Page 75 of Anomalies

It takes me a few seconds to find my breath, but I do find it. Eventually. “And that Mark means all of that?” I blurt the first question that comes to mind.

He grins, noting the traitorous flush that I’m trying so hard to smother. “To me it does.”

Suddenly, I’m not distracted by his tattoo or his bare torso anymore; I’m distracted by the way he talks. I’ve never met someone so willing to speak their mind, and he does so unflinchingly, no matter what he has to say. It's intimidating in a way I don’t understand, but it makes me feel…weird. Lightheaded. Dizzy?

I refocus on all the symbols inked into his skin, a river of coin-sized circles that I want to know the meanings of as badly as I want to touch them. Chiaros, Cin, get a fucking grip.

“Tell me more,” I say softly and Callan laughs, releasing my hands to check the damage on my knees, then he gently moves them towards the light to⁠—

It’s taken me until just now to realize I don’t have pants on.

Like none. At all.

My T-shirt is long, thank the Matrons, but who knows what he saw when he carried me out of the cabin.

Callan turns to grab something from his kit and catches the sudden heat in my cheeks. Then he notices the way my eyes refuse to focus on his.

“What is it?” he asks innocently, but I catch the corner of his grin as he dips his head to get a better look at my knees. Then his smile splits wide open when I slam them together. Silver eyes find mine, a mischievous glint in them. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Suddenly, the desire to kick him in the face is so strong that I squeeze the edges of the sofa cushion to stop myself. “My naked body?” I gape, “I know for fucking sure you’ve never seen it before.”

“Sometimes you don’t shut your blinds,” Callan says dryly, then goes back to prodding at my knees.

My mouth falls open, and anger flares, burning brighter when he smirks. I make a move to stand, but he slams his arm down over my thighs, never looking up from whatever wound he’s working on. “Let me go,” I growl, some feral part of me shredding its way out from the inside.

His arm stays locked in place. “It’s not a big deal, Lucina. It’s only happened a few times.”

“A big dea—A FEW TIMES?!” I’m going to rip his eyes out of his head and pulverize them. “Let me go so I can kick your ass!”

He does no such thing. But when he finally looks up at me, he’s smiling. “You didn’t even feel it, did you?”

“Feel what?!” I snap, jerking against his hold but it’s no damn use. “Perverted eyes watching me through my windows!? Obviously not.”

That makes him laugh. Which makes me want to rip his throat out.

“No, Lucina.” Callan empties his hand over the table, and a few tiny wooden shards tumble out of his open palm. “I just dug six splinters out of your knees.”

My jaw slackens. “Did you just?”

“Distract you?” he grins, proud of himself. “Yes, I did.” The Captain puts the tweezers down, then leans forward on his thighs, caging in my legs with his own. “Do you really think I’d watch you like that?”

I don’t answer because deep down, I don’t think he would.

And that feels too naïve to say out loud.

“I never have, and I never will.” The Captain ponders his words for a moment. Then confidently amends his promise, sealing it with a dark smile, “Unless of course, you ask me to.”

Oh no.

No, no, no…

This is a recipe for disaster—the lingering adrenaline, the lifesaving of it all, the brush with death… the lack of clothing. All my worst decisions have been made in this kind of headspace.

I slide back into the sofa, replying as casually as I’m able. “Well, I’d never ask you to, Captain–”

I barely rein in my gasp when the feet of the couch scrape the hardwood and my entire body jolts forward. Callan’s hand, which I hadn’t even seen move, is snaked between my calves and hooked on the bottom of the sofa, while his other hand is pressed into the cushion beside me.

Matrons, he pulled the whole damn couch towards him.