Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(53)

“I didn’t tell him!” Derek turned his back to her and took two steps away before reconsidering, and pivoting back toward her. “I had your back tonight, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she murmured. At least it had seemed that way.

Callie was in too deep. This world of mayhem was something she’d strived to stay away from. No matter how hard she worked, though, she couldn’t escape her destiny to be another lowlife. She’d thought she could be invisible on this job. Her name would be unspoken. The soul renters would be looking at Derek, not her. But the Charmer couldn’t let her get away that easily. No, he had to force her to be a part of it. To make her magical, like he was some bastardized fairy godfather. Cinderella had mice and a pumpkin. Callie could probably scrounge up some rats at her apartment, but her magic would only work if the rodents happened to be double-dosing on souls. Where was her happy ending?

Derek had proven himself, and she still tossed blame his way like a jackass. She deserved his disdain. What happened with Bianca was apparently public knowledge, which meant her other secrets could escape, too. The ones she told no one. Would people know she liked burning Bianca? Moreover, would they discover how disloyal she’d been in the past? Atonement didn’t have an end date for her. Josh played the card constantly. Was he spilling her dark secrets now, too?

“I didn’t mean to blame you. I just don’t know how he found out.” She deflated from her battle-ready, shit’s-about-to-go-down stance. There wasn’t enough energy left over to conceal the anxiety in her voice.

“Too many people with big mouths.” He didn’t divulge a name, but she sensed he had an idea who had blabbed. The truth of that knowledge lingered in the air between them.

Callie didn’t push, though. “Meeting with him exhausts me.”

“The Charmer has that effect on people.”

Callie narrowed her eyes. “He doesn’t do the same energy suck Tess does, does he?”

“No, he’s just an exhausting asshole sometimes.” Derek turned Callie around with an open arm. He kept it draped across her shoulders as they finished their walk to his bike.

“My place next?” Callie asked while strapping on her helmet. It was edging toward 11 p.m., and her early mornings at the Home had conditioned her to be in bed at the same time as a seven-year-old.

“You got booze at your place?”

“Not really.” The two beers in her fridge were lonely and cheap.

“Then first we’re going to the liquor store.” Derek revved the engine and cast Callie a look full of expectations. Climbing on meant agreeing to more than a ride home. Her beleaguered mind wasn’t game to cull a list of pros and cons. She slung a leg over the seat and scooted in close. Talking wasn’t going to do anything about the fear fused to her bones. Not yet. She was still too rattled, but she could find a few minutes’ solace in the way Derek’s body had acclimated to hers, softening as she cradled him with long legs and a tight hug. She nuzzled against his leather jacket until she could almost taste the rich scent. He waited until Callie had drunk her fill of the moment before pulling out of the space.


Vodka tonics might be magical.

The potato-based alcohol had been the smart choice at the liquor store. Tequila put her on the floor, and Derek didn’t need to see her in whiskey riot mode. The clear liquor was the safe bet, and Derek had proven himself adept at making the drinks strong enough for a firm kick, but mild enough to avoid the sense of immolation. Callie’d had enough internal fire for a lifetime.

Her minimal furniture put them in the same places they’d sat earlier in the day. With each round of drinks, he slowly migrated from the far end of the couch toward her.

“You look weird without your jacket,” Callie mused between the first few sips of her third drink.

He’d ditched the leather in the kitchenette when he made the last round. The aura of menace he projected didn’t disappear without the jacket, but it lessened. Or the booze was working. He pursed his lips for a moment, and looked himself over. “What’s so weird?”

The ends of each arm of his fitted tee shirt strained against his biceps as he casually draped his arm across the back of the sofa. His fingers grazed her shoulder and an unbidden rush of heat flocked to her chest. Callie scrunched her bare toes against the thin carpet. “I don’t know. You look deceptively normal.”

“Deceptive? I can’t be normal?”

“You know too much to be normal.”

He groaned. “That’s probably true.” He downed a third of his drink in a single swallow. How many of those would it take before he was drunk? At this rate, she was going to find out.

“It’s okay. I’m not normal either.” Tipsy was Callie’s best setting.

When he chuckled, the low lights in her apartment finally caught the light pink dusting the apples of his cheeks. “You seem pretty normal to me. Hot, but normal.”

“Well, as long as hot is a factor.”

“Hotness is always a factor, doll.”

God, was he right. Allowing him into the apartment had been a bad decision. As was the booze. Last time she drank around him, she’d lit a girl on fire with her freakish hands, and then she’d kissed him. They hadn’t discussed the latter at all, which could only mean she’d blown it. Epically.