Daggermouth

Callum considered lying, then dismissed the thought. Lira could read him better than anyone, even Greyson. It was one of the things that made her dangerous to be around. Made her dangerous for him to be around. Not because she would share his secrets, but because he couldn’t hide from her.

“Some distribution council functionary thought he could force himself on one of my girls.” He moved to the bar cart in the corner, pouring himself three fingers of whiskey. “Marina. You’ve met her—the redhead who runs the upper floor.”

“Is she all right?”

“She will be.” The whiskey burned down his throat, washing away the metallic taste that always lingered after violence. “Three broken ribs, bruised windpipe. Nothing that won’t heal physically. Mentally . . .” Callum’s words trailed off.

“And the functionary?”

Callum poured a second glass, offering it to her. She took it but immediately set it back on the cart. “Next time he’ll think twice.”

Lira knew what Callum was in some ways, knew the intricacies of his world and the brutality that filled the dark corners of his life. But he always spared her the details, kept her at arm’s length from the blood that was on his hands. She could handle it, he had no doubt of that, he just didn’t want her to have to. She saw enough pain, enough violence in her own life, she didn’t need to carry the weight of his too.

She took a step closer, close enough that he could smell the subtle scent she wore—something clean and expensive that reminded him of spring and Callum steeled himself as the palm of her hand found his chest. Her fingers ran over his collar as her eyes dragged up to his. Her presence had always overwhelmed him, an electric current—a magnetic pull that refused to release him.

He drew in a measured breath, trying to steady his heartbeat, trying to calm his pulse so she couldn’t feel it against her skin.

“Please be careful, Callie,” Lira whispered, her hand finding the side of his masked face and cupping his cheek.

He hated the nickname, but coming from her lips—she could call him anything.

Her touch sent a shiver through him, warmth dancing across his skin. He knew he shouldn’t let her get this close, shouldn’t allow himself these moments of weakness. But when it came to Lira, his restraint always crumbled.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry despite the whiskey. “I’m always careful,” he murmured, the words unconvincing even to his own ears.

Lira’s thumb brushed over his cheekbone, tracing the edge of his mask. “Liar.” There was no accusation in her tone, just a soft sadness that made his chest ache.

Callum fought the urge to lean into her touch, to close his eyes and let himself forget, just for a moment, who she was. Who he was, and the line he wasn’t allowed to cross.

He stepped back, letting her hand fall away. The loss of contact felt like a hollow space opening behind his ribs. “We should get started. Your brother will have my head if he thinks I’m slacking on your lessons.”

Lira let out a soft sigh but didn’t push. She knew him too well, knew when to let him retreat behind his walls. “You need to talk to him, Callie. He’s not okay.”

“I know,” he said, setting his glass down and shrugging out of his suit jacket. He draped it over the back of his chair then began rolling up his sleeves. “I tried to see him in the hospital, but they wouldn’t let me through because I’m not Veyra.”

Lira was pacing now in the center of his office. “He pulled his mask off for that . . . that woman.”

Callum took another sip of his whiskey as her eyes fluttered to his then back to the floor.

“He’s spiraling. Ever since Brooker died he’s been spiraling, and I’m scared. I’ve never seen him this close to breaking. He did break.”

She was right, he’d noticed it too. The tremor in Greyson’s hand that’d gotten worse over the past months. The way he was always looking over his shoulder as if he was hiding something, the haunted look that came more frequent behind his blue eyes. Callum saw all of it.

The last thing Greyson had said to him replayed in his mind.

‘If anything happens to me, make them suffer.’

An uneasy feeling pricked at the back of Callum’s neck at the thought. It was as if Greyson had expected this, expected something to go wrong. He knew he had secrets, knew there were things he spoke of to no one—but whatever he was hiding now, it was eating him.

Callum forced himself to refocus on the words that were flowing from Lira.

“. . . I can’t believe he would take his mask off, that he was stupid enough to let her see his face.”

A soft smile hooked a corner of Callum’s lips as he caught Lira’s eyes from across his desk.

“I recall you taking your mask off for me once,” he said, lowering into his chair and lifting the glass to his lips.

Lira inhaled a sharp breath, her eyes never leaving his from over the cut crystal.

“That was different,” she breathed. “I was in love with you.”

His stomach hollowed as his heart gasped in his chest.

Was.

The word was sharper than Callum expected, slicing through every organ with no regard for his survival.

Silence saturated the air between them as they stared back at each other, memories of that night five years ago rushing back in vivid detail. The way the alcohol had dissolved boundaries, how his fingers had trembled as they’d reached for her mask, how she’d whispered “Yes” before he could even ask the question. The forbidden intimacy of removing it, of revealing the face beneath—the most sacred taboo in Heart society.

And then her hands on his mask in return, gentle but sure. The terrifying vulnerability of being truly seen for the first time since childhood. How the air had seemed to crystallize between them in that moment of mutual revelation.

Her face had been more beautiful than he’d imagined—high cheekbones scattered with freckles, full lips split by a small scar in the left corner, eyes that caught the light like rays of sun on a calm sea. He’d traced the contours with his fingertips, committing to memory what he knew he should never have been allowed to see.

Then her mouth on his, hesitant at first, then hungry. It’d been a weekend of stolen moments, reckless and drunk on the feeling of skin against skin with no barriers, no masks. Callum’s hands had roamed every inch of her, memorizing the dips and curves he knew he could never touch again.

He remembered the breathy sounds she made as he trailed open mouthed kisses down her throat, the way she arched into him when he finally sank into her. They’d moved together, sweat slicked and panting, her nails scoring lines down his back as he drove her closer to the edge.

The feeling had been branded into Callum’s soul, the way his heart had clenched then expanded to the point of shattering when she looked up at him through thick, dark lashes and told him she loved him.

Her fingers had traced patterns on his chest as the morning sunlight dripped in through the window and painted her golden. They’d stayed there for hours, days, whispering confessions and promises. Pla

But reality had crashed back in with the new week, destroying every hope for them. Greyson would never forgive him. It was the one rule, the only rule their friendship had.

Lira was off limits.

So Callum had done what he always did—he pushed her away. Told her it meant nothing, that it was just sex and adrenaline. That he didn’t want her.

Every word of it had been a lie.

His heart belonged to her, every beat it took she owned. He knew, with bone deep certainty, that he would never love another woman.

Greyson was right to tell him to stay away from her. Callum knew he was only trying to protect his sister from the savagery that plagued the edges of his world.

Lira deserved better than him.

Callum had spent every day since trying to ignore the ache in his chest whenever she was near, even when she wasn’t.

Callum set his glass down with slightly more force than necessary, the clink of crystal on wood jarring in the loaded silence, and rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension building there.

The door to his office crashed open with enough force to rattle the glass wall and both their masked faces snapped toward the sound.

Greyson stood there like violence given form, his mask firmly in place. Callum didn’t need to see his face to read the rage—it lived in every line of his body, in the tight fists at his sides, the rigid set of his shoulders. His blue eyes held the kind of wildness Callum had only witnessed once before. The night they’d pulled Brooker’s body from the Heart’s plaza.

Callum rose from his desk, already calculating how much damage control this situation would require. “What happened?”

Greyson stalked to the center of the room, his movements like a caged predator—controlled, but barely. His hands opened and closed repeatedly, as if seeking something to destroy.

Lira took three rapid steps away from him toward Callum, removing herself from the reach of his fury. Callum reached for her, his hand finding the dip in her waist and pulling her one step closer.

“What’s wrong?” Lira asked, concern etching her voice.

“She’s in my home.” The words came out like they’d been ripped from Greyson’s throat. “That fucking Daggermouth is in my home.”

Callum’s spine fully straightened at the revelation.

“I nearly killed her this morning. Had my hand around her throat, could feel her pulse racing under my fingers. If she’d stayed a second longer, just one more second, I would’ve snapped her neck. Would’ve crushed her windpipe and watched her die on my bedroom floor.”

Finally Greyson stopped pacing, turning toward them as he dragged a hand over his mask. “He would have killed me for it.” Callum knew who he meant, even without the name. “He wants her alive, needs her alive for whatever plans he has for New Found Haven. Like she’s not the same filth that killed Brooker.”

Callum moved from behind his desk.

“You need to breathe, Grey.” He kept his voice deliberately calm, a counterpoint to Greyson’s fury.

Greyson’s hand went to his abdomen reflexively. “I have to marry her. A fucking farce of a Vow ceremony. My punishment for making him look weak.”

Lira’s sharp intake of breath drew both men’s attention. Something passed over her posture—a subtle shift that Callum recognized as guilt. Callum’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, assessing her.

“How long have you known?” Greyson asked, his voice dropping dangerously as he turned to fully face his sister.

“Known what?” Lira’s attempt at i

“Don’t.” Greyson took a step toward her. “You’re many things, Li, but you’re not a liar.”