Apparently my obvious objection to butterflies has been noticed. Since we spend hours tending the greenhouse plants each day, me flinching every time one passes is getting old. Callum doesn’t know the significance of the butterfly for me.
I’ve had over six years to attach this negative association of mine to the tiny insect.
As a girl growing up, I loved butterflies. I’m sure I did.
Now, they are a constant living reminder of the choices I made, the situations I could never control, and the lurking threat that no doubt will rear its ugly head the instant I’m back in the city.
Callum closes around me, enveloping me as another butterfly lands on my palm. The tiny dot of nectar he planted there to reel them in works. As bile rises in my throat, I wish it didn’t.
“I can’t.” My hands tremble as the second set of minuscule feet touch down, barely detectable against the lifeline of my palm.
“You already are,” Cal whispers, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
My eyes shutter closed, and the tiny feet on my palm are forgotten. Was that his plan, seduce my fear away? Replace the terror the winged miracles bring with something better? Him, around me.
A wing flutters against my ring finger and I jerk, eyes snapping open.
Teeth bite down on my neck, gently. My body automatically surrenders to his. My fear melting back into submission.
“Cal . . .”
I rest my head back on his shoulder, and he grazes my neck with lips and teeth. “I could fucking eat you, Evie.”
“I would let you,” I breathe.
Hell, I’m a gooey puddle of slick need and fire right now. My hand finds his hair as I reach back, the butterflies long forgotten. I spin in his hold, and he grabs me, tugging my body to his. In the warm greenhouse, we are already sweating. The humidity of the enclosed space makes everything bound faster than it should.
“Maybe I should start growing my own food.” Emmett chuckles through the garden.
We startle, jerking apart, sending gravel scattering from our feet.
Shit.
My cheeks heat. I worry my lip through my teeth, hand covering my mouth. Callum throws his friend a dirty look before dotting a kiss to my forehead and stalking from the greenhouse.
Oh my god.
Since when was Emmett coming out today? He was just here yesterday. I fix my still-orderly clothes and clear my throat before heading back into the house.
Writing. I should be writing.
I glance toward the dock and see the men wandering toward Firefly, Emmett pointing at something as Cal tilts his head, rubbing his jaw. Okay...
I all but run up the center spiral stairs and flop into the desk chair like I’m about to miss a deadline. Laughable, since that’s the reason I ended up here.
It’s not like Emmett to turn up unannounced. The mind boggles with that one. I guess Cal will tell me if it’s important.
Opening the laptop, I click on the manuscript. I’m at the eighty percent mark, just about to let the heroine take the fall before she ultimately saves herself in the final hour. Because of course she does.Hero who?
It wouldn’t be a great romantasy without a heroine with an arc that could be seen from space. From zero to hero. In her case, from zeroine to heroine.
God, that’s corny. I snort a laugh, but it fades.
Without her arc continuing, there is no more series.
A quandary for sure.
I push out of the chair and pace the room. I’m on book two of this six-book series. But...
