Page 27 of Calypso's Shield
I’ve spent my whole fucking life following the rules, doing what is expected of me. But out here, on this bike, with Calypso wrapped around me, I’m not Detective Dalton anymore.
I’m Law Dog and I fucking love it.
Calypso shifts behind me, her body molding to mine as we lean into a curve. Her fingers press into my ribs, sending a slow burn straight to my core.
A turn-off comes into view. A gravel outlook perched on the edge of the cliffs. I downshift, slowing as I pull off the highway, bringing the bike to a smooth stop near the edge. Killing the engine, the night settles around us, thick with the scent of salt and leather.
For a long moment, neither of us move. Lost in our own heads.
Calypso’s arms loosen around my waist as she slides off the seat, her boots crunching against the gravel. I follow, watching as she removes her helmet, running a hand through her hair, the moonlight casting a bright glow on the dark strands.
“I’ll give it to you, Law Dog,” Calypso murmurs, glancing over her shoulder at me. “You’re getting better.”
I smirk, pulling off my brain bucket and setting it on the seat. “That almost sounds like a compliment.”
She shrugs, teasing. “It’s an observation.”
Her movements are slower than normal, like she’s in pain, but I don’t question it. I haven’t seen her in weeks, and the last thing I want to do is cause an argument. She’ll tell me if she thinks I need to know.
I huff a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I lean back against the bike with my arms crossed. “So, what’s the real reason you let me ride you?”
Calypso catches my underlying question. Then she hesitates for a moment, keeping her back to me. Turning around to face me fully, her gaze is unreadable. “Because I wanted to know what it felt like.” Her voice is soft against the crashing waves below us.
My chest tightens. “And?”
Calypso steps close enough I can see the hint of vulnerability in her emerald eyes. “I don’t let people get close, Farris.”
My real name rolling off her lips is like heaven to my ears.
“I already know this.” She doesn’t let people hold her. Doesn’t let anyone into her space unless she trusts them.
I’ve been trying to figure out if she has been keeping me at arm's length because I’m a prospect or because she’s scared of whatever’s happening between us.
“I’m sick.” Calypso’s voice is quiet and rough. “I have Lupus.”
I know I should say something, but my throat locks up. Not because I’m scared, fuck no, but because I know what thismeans. Chronic illness isn’t something you just fix. It’s not like a broken bone or a bullet wound. It’s something that doesn’t go away, something that wears you down over time. Something that can steal a person’s fire, no matter how bright they burn.
And Calypso burns like a goddamn wildfire.
I think about the moments I’ve caught her wincing, the way she’s been quiet lately, the times she’s disappeared without an explanation. It all clicks into place. She wasn’t ghosting me, she was struggling. And she didn’t want me to see it.
She’s waiting for the moment I look at her differently. For me to flinch, to pull back. To say something dumb or, worse, do what every other man before me has done, see her as fragile.
But I don’t.
Calypso is not fragile.
Instead, I reach out, brushing my fingers along her jaw, tilting her face toward mine. “You think that scares me?” My voice is rough but steady.
Calypso’s breath hitches. “It should.”
There’s no arrogance in her tone, no challenge. Just raw, quiet truth. She’s seen people leave before. She’s watched men lose interest when they realized she comes with complications. And she’s bracing herself for me to do the same, but she doesn’t know me. Not yet.
I shake my head. “You don’t scare me, Calypso.”
Her lips part slightly, a sliver of uncertainty breaking through the armor she’s spent years perfecting. She’s always in control, always the one who calls the shots. But right now? She’s letting me in.
“Call me Amanda when we’re like this.” she whispers, so quietly I almost miss it. She’s close enough that I can see the war happening inside of her. The part of her that wants to push me away and the part that wants to pull me in.
