The Emperor of Evening Stars by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 17 A Marked Man

January, 7 years ago

Before I even appear in Callie’s room, I know something’s off. Maybe it’s the way her voice wavers when she calls out to me, maybe it’s our ephemeral bond, and maybe it’s the darkness, whispering secrets that aren’t theirs to tell.

But knowing something’s off and seeing it are two entirely different things.

Callie sits among a pile of used tissues, her eyes puffy and red.

… a man held her down …

… touched her against her will …

I need to skullfuck someone.

I cross my arms. “Who do I have to hurt?” This, I’m going to enjoy, I can already tell.

She shakes her head, her gaze dropping.

“Give me a name, cherub.” I can’t give her love—yet—but I can give her vengeance. 

She wipes her face, then glances up at me. “He’s an instructor,” she whispers.

Kill him.

The need to destroy human flesh is almost physical. I have to tamp it down because I’m doing this all wrong. I’m too much anger, not enough affection. But instinct is driving me to prove to my mate that she’s untouchable because she’s mine.

I set those drives aside. Later, I promise myself.

So I force myself to stop fantasizing about flaying some human alive and instead sit next to Callie. I pull her into me and close my eyes.

She’s right here, in my arms, I tell myself. It helps with the frenzied anger still coiling up inside of me.

But then she begins to truly unleash her grief, her entire body heaving with her cries, and it’s breaking my cold, fickle heart.

I will fucking slaughter whoever did this very, very slowly.

I hold her close, and each second that passes fuels my retribution. Eventually her crying tapers off. She pushes away from me, and only reluctantly do I let her go.

Her face is a mess of tears, and my stomach clenches at the sight. Frowning, I wipe them away. Feeling this helpless draws on all those old memories of when I was young and life preyed upon me the way it has her.

My hands slide across the soft skin of her cheeks until I’m cupping her face.

“Tell me what happened.” I will be your vengeance, cherub.

She draws in a shaky breath. “His name is Mr. Whitechapel. He—he tried to touch me …”

Whitechapel. Of all the last names, this asshole had to have a sacrosanct one. The world has a sense of humor.

The story pours out of her, her voice too calm and her eyes a little distant, a little empty. It’s a frightening expression, like she’s drifting away from me. But once Callie’s finished, that flush of life snaps back into her features, and she begins crying again.

There is no justice powerful enough to fix what this man did to Callie—just like there’s not enough justice to right her stepfather’s wrongs—though in the end, he came as close as one can to paying.

I remind myself that this time Callie used her glamour and got away. She bested her instructor. It doesn’t erase the trauma, but it’s something.

I pull her against me once more, resting my chin on the crown of her head. “Cherub, I’m proud of you using your power like that,” I say.

I already knew when I first met her, bloody and desperate, that she wouldn’t be some idle victim; she wasn’t then and she isn’t now.

Beneath me, her body shakes harder.

“Want to know a secret?” I smooth down her hair. “People like him were born to fear people like us,” I say. I can sense it even in this moment, when she’s at her lowest; her tragedies are hardening her into something stronger, fiercer, darker.

“That’s a shitty secret,” she says against my chest.

I bring my lips to her ear. “It’s the truth. Eventually you’ll understand. And eventually you’ll embrace it.”

She will. I’m sure it’s hard to see that now, when life seems like it keeps kicking her while she’s down, but one day things will change for Callie, just as they did for me.

She continues to cry long, hard sobs that shake her entire body. My clothes are stained with her tears.

I don’t know how much time passes before I decide to move us to Callie’s bed, still holding her close. Fuck my moral compass; I dare anyone to try to pry me away from this girl.

Softly I begin to hum a lullaby my mother used to sing to me, breathing in my mate’s essence as I do so. I’m here, I’ve got you, I want to say. But that is one line I won’t cross. So I let the melody and my embrace do the talking for me.

It seems to work. First Callie’s crying tapers off, and then her breathing evens. When I glance down at her next, she’s out cold. Her eyes are still swollen and her cheeks are still blotchy, and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t love her more, which only makes the pain and anger inside me more acute.

I wipe away a stray tear with my thumb. I have to go. If I don’t, I might do something reckless, like stay the night.

“One day I won’t have to leave you,” I say softly.

Gingerly I slide out from under her, and then I do something I’ve never done to another women—I tuck her in.

Love is … not how I imagined it to be. I never anticipated these little gestures of kindness that she brings out in me. There’s something about them that disturbs me, like I’m losing a bit of my edge.

But then I remember that there’s a teacher out there who needs to be taught a lesson, and suddenly, my edge is back.

With one final look at Callie’s sleeping form, I slip out of the room and into the night.

Time for vengeance.