Chapter 26 Callum

Chapter 26 Callum
My body felt heavy, as if my veins had been filled with molten lead that had cooled overnight into a stiff, aching weight.

Memories of the night hit me in a violent, disjointed montage. The cold grass against my bare toes. The shadow under the willow tree. The way Azran had carried me back like a trophy from a hunt. And then… the bed. The rough, bruising friction of his hands through the hoodie. The way he had stared into my soul, demanding I acknowledge his ownership over the darkness growing inside me.

I shivered, the movement causing the black satin sheets to hiss against my skin. Slowly, with a heart that felt like it was hammering against a bruised ribcage, I slid my hand beneath the covers.

I expected pain. I expected the raw, stinging aftermath of a violation that matched the violence in his eyes last night. I braced myself for the ache between my legs, the physical proof that I had been broken.

There was nothing.

No sting. No soreness. Just a strange, buzzing warmth that hummed beneath my skin, a terrifyingly smooth sensation where there should have been trauma.

A choked, jagged sob escaped my throat before I could catch it. I pulled the sheets up to my chin, burying my face in the silk. He hadn’t let me go. He hadn’t even given me the mercy of a physical scar to match the one on my soul. He had done something worse, he had woven himself into my very survival. The fever was gone, replaced by a tether I could feel pulling toward the center of the house.

I was sobbing now, deep, silent heaves that shook my entire frame. I wasn’t crying because I was hurt; I was crying because I was erased. I was a ghost haunting my own body, a body that apparently now answered to his touch better than my own will.

The click of a door handle made me freeze.

The ensuite bathroom door swung open, venting a cloud of steam that smelled of cedar and expensive soap. Azran stepped out, a single charcoal towel slung low on his hips. Drops of water clung to the dark hair on his chest, trailing down the ridged muscles of his stomach. He looked like a statue carved from storm clouds… beautiful, immovable, and devastating.

I didn't look away, but I didn't truly see him either. I stared through him with red-rimmed, burning eyes, my face wet with fresh tears.

He stopped at the edge of the bed, his intense gaze raking over me. There was no apology in his eyes, only a dark, simmering possessiveness that made the air in the room feel thin.

"You're awake," he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "Good. The color is back in your face. Get ready. There are people I want you to meet."

I simply stared at the wood paneling behind him, treating him like the ghost he had made me feel like.

"Elara," he warned, his tone hardening. "I told you to get ready."

I ignored him. I sat up slowly, the satin slipping down to reveal the bruising on my collarbone from where his fingers had gripped me. I didn't care. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my movements robotic and hollow. I began to walk toward the bedroom door, my bare feet silent on the rug.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I reached for the handle, my fingers trembling. I just needed to be behind a different door. Any door that didn't have his scent on it.

"Elara! Look at me when I'm speaking to you!"

His voice cracked like a whip, but I refused to grant him the satisfaction of my eye contact. I pulled at the handle, but before it could turn, a hand slammed against the wood above my head. The force of it vibrated through my entire arm.

In one swift, aggressive motion, he grabbed my upper arms and spun me around. My back hit the door with a dull thud. His face was inches from mine, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter.

"Stop this," he hissed. "Stop acting like I’ve murdered you when I’m the only reason you’re still breathing."

"You did murder me," I whispered, my voice coming from a place so deep and cold I didn't recognize it. "You killed the girl who had a choice. Now I'm just… your thing."

"I am trying to keep you alive!"

"Then let me die!" I screamed, finally snapping. I began to thrash against him, my fists thudding against his wet, bare chest. "Let me go out there and let him finish it! At least he doesn't pretend to be my savior while he's suffocating me! I hate you! I hate this house! I hate—"

His hand moved with lightning speed, his fingers wrapping firmly but carefully around the column of my neck. He didn't squeeze to hurt, but the gesture was absolute. It silenced me instantly. He leaned in, his mouth crashing against mine in a kiss that tasted of desperation and salt.

It wasn't the kiss of a lover; it was the kiss of a man trying to pour his own soul into a leaking vessel. I thrashed, turning my head, trying to bite him, but he held me there, his body a wall of heat that crushed the fight out of me. Slowly, as the resonance of the bond flared up again, that traitorous, humming warmth, my muscles went limp.

He pulled back just a fraction, his forehead resting against mine. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving against my own.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words sounding like they were being torn out of him. "Elara, I’m sorry."

I froze. The monster was apologizing.

"I lost control," he murmured, his grip on my neck softening into a caress, his thumb tracing my jawline. "Last night… when I saw you running… I thought I’d lost you. I thought he’d get to you before I could fix what he broke. I can’t see you get away. I won't survive it."

"You can't do this to me," I sobbed, my forehead dropping onto his shoulder. I hated how my body leaned into his warmth even as my mind screamed for exit. "You can't just claim me because you're afraid. I am a person, Azran. I am not a weapon for you to keep in a drawer."

"You don't understand what he is," Azran said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet register. He pulled back to look me in the eyes, his expression haunted. "My brother… he isn't just a dangerous man. He is a void. He doesn't want you for your beauty or your soul. He wants you because you are the only thing I have ever looked at with anything other than coldness. He wants to turn you into a monument to my failure."

I looked at him, searching for the lie, but all I found was a raw, jagged fear that seemed too real to be fabricated. "Why? Why is he like that? What happened to make two brothers want to tear the world apart over a girl they barely know?"

Azran’s gaze flickered. He stood there, dressed in nothing but a towel and the sins of his past, looking smaller thn I had ever seen him.

"Tell me," I insisted, my voice gaining a sliver of strength. "If I'm going to be a prisoner in this war, I want to know the name of the man who marked me. I want to know who I’m running from."

Azran hesitated, his hand falling from my neck to grip my shoulder. "Trust me, Elara. Knowing his name won't make the nightmare any easier to bear."

"Trust is earned, Azran, and so far, you’ve only earned my terror. Give me a name."

He closed his eyes, a long, weary sigh escaping him. The silence in the room grew heavy, the air thick with the weight of a secret that had been kept for far too long. When he finally opened his eyes, the mask of the stoic protector was gone. There was only the boy who had grown up in the shadow of a monster.

"Callum," he whispered, the name sounding like a curse. "Callum Blackthrone."