The Emperor of Evening Stars by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 15 My True Love

November, 8 years ago

“Bargainer, I’d like …”

I don’t even have to hear the full sentence, calling from me from far in the distance, to know who it is.

The sweet dulcimer sound of Callie’s voice instantly warms my blood and rouses my power.

My mate needs me.

I lean closer to my latest client, the slimy Politia officer who’s still trying to act brave despite the fact that the guy is considering stiffing me.

“You have two days to get me those files on Llewelyn Baines, just like we originally agreed,” I tell him. “Use them wisely.”

And then I vanish.

A moment later I materialize in Callie’s room. I hate myself a little that my heart pounds like a damn school girl’s the moment I’m near her.

My soulmate. That realization still knocks the breath out of me.

Her body is curled up on her bed, her back to me. From here I can see that she’s rolling her beaded bracelet around and around her wrist. The sight of all those favors she owes me, favors that will keep her in my life for a long time to come, fills me with both guilt and relief. She shouldn’t have to owe me anything, and yet I relish the fact that she’s already connected to me, albeit, through her debts.

The room smells … off, and from what I can see of Callie, she looks off—too flushed, too listless.

“What’s wrong, cherub?” I ask, forcing my voice to be a little rougher than it wants to be. Look at me, clucking like a nursemaid. This girl is going to be the death of me.

“I’m sick.”

Illness? My heart beats a little faster. Fairies can suffer from ailments, but they are almost all magic-borne. Fragile humans are different. Their very environment can sicken them—kill them.

The longer I stare at her body, the more obvious it is that she is, in fact, sick. Her entire body shakes under her blankets, and on her bedside table is a tiny bottle of ibuprofen and an empty glass. It seems to be a paltry defense against whatever is ailing her.

Outside, rain batters against her window, obscuring the campus grounds of Peel Academy.

I stride over to her bedside and, leaning down, press the back of my hand to her sweaty forehead. She’s frighteningly hot.

This is normal for a human, I tell myself. But even as I do so, my mind flashes to all those other winters I’d seen on earth and all those other humans who succumbed to such fevers.

Callie stares up at me, looking painfully fatigued. “I’m glad you came,” she breathes.

As if I wouldn’t. The hounds of hell couldn’t stop me. But she doesn’t need to know that.

She licks her chapped lips. She needs water. I procure a glass of it a second later.

“Thank you,” she says weakly. She sits up, and I can tell everything about the movement aches.

The water seems just as useless as the ibuprofen.

I could give her lilac wine. All I’d have to do is pretend it’s some magical tonic. She’d drink it, and technically she would get better instantly. That, and our bond would complete itself.

I hadn’t known when I first met her that our clashing magic prevented me from feeling her the way soulmates usually do. Our connection won’t fully form until our power becomes compatible. One sip of lilac wine would take care of that; our bond would lock into place …

You selfish bastard, you’d steal her chances at a normal life.

A horrible sort of frustration stirs through me. I have to just watch this play out.

She takes a shallow sip of the water.

I feel my brows furrow. “Drink more.”

Callie is well enough to glower at me. “You don’t have to be so bossy, I was planning on it.”

Ah, there’s that attitude. I could live off of it. It curbs the worst of my worries and steadies my uncertain heart.

“Have you eaten?” I ask, looking her over.

She shakes her head. “The dining hall is too far away.” And the storm’s too bad and she’s too sick to make the trek.

I frown at her. No one thought to bring her anything to eat or drink? A flash of anger and protectiveness swell within me.

Safeguard your mate.

Fuck it, tonight I’m going to be that clucking nursemaid.

“What sounds good?” I ask her. I half expect her to say that she has no appetite.

“Soup,” she says.

My heart breaks a little at her answer. So she has been hungry, but she’s been too sick to get herself something to eat.

There’s something seriously wrong about that.

In other news, I might be the world’s shittiest mate. Can’t even take care of my siren until she calls on me.

Fighting my better nature, I brush Callie’s hair away from her face. “I’ll be right back.”

I vanish from her room and head off to a ramen house on the other side of the world. The restaurant happens to make halfway decent soup—if, you know, you like watered down shit.

Apparently, sick girls do.

Callie eats the ramen in five minutes flat.

“Thanks, Des,” she says once she’s finished, setting the empty take out bowl on her bedside table and laying back down. “Both for the soup and for staying with me.”

I nod, trying not to act like any of this situation is getting under my skin. “I’m going to have to leave soon.”

Liar.

“Can you stay with me?” she asks.

For the rest of the evening, she means. This is her wish, for me to sit by her side through the night.

This is new. I’m used to getting propositioned by frisky fairies, not sick teenage girls who can’t keep their eyes open.

And gods, how I want to say yes. I want to drop this farce and be honest with her, but the fact remains that she’s a teenager and I’m not.

I shake my head.

“Please.”

Stop making deals with me, I want to tell her. I can’t resist them. I won’t. I crave her too much.

She reaches out and threads her fingers through mine.

I frown at our joined hands.

I can’t even brush a kiss along her knuckles, not without opening a can of worms I’m really not ready to deal with. So reluctantly I give Callie her hand back.

“No, cherub.”

I see a little bit of hope shrivel up and die in her eyes.

You bastard, your mate has no one else.

Why does everything I do with this girl leave me so damn conflicted? There’s no middle ground with the two of us, it’s either all or nothing, and the more I toe the line that divides the two, the worse off we both are.

She rearranges herself in her bed, and I practically feel her pull away from me. I nearly growl at myself in frustration.

I use my magic to heat the room up to make her more comfortable; it’s the best I can do. A minute later she stops shivering, and several minutes after that, I hear her breathing even out.

Sick girl is out, which means I should go.

Instead, I sit down on the floor next to her bed, my back resting against the edge of her mattress.

What I would give to lay next to her! Even now I can imagine slipping under those covers and tucking her body into mine. It would be worth the heatstroke she’d give me.

Fuck propriety and whoever came up with it. I don’t think it’s doing either of us much good right now.

Using my magic, I call Callie’s colored pencils and a sheet of her computer paper to me, and then I begin drawing out my frustration. The image takes the shape of healthy Callie—how I will her to be.

I’ll leave once I finish, I promise myself.

It’s no accident that this particular portrait takes me longer to complete than it should. When it’s finished, I let it drift onto her computer chair.

Cautiously, I creep to Callie’s side, placing my hand against her forehead for the second time this evening. She still feels feverish.

Can’t leave now. Not until I get some reassurance that she’s getting better rather than worse.

So, using a little of my magic, I mask myself from her. If she woke up this minute, she’d see an empty room. But I’m still here.

Every time her glass of water runs low, I fill it back up. Every time she kicks off her covers, I lower the temperature of the room, and every time she begins to shiver, I heat the place back up. And I make sure there’s always a bowl of steaming soup next to her bed.

It’s sometime in the deep night, hours after I should’ve left, when it hits me for the first time—

I love her. Those three words just pop into my head, fully formed.

I love her.

This isn’t some bond-borne magic being shoved down my throat. This isn’t even romance. This is love-you-till-your-skin-sags-off-your-bones. Love you till then and beyond. It’s not lustful, it’s not selfish or petty. It’s what has me lingering in Callie’s room right now when I should be collecting bargains or ruling my kingdom because I can’t stand the thought of her being sick and alone. It’s what’s made me flee Callie’s room every time she gets too close because this emotion is bigger than me—bigger than the night itself—and I want things for her that my presence can’t give her, like a chance to be a teenager.

It’s loving Callie’s heart and mind over her face and body.

I’ve known for a while now that I’ve been in love with her, but I never acknowledged it, not until now. I didn’t even realize that those three words people throw around so casually were created to explain this deep and unending emotion.

Dear gods, I love her.