Relief was an inadequate depiction of how he felt.

  He consumed her, wrapping his arms around her petite body, pulling her tightly against him, nothing separating them but the soaked clothing on their backs. She felt weightless in his arms, but her lips were like a weighted blanket against his, grounding him with reality. He lifted her off of the asphalt and pressed her body into the brick wall of the tea shoppe, her legs wrapping welcomingly around his waist as he pressed himself against her. Her trousers were soaked, squishing between his fingers as he gripped her thighs. He worried, momentarily, that he was pushing too hard… until she dug her nails into his back, pulling him even closer. He placed his hands flat against the stone on either side of her as the kiss deepened, and he could feel her heart beating against his chest.

  The night before, she had said, “That was my first kiss”. As they kissed now, he could not believe it. He had kissed many girls before—and truthfully, done much more—yet, he had never experienced anything quite like what happened when his lips met Natalia’s. They crashed together with a necessary collision of teeth and tongues, and he wondered why he had ever wasted his time kissing other girls. He suddenly loathed the lips he had met with his, before hers.

  They kissed like that, as if time were a construct they could bend and pause at their own will, for a long time… and yet, not nearly long enough.

  Chapter twenty

  Natalia

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Natalia stood in the rain as it spilled from the sky, her father shouting at her from beneath the overhang of their front porch, yet again. Her mind and skin still buzzed with elation; she had never been kissed the way Jameson had kissed her that afternoon.

  I am Called to you, he said.

  To her, it was unbelievable—yet somehow, made perfect sense. They clicked, she’d felt Called to him as well, and could no longer imagine a future without him. In a matter of hours, her life was changed—enhanced. He would Claim her as his mate, and she would happily follow him wherever he went.

  As she watched her father’s brown brows furrow in fury—large, clenched fists at either side of him, yelling into the rain—she wondered how she would tell him.

  “I’m sorry?” he mimicked with a hateful grimace. “You triggered the emergency signal and fled the property, like some sort of delinquent! You neglected your academic responsibilities and brought further embarrassment onto this family, and all you can afford is ‘I’m sorry’?!”

  Natalia looked away from him, staring blankly down the dim street as the water on the road reflected the storm clouds above. “It will not happen again.” Wet hair blanketed her shoulders as her bangs clung to her forehead. Her clothes were heavy, dowsed with rain, her top stuck to her arms awkwardly. She reminded herself: This is temporary.

  She kept her gaze low to not provoke him further, and did not notice him approaching as he made his way down the porch steps. Her father’s tight grip encircled her upper arm completely, the firmness reminding her of the heart rate monitor in the Shotstaff Hall infirmary. She could feel her heartbeat beneath her skin, the blood pulsing harshly as he tightened his grasp.

  “Soon enough,” he growled above her head in a poisonous tone. “You will be out of my hair. Until then, I expect nothing short of perfect obedience. Four moons. Do you think you can manage?”

  She nodded, her reflection staring up at her from a wavering puddle. The rain was harsh and cold, but her father’s grip was harsher.

  She did not struggle. Even as he pulled her roughly up the porch steps, stubbing her toe on the hard wood as she tried to match his wide stride, she did not resist. She knew all-too-well that the consequences for resisting would be far worse. “Tomorrow—” he bellowed angrily, yanking her into the entryway and swinging the door closed after her with a loud ‘bang’. “—you will come straight home after lessons.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Go to your room.” He jabbed a thick, tan finger towards the staircase. “And do not disturb your mother.”

  She turned and hurried up the stairs, her sandals squishing against the carpet with each step. Four moons, she thought to herself. Four moons, and I’ll be freed. For the first time in a long time, she had hope—though it was coupled with something else entirely.

  As she stepped quietly past her parents’ closed bedroom door, she remembered Professor Prival reminding them to make peace with their families before the Claiming Ceremony. At the time, she had not considered being Claimed herself. She thought of how things would be different had her mother not fallen ill—had Natalia been born with the correct genetic make-up. She pictured her mother fussing over her hair, doing up the laces of her Ceremony gown, crying the way mothers were expected to when their children finally left home. She now wondered how she would react when she learned the news, or if she would react at all.

  She pushed her own bedroom door open and stepped inside, ignoring the subtle pang of regret as she let yet another day pass without acknowledging her mother. She reminded herself that it was better this way. Her mother could not handle the sight of her own daughter, Natalia thought that might be a worse burden than her own. Better she disappear entirely, start anew somewhere else, allowing her parents to start over as well.

  Shaking off negative thoughts, she marched into the washroom and ran the showerbath. She undressed as she turned her thoughts back onto her afternoon with Jameson, unable to resist smiling as the fresh memories surfaced. The feeling of his hands on her waist as he lifted her up off the ground. The pressure of his chest against hers, and the cold, damp wall pressing into her back. The way he smiled as he kissed her, and the way his eyes pleaded as he spoke those words that rang in her head like the sweetest melody; I am Called to you.

  He meant it; she knew. There was no doubt in her mind that this was just as real for him as it was for her. She let the hot water wash the rain from her hair as the steam opened her pores and awakened her senses. His green eyes shone even in her mind’s eye. They had only just parted ways, and yet, she longed to see those eyes again.

  They had kissed in the alley for a long time, engulfed in the rain fall as the sky opened above their heads. After some time, they had stopped kissing and embraced each other, leaning familiarly against one another as he ran his porcelain fingertips over the saturated hair atop her shoulders. They had spoken a little, laughed a lot, and kissed again.

  Eventually, they retreated through the emptying roads back to his truck, where they continued kissing for countless minutes. By the time he had started his truck and pulled out of the alley, the ends of her hair had begun to dry. She’d sat in the passenger seat as he drove through the roads of Siscero and into the teardrop forest. Halfway through the woods, she inched into the middle seat. Her thigh pressed into his as she placed her hand atop his knee, and he stopped the vehicle. Light from the front of the truck beamed through the shadows ahead of them, illuminating the sleeping wood, and they kissed again. The rain came down in hard beads against the windshield as she climbed into his lap. The world slipped further away with each passing second, every heated exchange of inhales and exhales only deepened their connection. She felt it in her bones, even as she stood alone in the heat of her shower, she knew he belonged to her—and she to him. She turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around her torso before making her way back into the bedroom.

  Blake

  Blake tried to deter his gaze as Natalia crossed her room clad only in a white towel, but failed, as he had so many times before. She was toned, the muscles in her arms spiraled tightly downward, and her legs were just as defined. Still, so small, he thought.

  He had watched her father berate her for her indiscretions, for the second night in a row. She’d accepted it, quietly, as she always did. It was more or less like any other night, except for the fact that Blake was not watching from his bedroom window, as he usually did. He was now spectating from the rocking swing on his front porch.

  He’d sat in the shadows, the lamps snuffed out, and awaited her return. He was angry, though not surprised, when Jameson’s truck approached. Her father was already waiting for her at the front door, and to Blake’s relief, Natalia did not kiss Jameson goodbye.

  He thought it safe to assume that they had kissed—he did not think highly enough of the Achroman to assume otherwise. She was irresistible, Blake himself might not have shown restraint, had he acquired a private moment with her. Blake longed to be in the fair boy’s shoes and envied him for his blatant social disregard. He imagined kissing her then, as she crossed the room, damp and scarcely covered. He imagined holding her small frame close to him, tangling her hair with his fingers, and pulling the towel away from her body. He rose from the swing, pulled his hood of his cloak up over his head, and took to the road.

  He didn’t have a plan, and he’d never crossed the street to her home before, but he could no longer help himself. He watched her shake out her hair as he stepped into the rain, her towel swaying loosely around her glistening body. Each step he took, his heartbeat quickened. He couldn’t simply knock on the door, he knew, and he couldn’t very well knock on her second story window. Perhaps if he mutated…

  No, he shook his head. I will not frighten her. For once, I will not use fear to get close to her.

  He stepped in a puddle, his sandal absorbing the water loudly, as he proceeded across the pavement. His view of her began to shift as he drew closer, only able to see her from the waist-up as he reached the footpath on the other side—and as he stepped onto the lawn, she dropped her towel. He could now see her shoulders, collarbones, her chin… and then only the top of her head as he made his way to the tree adjacent to her window. He could climb it, of course, that would be no problem at all, but decided against it to avoid startling her, or drawing attention to himself.

  As he reached the side of the house, he put a hand flat on the wall beneath her window and looked up. She was out of sight. He was so much closer, yet without her in sight, felt that much further away. He looked below him, scanning the dowsed grass and dirt for something to throw, when he noticed the bed of pebbles around the tree to his left. Just a few steps away, he grabbed a small handful and looked back up to her window, relieved to find that her lamp was still lit.

  He rolled a small stone between his thumb and index finger for a moment, rethinking his plan of action… before winding up, and tossing the rock at the windowpane.

  Jameson

  It pained Jameson to leave her, as her father loomed threateningly in the doorway of her home. She’d gotten out of the car quickly, and had not kissed him goodbye, fearing her father’s reaction. He understood completely, and all the more loathed the man for it. After the Claiming, he would never let another person come between them again. Until then, he would wait as patiently as he could manage.

  “Heaven, James—You’re tracking water into the house!” Angelica snapped at him as he stepped into the sitting room. It was a nice little place that the Trents had offered them, they were kind and generous hosts—even if their daughter was a poisonous bitch. Angelica was nestled into the sofa with a blanket and a bowl of soup. “Take off your shoes!”

  His nerves had gotten the better of him. He stepped back to kick his plimsolls onto the doormat. “Sorry.”

  “Been off with the Bane girl again?” she asked with a smile and a raised brow.

  “She Calls to me, Angie.”

  His sister nearly dropped the bowl, its contents splashing around as she sat forward. Momentarily, he chuckled at the image of spilled chicken and rice all over the over-priced tea-table. “What?” she balked, setting the bowl down in front of her.

  He nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I believe,” he said, wavering back and forth with his hands awkwardly in his pockets. The truth was, he didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like. No one did before they felt it for the first time, it was meant to be an irreplaceable and unmatched feeling of certainty—and while he was not sure that anyone could ever feel the way he felt about Natalia, he was certain that she was meant to be his. “I mean, it isn’t as if they tell you how it should feel.”

  “Well, how does it feel?” Her eyes were big and blue and filled with questions. She much resembled the young Caster girl he had spotted in Siscero, inquisitive brown eyes gleaming beneath bouncy pink curls as she eyed the plush toys atop the booth.

  He moved towards Angie quickly, only then realizing just how badly his tongue wished to utter his future-mate’s name. She had taken over every spare inch of his mind, and to not be with her was bothersome, to say the least. “It is difficult to explain.” He racked his brain for the words.

  “Try!” She nudged him with an eager elbow as he sat beside her on the sofa.

  His hands fiddled restlessly in his lap, his body vibrating with excitement after the afternoon he would not soon forget. “Before we left Roslin, everything made sense, but after seeing her, nothing did anymore—or I suppose it did, just not until I saw her.”

  Her brows dipped in confusion. He was not making much sense, he knew. He shook his head and tried again. “Alright, bear with me.”

  She nodded.

  “Try to imagine a life in which you were born with only one arm.”

  “Uh…” She looked at her hands. “Alright.”

  “Growing up, you learned how to manage everyday tasks, having never known what it was like to have two. You learned to hold a book, to write, to bathe yourself, to mutate and duel… You were born that way, right? It’s the only way you know how to live—and you do.”

  She was quiet for a moment as she stared at her palms, clenching and unclenching her fists in her lap as if she were imagining herself grasping a doorhandle. Finally, she looked back up at him with the same arched brows and sighed, defeated.

  “You do,” he repeated. “I mean, you live. You’re alive and you’re living—every day—thinking you have everything you can have, and everything works just fine with one arm—your only arm.”

  She sighed again. “Alright, so… what?”

  “Well one day, you look in the mirror and see an arm attached to your empty shoulder. An anomaly, but somehow, it makes more sense than anything else in your entire life. Suddenly, you cannot imagine a life without that arm, the one you’d only just laid eyes on for the first time. This arm proves stronger and more reliable, better than the arm I have lived with my entire life—and I had no idea what I was missing. Everything is easier, and it all makes sense, and the thought of losing this new arm… It’s unfathomable.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. He let her study his face, the way she did whenever she spoke with anyone. He let his words resonate between them for what felt like many minutes, until she finally spoke. “Wow.” Her eyes were wet—she was so emotional with these things. Not like Natalia, Jameson noted. Natalia was a steel trap—a trap that he desperately wanted to fall into.

  He chuckled. “Mhmm.”

  “This is big.”

  He nodded back at her. “I should send word home.”

  “Yes.” She nodded ferociously. “Immediately.”

  Chapter twenty-one

  Natalia

  As Natalia pulled a wide-necked jersey over her head, she heard the faint tapping of glass. She froze in place, standing in the middle of her room with the lamplight blazing and the curtains drawn open. Thoughts quickly passed through her mind, the only glass surfaces in her room being the bedroom window and the floor-length mirror.

  A quick glance in the mirror’s direction confirmed that she was still alone in her room, the mirror stood unattended by the bedroom door. Warily, she glanced back towards the window and the vast expanse of darkness ahead of it. Rain still fell, pattering silently against the glass as the downpour eased. Quickly, she grabbed the cotton breeches she had laid out at the end of the bed and stepped into them.

  Another ‘clink’.

  She rushed to her bedside table and blew out the flame, engulfing the room in darkness. The light from the moon shone through her window and spilled across her carpeted floor as the rain dripped lazily down the glass. She watched the window as she stepped towards it, and the next ‘clink’ was accompanied by something visible—something small and round. She narrowly stepped beside the window and flattened her back against the wall, craning her neck to see where the noise was coming from. Over the sill, she spotted the top of a hooded head, and as the figure raised his arm, she could just barely make out a familiar glint of dark eyes. Before he could release the stone which he held high, Natalia grabbed the windowsill and pulled it open wide.

  “Blake?” she called into the rain.

  He dropped his arm to his side and stared up at her, rain dripping off the hood of his sweatshirt and into his eyes. She leaned her hands onto the frame and poked her nose out to get a better view. “What are you doing?”

  He looked back up at her as his chest moved up and down heavily, as if he had been running. He opened his mouth and his lips moved, but she could not hear the words he spoke.

  “What?” she called down in hushed urgency.

  “Might I come up?”

  There is no way I heard that correctly, she thought to herself. “Wait there,” she said before closing the window and retreating back towards the bedroom door.

  She grabbed the handle and turned it slowly, peaking out into the dimly lit hall before taking the first, quiet step. The floor creaked beneath her; she prayed her father would not hear. She hurried past her parents’ closed door and down the stairs, turning at the bottom and advancing towards the back door.

  The door was in a coat room at the back of the house, through the kitchen. It was a large kitchen, a place where the Banes once shared meals and laughter. Flowers and candles had once adorned the counter tops, but her father had made habit of clearing the counters after her mother’s first bout of hysteria. She proceeded past the bare surfaces and into the mud room, sliding into an old pair of black boots before grasping the doorknob. She pulled it open soundlessly, briefly glancing behind her to be sure that her father had not followed her down, before stepping out beneath the awning of the back door.