After Rae Campbell is murdered by her abductor, she wakes in a world that exists parallel to ours- one which diverged in 1761, when a band of Scottish Highlanders joined with the Skin-Walking Kituwah tribe to oust the British from Appalachia.
Rae b...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
For a few long minutes, neither Calum nor I speak. We sit close- too close, but not close enough. I have the irrational urge to crawl into his lap, wrap my legs around his hips, and bury my face into his neck. I want to flee as fast and as far from him as I can. The warring desires keep me frozen in place, nauseous and warm and horrified.
"Do not worry. It will settle after The Claiming, as Ness said."
I bite my lip, and Calum's gaze darts down to my mouth. He licks his own, his eyes dark, hungry. My entire body flinches away from him when I recognize the expression, but at the same time, it feels like I am burning from within.
"What is The Claiming?" I ask again, hating how breathy my voice sounds.
"The consummation of the bond."
"So... sex."
Calum's lips quirk upwards, and he tilts his head to the side in acknowledgement. "That is a part of it, of course." He pauses. "Before we became the Sagwu-Dhaoine, our Scottish ancestors held wedding ceremonies. The Claiming is an intensely private experience- there is no audience, but it is ceremonial, nonetheless."
"You don't have weddings?"
"We have a Claiming Banquet, but it is generally not held for a week or more after the bond is consummated. It is... uncomfortable... to be around the newly mated."
I can imagine.
"What if... what if I don't want to do The Claiming? What if I want to leave?" I ask, after a long moment, and Calum flinches.
"You have the option to reject the mate bond. Some do."
His face is carefully blank, but I can sense his disappointment that I am still entertaining the idea of living elsewhere.
"It's just... you seem like you're a nice guy, and all, but you're a total stranger. I don't know you. We might not have anything in common. We might not even like each other. And I don't want some weird magical thing to be in control of my life. I want to make my own decisions, for myself," I try to explain.
Calum takes a bite of sausage, leaving behind a greasy smear at the corner of his lip. Before I'm even aware of what I'm doing, I have reached up and wiped it away with my thumb.
The contact sends wildfire sparking at my thumb and ripping through my veins. It flares deep in my belly, and I reflexively clench my legs at the pleasant ache that suddenly blooms between them. Calum's eyes dart downwards at the movement, and he chuckles.
"You seem to like me plenty." His voice is colored warm by amusement, yet has a husky edge.
I must be the color of a tomato.
"That's not what I meant," I stutter, the fires of humiliation overshadowing the sort of arousal I never expected to feel again. "Besides, I don't even know if this," I gesture between us, "is even my own reaction to you."
