Book 3 - Page 52 (1/2)

A chill ran through me.

“Sievā?”

I changed the subject. “Now that you’re making the effort to trust me, will you tell me about your childhood?”

He inclined his head. “I told you my father was a warlord, but he was also a noted scholar. He raised me to be both as well. I had martial practice every day, then reading, then debates after dinner.” Aric peeled at his beer label, then smoothed it back with his elegant fingers. “I can’t imagine what he would think about all that mankind has learned. In his day, everyone believed the world was flat.”

Aric had grown up in that age, and yet I’d expected him to act like a modern boyfriend? That he’d come this far was astounding. “What was your mother like?”

“She was merry, quick to laugh. She and my father always wanted another child, blaming it on me: ‘If you weren’t such a wonderful son . . .’ I could ask for no better parents.”

“You miss them.” After all this time?

“Every single day out of hundreds of thousands.”

What could I say to that? Anything I came up with sounded trite. Silence fell over us.

Aric drank, lost in thought. And I knew he was remembering the night he’d killed them. . . .

30

Hot water poured over me in the upstairs bathroom, but it did nothing to shower away my buzz.

Or my confusion.

After dinner, Jack hadn’t checked in, and worry preyed on me. So I’d grabbed my bag and told Aric good night.

As I’d left the kitchen, he’d said to my back, “You once told me I was so good at this game because it’s all I’ll ever have.” The sadness in his voice had drawn me up short. “Your words were true, though I didn’t wish them to be. Not then. Or now.”

I’d heard Aric enraged, playful, fierce, in pain, and in l.u.s.t. I’d never heard this soft sadness before.

In a murmur, he’d added, “I am ready to defy the will of G.o.ds and the dictates of fate to possess you, and yet a mere mortal stands in my way.”

My shoulders had stiffened, and I’d hurried away as if chased.

Now as the water sluiced over me, I raised my hand to my mouth, tracing my lips. My emotions might be in total turmoil, but my body wasn’t. I equally desired Aric and Jack.

I adored Jack’s raw pa.s.sion; I craved Aric’s seething intensity.

Both had given me pleasure—and heartache. . . .

Once I’d finished with the shower, I returned to my room. I locked the door behind me and removed my hoodie to bundle up for a pillow. Lying back in my sleeping bag, I stared at the ceiling. What was I going to do?

I felt connected to Aric in inexplicable ways. At his castle, he and I had settled in together. We’d read in his firelit study, talking through the night. We’d been happy, his home nearly becoming my own.

Jack and I had never lived together per se, always out on the road—

My bug-out bag! I’d left it in the bathroom, forgetting Jack’s harsh lessons. Maybe he should’ve been harder on me.

I rushed from the room, skidding to a stop in the hallway.

Aric had just exited the steamy bathroom. He wore a towel. Nothing else. His lean face was clean-shaven, his wet hair in disarray, his cheeks tinged with color.