Page 72 of Devoured

“Stop it.” He shakes his head, two brutal jerks of his chin. Any softness lingering in his body vanishes, hardens, before my very eyes. The loss of it feels like a physical blow. “I don’t want your pity. I know what I did was worse than horrible. I have to live with that forever.”

Unable to argue, I lay my cheek against his chest in answer, and I listen to the steady beat of his heart. We both have to live with that forever, and Celeste—she never will. I hope wherever she went is peaceful. I hope it is so much more than her last, brutal moments.

“Tell me something, then,” I whisper to Calix, and his steps falter as the words drift through the silence of the corridor.

His arms tighten around me. “What?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Tell me anything. Your favorite color, or that you burn the toast whenever you make a grilled cheese, or that you hate when movies are over two hours long. Tell me anything that makes me forget about this place.” It’s the only solution for us, isn’t it? It’s the only way we might be able to move through the trauma of our pasts. “Just tell me something normal about you.”

He considers this for a moment, exhaling a cool breath that flutters my hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a grilled cheese.”

“You’re kidding.” I pull back to stare at him. “It’s the simplest meal in the world. You just take two slices of bread and—”

He glances down at me with a sardonic frown. “I know what it is, Hart.”

“But you’ve never had one.”

“Are you trying to make me feel stupid? If so, congratulations; you are succeeding.”

I roll my eyes. “Why not—”

“Perhaps you missed it, but we are in a magical werewolf castle. The cooks are busy preparing roasts and handmade pastries. No one is making a grilled cheese in that kitchen.”

I huff out a sigh. “Then, you’re missing out.”

“On bread, cheese, and butter?”

“Yes, Calix. You haven’t lived until you’ve had plastic American cheese.” When he makes a disgusted face, I almost crack a smile and add, “You have to unwrap each individual slice. They stick it in this crinkly clear plastic that has to be horrible for the environment. Celeste used to swear it wasn’t even real food.”

His grimace deepens—but he doesn’t flinch at hearing Celeste’s name this time, and neither do I. “And you’re bragging about this?”

“It might be the best thing about this country.”

“Plastic cheese. Wrapped in plastic.”

“Exactly.”

He shudders dramatically, tightening his hold on me, hoisting me even closer to his chest. His lips twitch. Not a smile, but not not a smile either. “My biggest pet peeve is when you get those little rings on tables. When there’s a coaster, but no one uses it, and they put their drink on the wood. Then the wood gets stained with those fucking rings, and no matter how hard you try to clean them, they don’t come out. Sin never uses coasters.”

At first, I don’t understand what he’s saying. Or why he’s sharing it. And then I realize—Calix is sharing. He’s telling me something normal about himself. A werewolf who hates when people don’t use coasters. I almost tell him that I feel the same. That I used to scold my own father for setting his beer on the end table while waving our wicker coasters in front of his face until he plucked one up and actually used it. But I don’t. Instead, other words rise on my lips.

Before I can think better of it, I say, “This is good, isn’t it? Us talking instead of fighting?”

He arches a dark brow. “Sure, Vanessa. We might as well get matching tattoos now. You get my name on your bicep, and I’ll get your name on my ass.” I almost choke on my next breath, but he continues before I can interject. “Maybe Sin can join us too. And Cora. Hell, let’s befriend the entire castle next, so long as they tell us something stupid and mundane first.”

“Calix,” I manage to say through a shallow laugh. “Did you just… Did you just make a joke?”

He scowls, and now I really do laugh. A warm, throaty sound that feels so strange. He stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have.

“This is good,” I decide then, giving in to the heated pinch of a true smile. Celeste would have liked Calix. She would have liked torturing him even more than I do. And he would’ve fit in—though he might not have enjoyed it. He would’ve fit with us. With me. “This is better.”

“Than?” he drawls, still staring at me.

“Fighting.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for you and me to exist without fighting at all.” His gaze roves my face and, nearly imperceptibly, softens.

“I know, I know. Ever since I was dragged here, I’ve made your life a living hell.”