Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
There was a lot of this that was surprising, Callum thought.
“And now you’re ready to go.” His host also sat back in his chair. “I’m proud of you. For staying in this room as long as you have.”
The conversation had been easy, even too easy. And he knew why. Symphaths had a way of putting people at ease, usually before they manipulated the fuck out of them for their own purposes. Yet none of that was going on. At least not that he was aware of.
Callum glanced around at all the nice furnishings. “Me, too.”
He thought of Apex. And that kiss.
Maybe it was the wine . . . maybe it was the feeling that he’d broken this place’s hold on him . . . but he felt himself warming under his skin as he remembered their mouths meeting. How could he go further, though? It was impossible to separate Apex from everything . . . that had happened.
The rescuer was part of the disaster.
“I feel like I should pay you for this,” he said briskly as he nodded at the empty plates. “And yes, the asparagus was really good, even left over.”
“I suspect it’s been a while since you’ve eaten properly, so your standards are low.” Blade lifted his wineglass with a nod. “But I will take the compliment because I’m a narcissist, and compliments are better than food to me.”
Getting to his feet, Callum carried his plate over to the sink. A quick rinse and he put it in the dishwasher. After he slipped the silverware into the machine’s little basket, he pivoted around and leaned back against the counter. Time to go—
“Answer me this,” Blade murmured. “Did you come back for your male?”
“Apex?” Callum frowned. “He’s not mine. I didn’t know he was here in Connelly.”
“Oh, it is fate, then.” Blade tilted forward. “How magical that you’ve reconnected.”
“We haven’t—”
“You will.” The symphath toasted in Callum’s direction again. “And may I give you a little advice? You are going to be leaving at a dead run in about two minutes, so consider it dessert—and I promise it will be more useful than ice cream, even if it doesn’t taste as good.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Callum shook his head. “I still don’t understand how I even ended up having dinner with you.”
“Life is a mysterious trial, isn’t it.” Those eyes grew serious. “And here is my advice. Redecorate that male.”
“I’m sorry?”
“This room . . .” The symphath glanced around pointedly. “Is little different than your male.”
Callum tilted his head. “So you’re suggesting I turn him into an armchair? Wrap him in wallpaper?”
The shake of that head was grave. “No, I’m giving you permission to make new memories of him. With him. Think of him as a room you’re redesigning. You do not have to keep him draped in the past.”
Callum scrubbed his face.
“It’s all right,” the symphath said. “You are allowed to move forward. You don’t have to stay where you’re stuck, with the pain.”
It was a while before Callum could find his voice. “Can I ask you something?”
Blade motioned around his face. “Why I am so captivating?”
“Why are you trying to help me.”
There was another long silence, and as the calming, elegant space sank into Callum, all the new decor suggested the male had a point.
“It’s a bit of a Catch-Twenty-two, isn’t it,” Blade said with a little laugh. “Good advice from a symphath. Do you trust it or not.”
“That isn’t an answer to my question.”
“Hmm. True. But I’ll tell you something else. You won’t believe whatever answer I give you, so I’m just going to keep my secrets. We are given only so many breaths, and I’m not going to waste any of mine on an inquiry that will never, ever be satisfied.”
Callum straightened. Walked over to one of the couches. Picked up the jacket he’d laid on its arm.
“Tell me your lie, symphath. Why are you trying to help me?”
That wineglass was set down with the kind of precision usually reserved for bombs that had pressure charges.
“I once did a terrible, terrible thing to someone who did not deserve it.” Blade touched his sternum. Then started rubbing things as if he had a pain there. “I was forgiven—and oddly enough, over the ensuing decades . . . that grace has proven to be as unbearable as the guilt. Perhaps more so.”
The male stared off into the distance. “I am helping you as part of my atonement. I see you and your suffering, and I must do what I can to ease it. You might say . . . it is a calling for me now. The way I stay in my own skin.” Those eyes shifted over. And suddenly the pensive tone was gone, the sharpness returning. “Quite at odds with what we symphaths are known for, isn’t it. And now you, dear male, shall have to decide whether to believe what I have told you. Or not. Whichever will you choose, I wonder.”