A complete wonder.”

Glorious numbness, took over, his thoughts going slack. The last thought before sleep wasn’t of blood, or pain, or the silver haired witch. It was of Rowan. He needs to know how special he truly is. He needs to know it as strongly as I.And I will be the one to show him. A smile rested on his lips as he drifted off to sleep.