A Spell of Hate

Acceptance

Well, I acknowledge as Cal falls back against the bed, asleep. That was one of the weirdest experiences of my entire life.

I continue to watch as Cal's eyes fly open and he bursts upright, looking around frantically.

"Malikah! Are you okay? What'd—"

"Cal!" I cry. I fling myself at him, embracing him. I'm so happy to have him back that I don't even care I'm letting on how much I care about him.

His arms slowly surround me, and soon we're clinging tightly to each other.

"I missed you," I tell him.

"Was the other me that bad?" he teases, but I can hear the uncertainty in his voice. The two of them may have grown up in different worlds, but Calandras and Callum share the same soul.

I think about my interaction, playing back the words, the emotions I felt as I interacted with Calandras. I realize that I never once feared he would hurt me. He was respectful, honest, loyal...traits I've begun to discover my Cal possesses too.

"No," I decide, "he really wasn't bad. He just wasn't you. You're my Cal."

He sags with relief against me. He lowers his face into my hair, and his hands flex against my back as if he's trying to curb the urge to grip me even harder. As it is, he's holding me tightly, urgently, as if he's afraid I might drift away.

"Malikah," he whispers, and a shiver goes through my body at how reverent my name sounds on his lips.

I've never stopped loving you.

Guilt eats at me as I consider why I've not given Cal a chance. It takes far too long for Edward's face to flash into my mind.

Oh, that's not good.

Or is it? Am I just using my "relationship" as a helpful excuse to avoid my real feelings? Am I using Edward? Am I using Cal? Am I—

I pump the breaks on my overthinking and decide to tackle one issue at a time. For now, before I make any other decisions, I need to know why Cal lied to me about being Mule. Not only was he dishonest, but he also basically spied on me.

I force myself to pull away, and Cal doesn't fight me. His arms fall to his sides, and he gazes at me with a look of such tender longing that I almost fall back into his arms.

I shake my head. No. I'm getting answers.

Still, I'm not sure what to say, and part of me is terrified of what I'll find out. All my uncertainties bind together, restraining my words.

In the end, after several long moments of us just staring at each other, it's Cal who speaks first.

"Are you okay? Did I... did I get there in time?"

My mind flashes through the events of the previous day: the cookout, getting kidnapped, the dark creatures voting over who got to violate me first.

I give him a tight smile, "You arrived just in time."

Actually, he made it without a second—or an inch—to spare. I shudder at the thought.

"How're your wounds?" I counter, determined to bury that memory in the darkest swamp in my subconscious: obscured and blurred with all the worst from my childhood. Instead, I focus my attention on the nasty, swollen bite mark on his shoulder.

His eyes follow my gaze to his shoulder. "I've been better, but I'll heal. I do hope they scar though."

I snort, "Why would you want them to scar?"