Page 8 of Fallacies

Choosing to ignore whatever the consensus is, I turn to Gemma. “Whose Soul Binding is it?” I ask.

“A young couple in Selene’s coven,” she replies dismissively, as if that detail doesn’t matter. “The ceremony only lasts a few minutes.” Gemma turns her head to wiggle her eyebrows at me. “You and I are going for the afterparty.”

Of course we are.

I probably need it, the distraction. I have a feeling that soon, everything is going to change. I can delay it—the surfacing of my secret. I can add seconds onto that ticking clock. Maybe even minutes or hours. But the reality of the matter is quite simple: It will continue to count down, it will reach zero, and then everyone here…my friends, my future coven, Callan…they’ll all know who I really am. What I really am.

Rogue.

The nights in Pirn are getting colder, summer drawing to a close. A part of me misses the heat, but maybe that’s because there’s something new beneath my skin that much prefers the chill in the air.

The dark sky pressing in around us. The shadows beneath trees and tucked in corners. That unforgivable part of me aches for it, and it’s getting tiresome, constantly swatting its hand away.

I stand in front of the mirror, admiring the remaining warmth in my skin and dreading the day my summer tan fades. Gemma insisted on dressing me…as she always does…like I’m her own personal doll to play with. I pretend to hate it, but I love the joy it gives her.

My dress is green, dark like the forest, with a lace overlay that weaves across my shoulders. The sleeves are tight on my arms, flaring out at my wrists, and the hem falls just above the top of my favorite gold embroidered boots—which have certainly seen better days.

Gemma’s also gotten a hold of my hair, taming it with some product and weaving in small, random braids throughout.

I look nice, but when I meet my own gaze in the mirror, it almost makes me angry. I wish my outer appearance matched the war raging within me.

Gemma exits the bathroom, clipping on a sparkly gold earring. She picked a baby-blue dress, the silky fabric matching her eyes, and rolled her hair into big, bouncy curls. Stunning as always.

She meets my gaze in the mirror and smiles. “Ready?”

I nod, following her out into the living room to the sweet lilt of Kimber’s voice lighting up the cabin. Her cinnamon hair is pulled up in a messy updo, iridescent pins poking out in what look like tiny pearls. Her dress flows behind her, a gorgeous, deep brown that complements her skin, and judging by the way Pax is staring, he agrees.

Kimber, unsurprisingly, doesn’t notice.

“Oh, you guys look amazing!” she preens, green eyes widening on Gemma and me.

Gemma does a twirl, the silky fabric of her dress billowing out around her.

“So do you, Kimmy,” I compliment, wanting so badly to call attention to the way Pax is still drinking her in.

He thinks he’s being slick, I’m assuming, reclined on the couch, his elbow propped on the armrest and his hand blocking any evidence of a smile. His eyes move up and down her body, and there’s no shame on the half of his face that I can see.

I glance up to the kitchen, noting the lack of shame in Callan’s stare, too.

He’s leaned back against the counter, his usual Ajax attire replaced with a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt. I catch a glimpse of his Sol Mark tattoo peeking out from beneath his sleeve as he lifts a glass to his lips, taking a generous sip of the amber liquid inside it. His eyes are molten silver, trailing all over the dress Gemma put me in.

“So, neither of you wants to attend a Soul Binding?” I ask, pulling my gaze from Callan to Pax. Kimber seems to have finally caught on to the latter’s staring, eyeing him curiously as he attempts to look anywhere else.

Now that Fenton’s gone, I have no need for a bodyguard. It makes him nervous, though, my going somewhere without him. If I’m honest, not being near Callan makes me a little uneasy, too. We’re trauma-bonded, I guess, in more ways than one. Maybe that’s what it is.

“Nah,” Pax huffs, gesturing to Callan, “he doesn’t believe in them.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in them.” Callan sets his drink down, crossing the kitchen and coming to a stop beside me. There’s a warm buzz beneath my skin as he approaches, comparable only to the static his magic produces. “It just seems…sad. What if your death is untimely? Then the person you love is taken down with you. Wouldn’t you want them to live as long as they can?”

I feel a tug on a strand of my hair, and when I look down, Callan’s rolling the end of a curl over his knuckle. It’s nice to know the need to be near is mutual.

Gemma huffs a laugh. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“You’re missing the point,” Kimber sighs, folding her arms across her chest. The movement catches Pax’s attention. Obviously. “It’s about not wanting to live without the other,” she explains. “It’s about love, idiots.”

Gemma smiles, and I exhale a heavy breath. “I agree, Kimber.”

I feel the weight of Callan’s attention as soon as the words leave my mouth. Kimber’s face lights up, a knowing glint in her green eyes. “I knew you would.”