The Unwavering

CHAPTER 16

I wake in a tangle of sheets, alone in an unfamiliar room that is not too different to the room I had just wrecked.

I close my eyes and clench the bedsheet in an attempt to block the image of the room, with the contents of the wardrobe and the bathroom strewn across the floor.

Why did I let myself do that? I really need to learn how to control my rage. Growing up, it was never this intense, yet I still caused a lot of damage to myself and those around me. I had to learn to harbour my emotions, especially if my surge has intensified them.

I don't want to hurt anyone else.

I prop up on my elbows and look around the room I'm in from my half-seated position on the king-sized bed with the soft, dark sheets. My eyes widen in awe and a slight sense of fear as I notice the array of knifes and swords hanging on the wall. The carpeted floor is bare, with the exception of several dark items of clothing lying in random piles. The feature wall behind the bed's headboard is painted a dark grey, and all the furniture is a matching shiny black collection.

Not a colourful person.

My eyes travel to the closed bathroom door. I can hear the shower running, and flush deeply at the realisation that I'm in Callan's room, and that he is in the shower.

Naked.

Separated from me by only a door.

Dear Lord.

The shower cuts off, and I hear him step out of the cubicle, the soft notes of his humming seeping through the closed door. What am I supposed to do?

I lift the duvet and peer at myself. I'm still fully dressed. Should I get out of bed? And do what? Stand there awkwardly and wait for Callan to appear?

The door suddenly swings open, and Callan stands there with just a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist.

Holy. Shit.

He's rubbing his damp hair with another towel, his eyes looking downwards, so he thankfully doesn't see my gawking. My gaze travels down his bare chest, taking in his sculpted chest, his defined abs, his muscular arms that bulge as he continues to dry his hair. No wonder his shirts are all so tight. He's built like a god.

Water droplets glisten on his tanned skin. Does he train outside? Topless? The image of him swinging one of the swords on the wall around outside shirtless, the sun shining on his tanned skin, flits into my mind, and my mouth goes momentarily dry.

He looks up, an expression of mild yet pleasant surprise appearing on his face.

'Oh, hey,' he says. 'You're up.'

He gives me a crooked grin, his blue eyes sparkling, and my mind goes numb. I feel warm all over.

I need help.

'Uh, I,' I stutter.

His grin deepens with amusement.

'This is a sight I could get used to,' he mutters.

'What?'

'You waking up in my bed.' His cheeky grin turns into something hungrier, and his eyes gaze down my covered body, darkening.

I thought I couldn't get any warmer.

I was wrong.

What am I supposed to say to that?

'Why am I in your bed?' I finally ask. Callan walks over to his chest of drawers and rummages around, before pulling out a pair of black boxers, dragging my thoughts to a certain area of him...