“I don’t know,” I tell him. It’s the truth. I haven’t had a chance to process his connection to Thrain yet. What kind of person follows a false-blood? The only answers I can come up with are the foolish and the cruel. Aren doesn’t fit the first category—he’s smart and observant—but he doesn’t fall into the cruel category either. He’s always taken care with me, and he’s a healer. He helps people by taking their pain away.
“I just…I need time, Aren.” Time. That’s what I’ve been asking for these last two weeks, and it’s the one thing we don’t have much of. He said he understood, but if the shadow that moves through his eyes is any indication…
I want to make that shadow leave his expression. I want to lean forward, press my lips against his, and let my edarratae chase away his fears, but kissing him is dangerous. I wouldn’t want to stop, and as ridiculous as it is to be a twenty-six-year-old virgin, I need to be 100 percent sure about Aren before we’re together. So, instead of closing the distance between us, I slowly push my way to my feet. Aren moves back to give me room to do so, but he stays close enough to help me when I sway.
The dizziness passes in just a few seconds. I actually don’t feel that bad. I think I’ll be fine if I walk some. My equilibrium will return.
I start to tell him that but stop when my gaze settles on the chest of drawers beside the restroom. Or rather, when it settles on what’s on top of the chest of drawers.
“Is that my…” I stop because it’s not just my favorite pair of jeans. It’s my favorite pair of jeans, my sketchbook, and my photo album. Not the entire contents of my suitcase, but it’s the important stuff.
I cross the room, pick up my photo album.
“It’s all I could bring without risking some of it being lost to the In-Between,” Aren says behind me.
The In-Between can be temperamental. In general, it lets a fae fissure with what they can easily carry, but if they start trying to take armloads of clothes or boxes stuffed full of food or supplies, it’ll steal random things. It’s safer to use a gate if you’re carrying multiple items. “I can go back if you need something else.”
I turn to face him. “You went to my apartment?”
“Trev told me you’d packed a suitcase. I was there and back within a few minutes.” His gaze drops to the photo album in my hands. “I flipped through that. I hope you don’t mind.”
I look down. I’ve opened the album to a random page. My mom and dad are there, both holding shovels in our backyard. They’re planting a tree—a peach tree, if I remember correctly. I was twelve or so, and I’d just gotten a camera for my birthday. A photographer, I am not. My parents are off center, and the whole image is crooked, but the memory makes me smile. I was young then. Happy and innocent. I miss that life. I miss my parents.
“I would meet them,” Aren says.
I clap the album shut. “What?”
“I would meet your parents,” he says, taking a step toward me. “If you wanted me to.”
God, this man loves me, and all I can do is stare at him, feeling my heart thump against my chest. Every time I start to question why I want to be with someone like him, he shows me why. He shows me he loves me, and underneath his half smiles and his laid-back attitude, he’s considerate and caring. Maybe I shouldn’t be asking why I want to be with him. Maybe I should be asking why he wants to be with someone like me.
“You’ve only known me a month,” I say, placing the photo album back on top of the chest of drawers.
“Yes,” he says, giving me a small smile that suggests he knows where I’m going with this.
“How can you be so sure of the way you feel about me?”
“You’re human,” Aren says. “You’re the weakest person I know.”
The warm, fluttery sensations in my stomach disappear. “Geez, thanks.”
He laughs and takes my hands in his before I turn away. “And that makes you the strongest. The most courageous. When I found you on your campus, you fought me. You didn’t give in even though you knew you were outmatched. I was halfway in love with you before we reached Germany.”
And the sensations are back. His touch excites my chaos lusters, making them spark across my skin. He reaches up, touches the side of my face. It’s so, so hard to keep my distance from him. Back in Rhigh, he told me he wasn’t a mistake. Maybe I should just take his word on that. Maybe now is the time we should be together.
A warm, pleasant ache flares up low in my stomach.
“When is sunrise?” I ask, moving closer to him.
“Soon,” he says. “Now, probably.”
Which means we have zero time together. I close my eyes, stifling a curse.
Aren’s thumb traces the line of my jaw. “Come with me.”
My brow furrows as I try to make sense of his words. “To the meeting?”
“Yes,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “The meeting with the high nobles?”
“Yes.”
I reach up to take his hand away from my face so I can think about something besides his touch. It doesn’t help much, though, because he doesn’t let go of my hand.
“They’ll hate that,” I say.
He responds with a smile.
Ah, I see. He doesn’t want to go play politics. “That’s okay. I’ll pass.”
“You can think about it on the way,” he says, as if I didn’t just answer. “It could be entertaining.”
He uses his foot to nudge something out from under the bed. Tennis shoes, the ones I bought on the way to the gate in Vegas. I let out an exaggerated sigh but grab a pair of socks and shove my feet into the shoes. They’re dry. I don’t think they’ve had enough time to do that on their own, so I’m guessing a fae evaporated the rest of the water using magic.
Aren opens the door. I finger-comb my hair, pull it back into a quick ponytail, and ask, “Will Lena let me sit in on the meeting?”
“We’ll see, won’t we?”
If Atroth were still king, it wouldn’t be a question. He would never have considered letting me stick around for even an informal conversation with a high noble. Oh, he would have been polite about it, maybe even apologetic, but he would have sent me back to Earth the moment I finished whatever task he gave me to do.
Things aren’t that way with Lena and the rebels. I’ve made it clear I want to know what’s going on in this war, and I won’t let them keep me in the dark like her predecessor did.
Aren and I are passing through the sculpture garden, and I’m imagining all sorts of reactions from the high nobles if I decide to sit in on that meeting when Lena steps out of the north wing of the palace. She stops beside a carved pillar, looking almost startled to see us.
“Is the meeting canceled?” Aren asks, sounding hopeful.
Lena’s gaze moves back and forth between us before it settles on Aren. “It…No. No, it’s not canceled.”
“Then you’re running away?” he asks, letting the question hang there.
Her expression turns cool. “No. I came to get you. I want you to look like a sword-master at this meeting. There’s new armor waiting for you in your room. Go change into it.”