The Rejected True Heiress (Liora and Callum) novel Chapter 347

It might have been laughable, had circumstances not been so… sad.

“So your parents took it badly, I imagine,” I pointed out.

Callum huffed and looked into his bottle. “My dad beat the shit out of me.”

I pulled my head back. “He what?”

Wordlessly, Callum turned, pulling his shirt up to reveal his back. My breath hitched, and before I knew it, I was on my feet. Tears instantly blurred my vision, but it did nothing to block out the mental image of his back criss-crossed with scars that were still oozing, surrounded with red, raised skin.

“Callum!” I breathed. “We have to get you to the doctor! You could have an infection!”

“No.” He released his shirt, then leaned back against the wall, wincing. “I’m fine. It’ll heal.”

“No, it won’t.” I grabbed his hand and hauled him to his feet, making him stumble into me. I steadied him with my hands on his arms, and his stormy eyes looked down at me.

“Liora—”

“Let me at least put some ointment on it,” I said, cutting him off.

Callum hesitated, clearly not wanting to cut his drinking session short. But I was already pulling him toward the stairs, and he didn’t resist. He laced his fingers through mine, and I tried to ignore the sensation, focusing instead on getting him back to his room.

Callum’s dorm was dark and cold, clearly not used much lately. I sat him on his bed, then retrieved the first aid kit from the common area. By the time I returned, he had removed his shirt entirely and, shockingly, somehow found another bottle of liquor that he’d already cracked open.

I knelt on the bed behind him and gently smeared the ointment across each scar, taking care not to rub so hard. He winced, but quelled each one with another swig of his ointment, his back muscles flexing with the movements.

The sight made my heart break. He’d been going around for days now, acting like everything was fine, while his back was torn to shreds. It made me wonder if he’d suffered in silence like this before, and the very thought infuriated me.

“There,” I finally said, sitting back. I bit my lip, inspecting my work. “You really should go to the infirmary tomorrow. You probably need to take a course of antibiotics.”

Callum glanced at me over my shoulder. “If I do, will it make you smile?”

Unbidden, though, my eyes kept drifting to Callum. As sleep took him—it didn’t take long with all that alcohol in his system—his fave smoothed out, making him look younger, happier. More peaceful.

I wished I could take a snapshot of that moment and make it last forever.

Hell, I wished I could stay forever, just like this, in a brief bubble of happiness.

But I couldn’t do either of those things. I knew that, come morning, I would still be a mistake to him.

So, once his breathing evened out, I quietly put the chair back and tiptoed over to the door.

But as I reached for the handle, something stirred in my chest for the first time in a while. My wolf.

I bit my lip, glancing over my shoulder. Callum was still fast asleep, his mouth open, dark hair strewn across the pillow. He looked sweet, and gentle, and for a moment, he almost looked like someone I could see myself loving.

But I left him like that, even though that presence in the back of my chest was begging me to crawl into bed with him and finally claim what was mine.