Page 94 of Devoured

The image startles me so much that I snort. “I… can’t imagine that.”

“Don’t let the sweet voice fool you. Once upon a time, she was a kleptomaniac. Granted, it’s not nearly as horrible a crime as Sin’s massacre or his mother’s impending blitz, but no one here is a saint. Your crimes are small in comparison.”

“Cora wants me to be her weapon,” I tell him. “There’s going to be a war, and regardless of which side I’m on, I’m going to have to fight. I—I used to be good at volleyball, Calix. I was good at running laps and smacking a big rubber ball and turning in my homework on time. I can’t go to war. I’m not a weapon. I’m just… me. I’m not strong enough for any of this.” It eases something in my chest to admit it. I move to wipe my tears on Calix’s torn shirt, but he catches my chin in his hand and tilts my face up toward his.

His brow furrows. “You have always been good enough.” I wait for the heat of his lie, but it never comes. “If Sybil had known about this power, she would’ve unleashed it on the world a long time ago. But she didn’t know, because it shouldn’t exist. You are an impossibility, Vanessa. You are one of a kind. What is that if not great?”

Something inside me warms at his words. “I was pathetic in Combat lessons.”

“We all start somewhere.”

I roll my eyes. “I find it hard to believe you weren’t born with your stupid eight-pack.”

His cheek dimples as he grins, but this smile isn’t his usual smile. This smile isn’t forced or shrouded in darkness; it’s unguarded, almost boyish, and for a moment, a tendril of fear curls low in my belly.

Calix is always beautiful, but right now, he almost looks like someone who could break my heart.

“Don’t tell me you’re as obsessed with my abdomen as my cousin.”

I wave away the bleak thought. “You know, you and Sin have a very strange relationship.”

“Yes,” he deadpans. “He’s obsessed with me.”

A genuine laugh bursts out of me, heating me from the inside out as Calix continues grinning in a way that feels like basking in the light of a full moon. “That’s two jokes, Calix. I really didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I’m wounded, Hart.” He clutches his chest with his free hand. “Truly wounded.”

I lift a finger to his cheek and brush his dimple. He stills. Every muscle in his body tenses. “I told you that you have a dimple there.”

His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips, then back again as the air grows heavy between us. “Are you obsessed with me too, Hart?”

My breath catches on the rough edges of those words. On the restraint in every syllable, on his hand dragging up my arm. He’s holding me. Calix is holding me, and I’m practically sitting in his lap, and I hardly noticed.

He leans in, his other hand tangling in my hair, close enough now that all I smell is ocean spray and jasmine and him. As though the world has narrowed to his touch.

To his lips.

“What do you want?” he asks.

The question sends me weeks into the past. Into my bedroom, when there was glass in my knee and rage tearing Calix and me apart. Who are we without that rage between us? Who are we right now?

I can never forget Celeste’s death, but I forgive him. I forgive Calix, and that scares the hell out of me because if we aren’t enemies, then what are we?

I stare at those lips. I stare at him.

His cousin is my intended mate. I’m supposed to be planning a revolution. I’m supposed to stop trusting boys, stop trusting my heart, and focus on surviving. Evie needs me. Portia needs me. And I need—I want—

Calix.

His name howls through my mind like the warm winds across the beach, and suddenly—I understand. In this moment, every single piece falls into place. Pulling away abruptly, I stagger to my feet. Calix stares up at me, his expression crestfallen, his red gaze shuddering with dejection.

“Calix,” I say, far too animated, each syllable crashing into the next. “Calix, I need you.”

He blinks at me. “I don’t follow.”

“I can’t do this without you. None of us can.”

He stands, brushing his hands on his sweatpants. “I’m tired, Hart. I’m going to bed—”