by May Dawson
“Did yours?” His hand falls over my wrist, his touch gentle but firm as he pulls my hand from his mask. “I don’t want you to see my face, Tera Donovan.”
My fingers knit around his, and I pull him with me, because we have to get moving down the tunnel. “You have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know your name. My face is plastered on books and magazines.”
“They don’t do you justice.”
“I’d say.” And not just because they keep using that damned school photo. In hindsight, I should never have put those stupid barrettes in my hair.
“I never much cared for my name,” he says. “It’s easy for me to leave it behind.”
“I’d love to do the same.”
“Because your father’s name follows you everywhere you go?”
Because I don’t intend to choose evil, as he did, even though choosing good is a big pain in the ass.
“I’m going to have to give you a nickname,” I say. “I’m going to tell my friends about this bizarre encounter.”
“Tell Airren you shoved me away when I tried to kiss you. He’ll love that detail.” His voice is dry.
“How do you know him?”
“Oh, no. He doesn’t know who I am, and I’m not giving it away that easily.”
“It seems you have all of us at a disadvantage.”
“Most of all, I have the True at a disadvantage, and I intend to keep it that way. My apologies if that’s inconvenient for you.”
“Go ahead and bring the True down. I don’t mind.”
“I meant because you can’t know my name—”
“I’m going to name you after a flower. An orchid, maybe? Or a rose? Something nice and feminine.” I snap my fingers, the noise too loud in the dark. “The night-blooming flox we passed.”
“The flox?”
“You left your name in my hands.”
“It sounds like some kind of phlegm you’d cough up during a truly awful long winter.” The dourness in his voice makes me smile. Then, more brightly, he asks, “Isn’t the colloquial for the flox flower simply fox?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“You should trust me. You’re the one who said most nobles are stupid.”
“Not me.” He squeezes my hand quickly. “Otherwise I wouldn’t live long.”
“What’s going on in Valisk?” I ask.
We reach a T in the tunnel, and he tugs me quickly to the right.
“Do you read the newspapers?”
“Not often, despite my best efforts.” Perhaps I should pick up a paper that doesn’t have my face on it. There’s an awful lot of history for me to catch up on, and I have so many questions about how the world changed while I was gone.
“The nobles that stand against Curran are being imprisoned as he tries to turn his revolution into an empire.” His voice comes out short.
“Are you from Avalon or Valisk?” I ask.
“Both.”
“Do you ever give anyone a straight answer?”
“Only if they kiss me.”
“Why do you even want me to kiss you?” I ask in exasperation, even though I’ve felt a pull toward him all night—as much as I’ve tried to get him out of my way.
“I like my girls a bit wicked,” he says. “And anyway, it’s the surest way to catch a glimpse of someone’s soul.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard tonight, and I talked to two True.”
His gaze flickers toward me. I don’t know why I just told him that I’ve talked to the True, to two of them, except the question beats steadily in my mind. Why did two True seek me out? Usually, I keep my own counsel—but with this guy, my thoughts seem to overflow and cross my lips. It’s like I trust him.
“You should stay away from the True,” he warns me.
“Perhaps.” But that’s easier said than done. I can make myself useful, cleaning up Avalon, or I can find myself banished again. I would never choose the True, and I have to be loyal to the Crown in order to survive—even though the Crown shows no inclination to be loyal to me.
“Tera,” he says, and his voice is worried.
A door bursts open across from us, a hidden door in the side of the tunnel. He steps in front of me, flinging up his hands, gold sparks flying from his fingers.
“Oh, come off it.” Airren’s voice rings out as he slams my new friend against the wall. Behind him, the bright lights of the dorm shine out from the hole in the tunnel wall.
Then Airren cold-cocks the Night-Nlooming Fox across the jaw.
The noble grabs Airren’s shoulders and slams him against the opposite wall. The two of them struggle. From their tall, leanly-muscled bodies to their fighting style, they’re evenly matched.
“I’m just trying to get Tera to safety,” my noble grinds out through gritted teeth.
Airren slams him into the wall. “You’re just trying to meddle. We have everything under control here.”
The Fox ducks under his arm and, as Airren whirls, the Fox kicks him in the thigh. “That’s why she was almost taken by the True?”
Airren hisses in pain, then ducks low, catching the Fox around the waist. The two of them land heavily on the ground. “I’m not discussing strategy with you.”
“So you do know each other?” I ask as the two of them wrestle on the ground, rolling into the walls as they struggle.
Cax steps through the doorway. His worried green eyes meet mine. “Tera, you’re okay.”
“More okay than I intended to be tonight.” I thought I’d be kidnapped. I pull off my mask. The guys had said I wouldn’t be alone tonight. Has one of them watched the night unfold through my eyes, on my heels even though they couldn’t quite reach me? Did one of them watch me hesitate, on the verge of kissing the Fox?
Airren and my would-be rescuer continue to wrestle across the hallway. Cax looks at them, one fine blond eyebrow rising, and then shrugs. “Let’s leave them to it.”
When Cax holds his hand out to me, I take it, and the two of us step together into the brightly lit hallway on the first floor of Rawl house. I’ve been through this doorway a few times before, when the police have come for me.
“Should I leave them?” Cax asks Mycroft, jerking a thumb toward doorway. Grunts and the sound of punches landing rise from the dark tunnels. “I’d hate for the True to follow them in.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Mycroft promises. He pushes his sleeves up on his brawny forearms as he steps through the doorway.
I heard one solid thud, then another, and I wince at the sound.
“It seems like they have some history,” I say to Cax.
“So I gather.” Cax reaches down and takes the mask from me, our fingers briefly intertwining. “Really, are you okay?”
Before I can answer, Mycroft, Airren and the Fox step through the door. There’s a trickle of blood from the corner of Airren’s lush lips, and the Fox’s chest is heaving as if it’s hard for him to breathe. He nods to me, nonetheless polite, even as he leans an elbow against the wall and tries to draw a full breath. “You’ve always fought dirty, Airren.”
Airren touches his split lip. “I wish I could tell which Valisk you were from that distinctly feminine punch you threw.”
“Drew your blood.”
“Enough,” Mycroft says. To the noble, he says, “You have to go. We’re trying to draw the True to us, and you’re interrupting our mission Were you seen?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe anyone recognizes who I am.”
“Which is?” I glance around in exasperation at the set faces of the men around me. “Do any of you know who he is?”
“We don’t,” Airren says curtly. “We know what he is. A fool who wants to be a hero.”
“Takes one to know one, brother.” The noble claps Airren on the shoulder as he passes him, heading toward me. He slides one finger under my chin, tilting my face up to his. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
“I wouldn’t bet o
n it,” Airren warns.
“I always find trouble,” the Fox says, his lips quirking up under the edge of the mask. “And you, Tera Donovan, seem like trouble.”
Part of me wants to close the distance between us and press my lips to his arrogant mouth. I have a feeling I can melt that ego. “Takes one to know one.”
He grins. As he turns away, he flicks his cloak behind him, and gold sparks fly through the air. I raise my arm to block the sudden blaze of light as he disappears into a wall of fire.
“That showy bastard,” Airren says, his voice frustrated as he shields his eyes.
The fire rolls up into the ceiling and disappears, a brief blaze of heat that’s already gone.
“Is he supposed to be going to Hell?” I ask, perplexed.
“Your magic sucks!” Airren calls after him. “You don’t even have a cohesive theme!”
The Nght-Blooming Fox does not appear to bring out the best in Airren.
11
“Let’s get you to bed,” Cax says, resting a hand on my shoulder. He casts a worried look at Airren. “It’s been a long, strange night, and tomorrow’s going to bring its own share of trouble.”
“What happened with the—” I start to ask, then glance down the hall; there are still students about.
“The campus is locked down,” Airren says. “The party’s over.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
Cax shakes his head. “Everyone is fine, Tera. Scared, but fine.”
Croft curses. “A True show of strength… this is going to—”
Airren flashes him a quick, angry look, and Mycroft breaks off.
“Whose room is she going to?” Cax asks Airren.
The two of them outpace me as we climb the stairs; my body aches from keeping that man from falling over the rail and from hours of dancing—and running—in three inch heels. My calves and thighs burn, and the polished wooden railing feels dangerously slick under my exhausted grip as I climb the stair mechanically.
“Her own room?” I suggest half-heartedly. These men do not need to talk to each other about me when they could talk to me. But I don’t really want to be left along, either; it’s been a long day full of kidnapping attempts and I’d like to rest the night without another.
For all their faults, I certainly do feel safe when I lay in bed with them.
At least, I know my body is safe. I’m in desperate fear for my heart.
“Mine,” Mycroft and Airren say at the same time. Mycroft’s voice is a low rumble behind me, right before he sweeps me off my feet. His arms are suddenly around me and I fall against his chest, my arms closing around his neck.
“Mycroft,” I scold. I can’t be this close to him without wanting to pull him even closer to me, without feeling a countering ache of rejection.
“You walk like your feet hurt,” he says.
“My feet do hurt. You could ask before you pick me up.” Or maybe he should just know how I feel, since we’re two of a kind that shouldn’t even make for friends.
“You’d say no.”
“You’re not helping your case here. You and I are not on good terms.”
“Is that why you’re calling me Mycroft again?” His face doesn’t change in the slightest at the revelation that we are not on good terms.
I suppose he already knew. He was a spy, after all.
“I guess that means my room.” Airren does not sound particularly sympathetic to Mycroft.
As Mycroft’s feet slow, Airren and Cax reach the hall in front of us and head across the polished hardwood for the stairs to the fifth floor.
Mycroft’s lips nuzzle my ear. “Is that what you want?”
His gravelly voice turns husky and low, threaded with the faintest raw need, and my heart rises in my chest.
Bastard, for sure.
“You need to pick a lane,” I tell him, my voice hard even though my heart is squishy when it comes to him. I squeeze his big shoulders in my hands, his muscle unyielding against my palms. “And you need to put me down.”
His eyes narrow, but he comes to a stop. He glances at the stairs, as Cax and Airren outdistance us. When he slides his arm out from under my knees and sets me down on the landing, even though he’s still standing a few steps down from me, he towers over me. “What’s wrong?”
“Really?” I pop my hands on my hips.
He mimics me, hands on his hips. “Really.”
“You don’t want me.” I stab his chest with my finger. “You told me as much.”
He shakes his head. “Pretty sure I never said that.”
“You said you couldn’t even be my friend,” I say hotly.
His hands skate over my thighs before they settle on my hands on my hips. “I don’t think I ever pretended I wanted to be your friend.”
“Friend is a good place to start.” When I twist in his arms, his hands drop away. I stop at the base of the stairs, yanking at the straps of my heels.
Mycroft stops at the landing as I head up the stairs. I call over my shoulder, “You hurt me. And you’re going to have to start at square one.”
There’s a pause, before he says, “Good night, Tera.”
I don’t know if I want to turn back to hug him and tell the big miserable lug that I don’t mean it, or if I want to throw him the bird over my shoulder.
And I do mean it. He did hurt me. I’m not going to hide it.
Since I can’t decide, I head up the stairs without answering.
If he wants to make things complicated—and both of us miserable—I don’t know that I can stop him. He can figure it out on his own and get back to me.
I leave him behind me as I jog up the last set of stairs. My calves ache pleasantly now, free of the damn shoes, which I carry dangling from one finger. They’re beautiful shoes, even if I don’t want to wear them again for at least another year.
Cax and Airren wait for me outside Airren’s door. Their faces are curious, as if they know I’ve left Mycroft behind for now.
“What?” My voice comes out flat, challenging.
Cax shakes his head. “I’m trying to stay on your good side.”
“Good luck,” I tell him.
He grins in response, one of those easy Cax grins that make me feel like I could never stay mad at him anyway, even if he deserved it. “I’m going to check in on Stelly and bring your egg. I’m sure it missed you.”
“Thank you,” I tell him.
He runs his fingertips over the edge of my mask. “Ready to take it off?”
“So very ready.”
He slides his thumbs over the sides and the mask slips away from my face. Cool air caresses my nose and cheeks. He leans in, his lips brushing over my cheekbone.
That good night kiss surprises me into smiling. He carries the mask with him as he heads down the hall for Stelly’s room, his steps jaunty.
Airren shakes his head to himself as he slips his key into the lock. “What did Mycroft do to earn the freeze-out?”
“Don’t you talk about me?” I follow him into the room. When I lean against the door, it clicks shut behind me.
“Mycroft doesn’t talk about his feelings much.”
“Oh, he talks about them with me.” I turn my back to Airren and run my hands along the back of my neck, gathering the tendrils of hair that escaped my up-do in the chaos. “When they’re of the don’t-even-get-close-to-me variety. Unbutton me?”
His calloused knuckles brush against the bare skin at the top of my dress as he works the first button loose. He sounds genuinely grouchy when he says, “He’s an idiot.”
Would Airren rather share me? How much of the flirtation between Airren and me is real, and how much is creating the cover that we have a romantic relationship so he can stay close and keep me from going darkside?
His fingers release another button, and my chest expands as the stiff boning of the beautiful gown releases. I exhale a long, slow breath. He pauses, and this time when his fingers sweep down the naked curve of my backbone, he takes his
time.
He shifts behind me, clearing his throat softly like he has something to say. I expect he has more to say about Mycroft, but instead he says, “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. To help us uncover the True.”
“It’s my duty, isn’t it? As a—wait, I’m not a citizen of Avalon anymore.” When I’m arrested—which comes up more often than it should—I’m only allowed stranger’s rights. My citizenship was terminated during my trial, and subsequent banishment, when I was just thirteen. Just a kid.
He undoes another button. “It’s too much, too fast. Putting you in the position of meeting with the True—”
“Don’t worry about me, Airren. I’m tough. Dirtside scum tough.” I twist in his arms, but his hand is still in the gap behind my dress, so my movement pulls the fabric to one side. My gown slips down my arms as I turn, exposing my naked shoulders and the top of my breasts in my lacy bra.
“Tough, sure.” He closes the distance between us, his lips brushing my ear. “Dirtside, maybe. Scum? I saw plenty of scum when I was serving, Tera. Stopping True scum was my job in Intel. I don’t feel this way about scum.”
Something light and foolish twists through my chest, stealing my breath. Do I want to know what he feels? Do I dare ask, when Mycroft has rejected me in such rare form?
“That’s the most romantic use of that particular word I’ve ever heard.” Although the Fox’s teasing use of dirtside scum in lieu of my name comes to mind, too, tugging something else as well as my memory.
I have a crush on a guy in a mask. That makes a lot of sense, Tera. Good lord. Fall in love with nothing more than a goddamn jaw and a cocky attitude.
I also have quite the crush on the man in front of me, but that makes perfect sense.
His eyes are intensely bright in contrast with his tanned skin; the color around his pupil is a bright ocean blue, threaded with silver-gray, but the circle around his iris is a deep blue-black that matches his thick lashes and black hair. He’s beautiful in a hard-edged, dangerous way, but more than that, he’s not quite like anyone else I’ve ever met. I don’t know how to make sense of him. He’s so charming, so kind, and at the same time, it feels like there are all kinds of walls up between him and me.
