Page 47

The Villain

Callum

The room was far too empty with her gone.

More and more he’d begun to notice how her vibrancy filled any space she entered.

She made his pulse quicken and his body heat and those damned eyes of hers filled his thoughts nearly every waking moment.

Following him into the night as well.

He’d been dreaming more frequently, too, thoughts of her—the deep desire to protect her—churning in his mind until he woke gasping, searching for her.

Every time he saw her in the light, his heart would slow and the dreams of death would fade. Though the sleep sometimes refused to return. He’d taken to drawing her in his sketchbook when she wasn’t looking.

Once his piercers were cleaned, he put them back together, the methodical and repetitive movements acting as a sort of meditation.

He’d thought for a moment that she was going to invite him into her bed.

Had hoped she would.

And that hope turned to rancid guilt.

He was a cad.

She was traumatized, battered, and so far from her home, not to mention spoken for, and all he wanted to do was touch her skin and taste her lips again.

To feel her body against his and her breath on his face.

He groaned and let his head fall to the table, the surface cool against his forehead.

Why was he so drawn to her? Why could he think about nothing else? His hand dipped into his pocket and he retrieved the small totem she’d dropped that first, fateful day, his thumb smoothing over the worn wood.

Another sigh readied in his lungs, but he used to momentum to get up and pad to the other room, shoving the object back into his pocket and leaving his pining thoughts at the table.

Only guilt and self-loathing remained.

He’d failed everyone.

He’d trusted in the governor.

In the system.

A system he’d dedicated the majority of his life in service to, hoping to make the world better.

But he didn’t feel like his efforts had yielded any good.

The system felt hijacked, broken.

He thought of destitute families Barlow had introduced him to. How they had feared him. The system had failed them, robbing them of safety, of bread, of hope.

And Barlow.

Callum unclenched his jaw, stopping the ache of his teeth grinding together.

His brother had tried to make a difference.

Look what it had done to him.

Where was his justice?

His thoughts drifted once again to Rumi, now without lust but with pain.

The peace he had stolen from her, the anguish Sullivan had inflicted upon her.

They’d done that.

He’d done that.

Now, he was watching his world crumble and drift like coarse sand between his fingers, billowing away, taking his promises and hopes with it.

What was left for him now?

There was no going back.

He was a wanted felon and as soon as word got to the higher-ranking officials there would be a price on his head—if there wasn’t one already.

He needed to get Rumi back to her people before things got any more dangerous.

That was something he could do.

Hopefully.

Taking his piercers and setting them on the dresser, he kicked off his boots and clothes until only his drawers remained and then he slipped between the covers, already missing the sound of her breathing beside him.

Barlow’s face filled his mind’s eye, the beaming smile that rarely dimmed.

He would have liked her.

He would have laughed with her and been able to teach her all the scientific names for the animals they saw on their journey.

He’d have entertained her with trivial facts that Cal had always pretended to brush off but secretly loved.

If he hadn’t left for Arcona, maybe Barlow would still be here.

Maybe he could have stepped in.

If he hadn’t gone, then Rumi would still be with her people.

It had all been for nothing.

He was the villain here.

No matter how he tried to be a good person and do his duty, he always failed, time and time again.

An aching fissure cracked over his chest and his breath stuttered from the grief, his hand clutched at his heart to hold the broken pieces together.

It didn’t matter.

He’d lost everything.

Soon, he’d lose her too.