Vernal

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  I slide a narrowed glare his way. “Again, good advice.”

  “Just call me Doctor Ruth,” he counters.

  “Wasn’t she a sex therapist?” I point out.

  “Weren’t you and Tristan only supposed to be having sex? With no feelings?” he shoots back. “Sorry, that was rude. I’m not really good at girlie feelings and shit.”

  “You’re doing well,” I state.

  The satyr sits straighter and smiles. “Really?”

  “No.” I shake my head. The motion causes me to become queasy again, and I stand and throw up all over the roses.

  “Shit!” Zander screeches like a girl and grabs my hair, holding it back while I empty my stomach of the amazing dinner we just finished.

  After a moment I wave him off and sit back on the bench, covering my face with my hands as I breathe in.

  “He doesn’t love her, you know. The three of us were childhood friends. Freya is the daughter of Oren. Our realms are on the brink of war, Serena, and their marriage will prevent a lot of death and violence.” His tone is mechanical as he explains, still holding my hair.

  My fists clench. “Well, that makes it all okay then.”

  “Really? That was easy.” Zander looks surprised.

  “I was being sarcastic,” I exhale.

  “Hey, what’s this mark behind your ear?” He moves closer to inspect it and I grab my hair, letting it fall around my ear to hide the small black symbol.

  “Just a freckle.” I shoot him an irritated look.

  His eyes roam over my face and his tone drops. “Serena, that freckle is in the shape of—”

  “It’s a freckle. I was born with it. Now back up,” I demand through a clenched jaw. “Personal space is a good thing.”

  I hold his gaze in challenge.

  After a brief moment, Zander dips his chin in acquiescence and stops the inquisition.

  My stomach roils again and I grimace.

  “What can I do?” Zander’s tone is sincere.

  “Can you take me home?” I ask.

  “Sure, we can wait for Tristan at his house.” He stands.

  “No. Back to the Academy.” I lift my gaze.

  He winces. “No can do, champ. You’re supposed to stay under the protection of our realm. Rulf still isn’t out of stone state, which means you wouldn’t have protection.”

  I hate that he’s right. “You could stay,” I plead.

  He regards me for a moment. “I’m not a gargoyle.”

  I shrug. “No. Everyone at the Academy is, though, and you are second in command to Her Majesty’s army. A skilled warrior and—” I stop.

  “And?”

  I stand and look him in the eyes. “Someone I trust.”

  Zander clears his throat. “You shouldn’t. I’m a satyr. I could bed you within ten seconds of getting you alone.”

  “You won’t,” I fire back.

  He releases a dark laugh. “Why is that?”

  “You have too much respect for your brother. Plus, you like Magali,” I reach, though, he did bring her wildflowers.

  He grunts. “I don’t like Magali.”

  I arch a brow in disbelief. I’ve seen him with her. It’s why I was so pissed when I thought he was Freya’s prince.

  “I mean, she does have nice hair and pretty eyes,” he adds.

  We stand off in silence. He’s not budging. Time for the big guns.

  “I’ll cry.” I force my lower lip to tremble.

  He shivers. “Let’s go.”

  Serena

  MY TREMBLING HANDS REACH FOR MY key card, sliding it through the lock before I push open the door to my suite at the Academy. In an instant, Ireland and Magali come at me.

  Ireland pulls me into a tight embrace. “Are you all right?” she whispers in my ear, and I nod.

  I lean back and throw a questioning glare at Zander.

  “You told everyone?” I accuse.

  “I told Magali,” he winks at her, and she blushes on cue.

  “Why?” I scold.

  “They’re your friends. And protectors,” he responds, and steps into the suite, making himself at home.

  “Where is Tristan?” Magali signs.

  “I didn’t go into details,” Zander calls out from the couch.

  “With his fiancée, planning his wedding,” I state.

  Magali’s eyes widen and her mouth falls open.

  “This requires alcohol. Lots of it,” Ireland announces, and heads toward the kitchen to raid our stash.

  Tiredly, I nod and move toward the couch, sitting next to Zander, while Ireland ransacks the kitchen.

  Magali grabs my hand to get my attention. “Are you sure it’s safe for you? You’re in a lot of danger. I don’t think it was good idea to come home without royal protection.”

  “I’m fine. Let the Diablo Fairies come. I’m not hiding from them,” I sigh, and lean back into the couch.

  “Well, if they do, we’ve got your back.” Zander states, and Magali throws a withering warning look at him.

  “What?” he asks her.

  “You are not a protector,” she signs.

  “Nope. I am a damn good army commander,” he retorts.

  “It feels so good to be home,” I moan.

  Ireland steps back into the living room, her arms filled with bottles of booze, and her hands carrying red Solo cups.

  “Where are Ethan and Ryker?” I ask.

  “Rounds,” she shrugs.

  “Rounds?” I question.

  “Given the attack by the devil fairies, we’re all doing nightly campus surveillance, in two-hour shifts. They should be done shortly,” Ireland explains without worry.

  I frown.

  “It’s necessary,” Magali states, with a firm look.

  Ireland lines up the bottles and cups as she and Mags launch into all the things I missed during my absence.

  I listen to them here and there.

  From what I gather, not much has changed in two days.

  Where the hell is Tristan? Why do I care? Doesn’t he know I’m gone? Why do I care? Or is he too busy with his fiancée to notice? Ugh.

  I let out an exhausted and guilty sigh, releasing all the resentment I have toward Tristan and his part in all of this.

  Ireland and Magali share a look.

  “Ready to talk about the girlfriend yet?” Mags asks.

  “Fiancée,” I correct.

  Ireland grabs the glass bottle of vodka and unscrews the top, then tilts her head back, taking a long swig.

  I watch her in awe, half expecting her to cough, or pinch her face at the taste, but she just places it down on the coffee table and pushes it toward me.

  “Your turn.” She motions toward the bottle.

  I grab it and take a long sip that matches hers. The second the alcohol touches my lips, my eyes water.

  “It tastes like ass,” I whine.

  “Take another, it makes it better,” she suggests.

  An hour later, I feel numb and the icky gasoline taste is completely gone from each swig I swallow.

  Zander watches us, half amused, half worried. He’s refused all sips we’ve impolitely tried to force upon him. He keeps saying he’s guarding us and needs to keep alert. Whatever.

  Ireland slaps her hand on the table dramatically.

  “So that’s it? You’re just going to give up? Walk away from true love. Not look back?” she slurs her words.

  “What do you mean?” I giggle, because she fell over and is trying to pick herself back up, but can’t. It’s funny. Right?

  Magali steps in and pulls her up, before they each take another long sip. She’s such an amazing friend. I sigh.

  “Professor Gallagher? You’re done?” Ireland confirms.

  “Yessss,” I draw out the s in dramatic form.

  Ireland and Magali clap at how long I can do it, and Zander runs his hands over his face. He starts to pick up the bottles, ignoring our protests at their disappearance.

  “I think you la
dies have had more than enough,” he says.

  I pout. “He’s Tristan’s brother.”

  Magali nods. “He has a nice ass.”

  Ireland nods. “I second that.”

  Magali takes another sip of vodka and signs sloppily, “You can’t have him. You already stole Ryker.”

  Ireland leans backwards. “What?” Oh, shit.

  I take the bottle from Magali’s outstretched hand and Zander leans over the couch, plucking it from mine.

  This is about to get ugly. I need to do something. I stand and clear my throat.

  “Tristan,” I pause, probably for dramatic effect but I’m too drunk to really know why, “is dead to me,” I announce. “It is my first royal decree.” I raise my plastic cup to cheer.

  “That so?” a deep voice says from the doorway.

  I blink a few times. I’m seeing everything in double.

  “Do you see him too?” Ireland whisper-shouts. “Because I thought he was dead to us? O-M-G!” she squeals. “We see dead people,” she snorts, and collapses in a laughing fit.

  I smile down at her before locking gazes with Tristan.

  I try to look nonchalant, but something in me twitches with fear, or anticipation, or something I can’t make out, partially due to being inebriated.

  All I know is my heart hurts.

  “Hey, man,” Zander sighs, sounding relieved.

  Tristan walks toward him. “Speaking of dead, you’re damn lucky you’re my brother,” he barks.

  Zander puts his palms out, but Magali jumps in front of him. Her face contorts awkwardly, and I let out a chuckle.

  Tristan tilts back before looking at Zander, confused.

  “Is she protecting you?” he asks his brother.

  “I think so,” Zander exhales, and gently moves Mags to the side. “They’ve been drinking. Heavily.”

  “I can smell it down the hall,” Tristan scowls.

  The door to our suite opens again and Ryker walks in.

  He looks around at all of us with a curious caution.

  “Why the hell does it smell like a distillery in here?”

  “We hate Tristan,” Ireland says from the floor.

  Ryker looks down at her. “What is going on?”

  “I’m an asshole and they’re all drunk,” Tristan explains.

  “Typical.” Ryker walks over to Ireland and picks her limp form up in his arms. “I’ll take this one. Can you guys cover these two?”

  “We’ve got it handled,” Zander replies, and Tristan nods.

  Ryker carries Ireland out the door while she waves and giggles. When they pass Tristan, she scowls and points two fingers at her eyes and angrily flicks them back to him, letting him know she’s watching him.

  He rolls his eyes, and I sway a little on my feet. My head is buzzing from the alcohol. Tristan notices the movement and takes a step in my direction but I quickly move away, causing him to stop in his tracks.

  “Well, I can see you two have a lot to discuss. I’m going to go hold Magali’s hair while she pukes, and then put her to bed. If you need me, I’ll just be in the other room not feeling her up,” he announces, and takes her hand.

  Speechless, I stare at Tristan, hoping my emotions aren’t written all over my face. They’re part relief, part shock, and part pure murderous rage.

  “Tell me,” I say, my tongue heavy and fuzzy.

  “Tell you what?” Tristan asks.

  “Fine, I’ll go first.” I know I’m not making sense. “How is your fiancée? Was she pissed off that you slept with me?” My words are horrible and rude, but to be fair, I’m not really thinking clearly. A liter of vodka does that.

  Tristan stands taller, and his expression morphs into one of rage. The protector’s entire demeanor is intimidating, like he could snap me in two if he wanted.

  He tries to rein in his temper. “This isn’t a conversation that I am going to have with you while you’re trashed. I know you’re pissed, and for that, I’m truly sorry. But for you to leave the protection of my realm, and me, there is no excuse. You put yourself in danger, Serena.”

  “I’m fine,” I wave him off.

  “YOU ARE UNPROTECTED!” he screams, and his voice bounces off the walls.

  I shudder, slightly afraid. “Screw you,” I bark.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” I point to him. “You should have told me, Tristan. I was blindsided and humiliated.”

  “Why? We were just fucking, Serena, nothing more.”

  I rear back like he slapped me and without warning him, I pop off a right hook, making contact with his cheek.

  He rubs the spot. “I guess I deserve that.”

  “You deserve so much more,” I seethe.

  “For not telling you that my mother has a business contract with the emperor of the water fairies in order to prevent our realm from going to war?” his tone is cold.

  “You are engaged, Tristan,” I remind him.

  “To someone that I don’t love. Someone Zander and I grew up with. She’s like a sister to me, Serena,” he spits out. “It’s not a marriage of love. It’s a contract of convenience. One that I’m not currently bound to. As you know, in our world, you are free to be with whomever you’d like before you are formally mated. There has been no vow broken.”

  “You don’t love her?” I ask, needing to hear it from him.

  “No,” he exhales.

  “Yet you’re still going to marry her?” My voice cracks.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” I hold back my tears.

  “It’s how it works, Serena. You are of royal blood; you know this. Sometimes we put ourselves last in order to protect and keep the peace so that each realm can thrive.”

  “Oh, I understand birthrights.” My tone is lined with venom. My body is shaking and I need him to leave. I lift my gaze and deadpan him. “I could have loved you, you know. I could have been your forever. I would have fought.”

  “Serena, I never promised—”

  My stare is vacant. “You don’t feel remorse, do you?”

  At my words, Tristan presents me with a cruel look.

  “How can I feel remorse when you’ve made it clear that you don’t feel anything for me at all?” he shoots back.

  “You could have been my future, instead of my past.”

  Tristan

  She was shivering, and I wanted nothing more than to pull her into my arms, surround her with my embrace, and will the nightmare of our lives to go away.

  I took a risk and broke every rule just to experience a small ray of her light, letting it burn through my darkest places. I never expected to want and need her in order to breathe.

  When you fall, you don’t think gravity will actually ever pull you back down again, so when it does, it fucking hurts.

  The minute I realized Zander had taken her out of our realm, and that she might be in danger, I thought I was slain, but I’m pretty sure I’ll never recover from the words she just said to me.

  “Leave me alone,” she whispers hoarsely, and stumbles away from me, down the hall toward her bedroom.

  A minute later, I watch Magali slide into Serena’s bedroom and shut the door.

  Zander walks into the living room wearing a solemn expression. “You okay?”

  I pull out a cigarette and light it. “You almost wrote your death sentence tonight,” I speak around the lit stick. “Don’t ever fucking take her away from me again, Zander. Brother or not, I will end your existence if you interfere where she’s concerned.”

  Zander chuckles. “You sound like a mated male protector.” He gets in my face. “Serena isn’t yours. Isn’t that what this whole shitstorm is about tonight? You are already promised to someone, Tristan.”

  I inhale, and let the nicotine fill and burn my lungs.

  His words have nothing to do with Serena, but everything to do with Freya.

  This love triangle between Zander, Freya, and me has been ongoing for years. I’m sick of it.


  “If you want Freya, take her,” I state flatly.

  Zander turns away from me, his face ashen. “It doesn’t work like that, and you know it. You’re the royal blood, not me. I just happen to be the adopted son,” he barks out. “I’ve loved Freya since birth, but she isn’t mine, Tristan. I know my place. It’s time you learn yours.”

  “Fuck you,” I snarl, and he doesn’t turn around.

  “I hope it was worth it.” Zander ignores my outburst.

  I rear back. “Worth it?”’

  He faces me with a cold expression. “Sleeping with her. I hope it was good, because she’s going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, and when the haze clears, and her world comes crashing down around her again, you’d better hope it’s not too late for her to forgive you for using her.”

  “I didn’t use her,” I growl.

  Zander flashes me a fake smile. “And there it is. You see, if you didn’t have feelings for her, the satyr in you would have just used her.”

  That same smile stays firmly in place until he reaches the door, his fingers wrapping around the handle.

  “If you love her, Tristan, I suggest you do something about it, before it’s too late.”

  I stare at Serena’s bedroom door for an eternity while I finish my cigarette before tossing it in the sink and grabbing what is left of the bottle of vodka.

  I make my way over to her room, sliding down the wall, and sit outside her door. Regardless of this disaster, she’s mine to protect, and I will do so with my last damn breath.

  Something kicks my foot and I stir. I blink a few times, waking up, and look around. Shit. I’m still on the floor in the hallway. The bones in my back and neck ache from being stiff.

  “Did you sleep here all night?” Serena’s voice is harsh.

  “Yes.” I stand and look her in the eyes.

  She looks up at the ceiling and crosses her arms. “Why?”

  I jut my chin forward in challenge. “I’m your protector.”

  “Too bad you couldn’t protect me from you,” she glares.

  I don’t look away. “You okay this morning?”

  “Are you asking because I drank my weight in vodka or because you slept with me while being engaged?”

  “Vodka.”

  “I’m fine. A little headache, but nothing I can’t deal with.”