Page 71 of Devoured

“Because fighting has gotten us nowhere, and talking might be our only way through this mess.”

Scoffing, he shakes his head with a bitter smile. “Fine. Say whatever it is you want to say to me. But I’m not baring my trauma to the girl who can’t stand to look at me.”

My brow furrows at that, and I resist the impulse to point out exactly whose gaze has been avoiding whose. “I look at you all the time.”

“Like you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Calix. I should hate you, but I don’t. That’s the problem.”

Truth.

With a slow, deliberate breath, Calix exhales, and the tension in his body seems to leave with it. He doesn’t speak. He simply traces the planes of my face as if committing them to memory. The realization sinks like a stone in my belly, but I cannot bring myself to look away—not from that softness in his gaze. It feels like a punch to my stomach, as if I’ve missed a step sprinting down stairs.

The silence between us stretches, deepens, until I realize I’ve stopped breathing.

I force myself to start again.

“Talk to him, Calix. Not for me either, but for you.”

Calix clears his throat. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

Nodding, he pushes to his feet and starts toward me before stopping abruptly. His expression grows wary. “Where do you want to go, Vanessa? Do you want me to bring you back to Sin?”

“No.” Though I don’t know where I want to go anymore—where I belong—I know it isn’t there. It cannot be there. Those stolen moments with Sin were just that. Stolen. They never really belonged to either of us. “Portia’s.” It’s the first place I think of, but it feels right. “Will you take me to Portia’s room?”

He exhales a sigh of relief and closes the distance between us. “Yes. Of course.”

“Look at that.” I give him a soft smile. A tentative one. “We aren’t fighting anymore.”

He rolls his eyes. “Sure, Vanessa.”

“Come on. You know you want to smile.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In a carefully controlled movement, he wraps a strong arm around my back. “I’ve never smiled in my life.”

“Then, why do I know that you have a dimple right there—” Though I reach out to brush his cheek, he catches my hand with startling speed. He holds it between us for a single, breathless second, and he stares at my fingers in his. His eyes darken. His pupils dilate. And slowly—so slowly—he drags his thumb across my palm, pressing gently, watching my skin lighten beneath his touch.

A near-violent chill sweeps down my legs.

“Calix,” I whisper.

The pressure on my palm increases for just an instant—a delicious stab—before it vanishes completely. His throat works on a swallow. Before I can say anything else, he slips his arm beneath my knees and hoists me against his chest. “Vanessa.” His voice is rougher than before. Strained. “Let me take you to Portia.”

I nod silently. In the corridor outside her room, however, I cannot help adding, “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, Calix. You weren’t treated fairly. You aren’t a bad guy.”

He almost chuckles under his breath. Almost. “You honestly believe that?”

“Somehow, I do.” Against my better judgment, I inhale deeply, and his scent—citrus and musk and him—overwhelms my senses. I try to ignore it. I try to reason, but where rational thought should be, there is only Calix. Against me, around me. Everywhere. “You know, if Celeste were here, she would have loved tormenting you. I think she would’ve forced you to be our friend. She had this way about her. She was dazzling enough to draw everyone’s attention. And she loved a challenge. If you ignored her, she would only try to dazzle you harder.”

His fingers caress my arm in the lightest of movements. “You smile when you talk about her.”

“I loved her more than anyone else in this world.”

“I’m sorry, Vanessa.”

“I know, Calix.” I lick my lips, determined to get this out. It’s important, somehow, to tell him this. More important than anything else. “What I am trying to say is… I think Celeste would’ve forgiven you. I think she would tell me to be kinder. You didn’t bite her. You didn’t condemn her to her fate.” Warmth licks at my ribs as the truth of my words surrounds us. And on the wings of that realization, another: “You’re a victim as much as anyone else.”