Page 20 of Touched

“No, sir, I’m good,” Callum replies, chancing a quick glance at me, as I fail to contain my laughter. Ignoring me other than the slight lifting of the corner of his perfect lips, he speaks to the kind man. “Probably should be getting on my way since I’m on my lunch break, though. Thanks.” He holds the bottle of water up as he waves.

The man nods, starting to walk away. He turns back, gesturing to the sky and saying, “May want to step it up, seems a summer storm is coming in hot.”

Glancing up, I can see impending darkness swirling around as the air and wind drastically pick up. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I immediately understand what’s going on. Either Cyrus figured out I left Laric again and called in reinforcements, meaning Da, or somehow, the Elders know.

Oh, hells.

Regardless of who is behind the impending storm, it doesn’t bode well for me.

Not at all.

Callum quickly stands. I follow suit, moving close to him as if to shield him from the wrath of an as-yet-unknown threat, although he has no clue that’s what I’m doing. Flicking my hands discreetly behind me, I send up a swirl of leaves to shield us slightly as I follow behind Callum toward the parking lot. I still have no clue who I’m about to face. I wish I had asked him more questions. And while I’m thinking so grandly, I wish I had willingly touched him.

I like the feelings within me that his nearness stirs up.

I like feeling for myself some of the things I’ve only ever read about in my forbidden romance books.

I like… Callum.

I think he’d be called an alpha male; he exudes a presence that’s almost as crippling as the Elders do when they’re overseeing one of our colony meetings.

That could be his Sylph blood, but again, I have no one I can safely ask, so it appears I’ll be heading back to my books.

Once I handle this present issue, that is.

How much trouble am I in?

As the groundskeeper hurries off to his little motorized vehicle, Callum grasps my hand in his, lacing our fingers together and sending a frisson of excitement through my entire body. Despite the fact the wind is now whipping around us so fiercely that my hair is flying around my head and slapping us both in the face.

I don’t want to mar his beautiful face. And yes, he is beautiful.

Masculine, strong, and protective, but nonetheless beautiful.

The wind slams into me so harshly, I’m pulled away from Callum. His hand flies through the air as complete unease fills his face. His lips move, though I cannot hear him over the roaring of the wind. I flip end over end, scared to release my wings for fear they’ll shred in the tumultuous storm.

My eyes widen in fear as I finally hear the loud, booming bellow.

“Aeris!”

Dread consumes me as I struggle against the gale-like forces pulling me further away from Callum.

My poor Callum.

I shake my head.

He is not my Callum. Though, I’d very much like him to be.

The latest thought weaves its way to the surface of my consciousness, catching me off-guard. Despite the human fascination that tugs at my curiosity, there’s no way I’d ever be allowed to be romantic with one. I understand this truth. Yet, it’s as if he stepped straight off the page, and it pulls me toward him as though caught in a magnetic field. The feelings stirred by his presence are utterly enchanting. I yearn to continue basking in this sensation, these butterflies performing acrobatics in my stomach. No one has ever made me think this way. Humans refer to it as “animal attraction.” At least they do in my readings.

Shaking my head. I promptly push the raging desires bubbling up inside me into the dark crevices of my mind. I should not allow myself these distracting contemplations regarding this human. Especially when the storm, tearing me away from Callum, requires my undivided attention.

Tucking my wings tightly to cling like a second skin to the contours of my back, I allow myself to ride the wind instead of fighting against it. While we Fae can conceal our wings with our magick, we can’t truly make them disappear. They’re always there, though they are only visible when we have need of them. The threat of them being torn apart or, worse, ripped clean from my body lingers.

What is a Fae without wings?

But the fear is unwarranted. The bond between a Fae and her wings isn’t so easily severed. Still, the disturbing possibility exists, and the mere thought sends shivers down my spine.

A cold wind whips around me as I swipe at the wet strands of hair plastered to my face, their tendrils obstructing my view of the tempestuous scene. Rain pelts my skin, but the storm outside is nothing compared to the turmoil brewing within me. The booming voice doesn’t echo my name again. Its silence is almost as daunting as its prior pronouncement. I don’t need to hear it a second time, though. I recognize the deep, earthy timbre that shakes me to my core. It belongs to Aren, my Da. A visceral jolt of apprehension grips me, my heart instantly plummeting into the pit of my stomach. A mix of fear and guilt swirls within me, potent as the storm I face.

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