“Thanks, Kel,” I huffed.
“I'm serious. You should know exactly how it feels when you're falling in love with someone. So, are you? Because Vexen is right. If you're not, you need to stop seeing him immediately. It's unfair to everyone and a waste of precious time.”
“Damn, that was rather mature,” Rath said.
“Don't get used to it,” Kel said dryly.
I closed my eyes and sought calm. I was getting tired of throwing fits. Frankly, I was getting annoyed with myself. Maybe Vex was right to snap at me the other day and tell me to make a fucking decision. Just maybe not so rigidly. I should be allowed to feel sadness, but I needed to stop having temper tantrums like a child. It was getting old. Hero or martyr? I mean, there was still a hero inside a martyr. What was the difference? Martyrs embraced the suffering while heroes conquered it. So did I want to conquer my suffering or not?
What would a hero do?
“All right, motherfucker,” I growled at Vexen.
The table went silent again.
“You want an answer tonight?” I went on. “Then you'd better man up too. We're going to have sex. I'll know after that. For sure.”
Vexen's eyes twitched.
How's that for conquering?
“No,” Vexen said.
“What?!”
Surprisingly, it wasn't me who expressed shock. That was Keltyr. I was prepared for that answer, and I nodded as I climbed over the bench.
“Where are you going?” Vex demanded.
“To bed.” I looked at Taroc. “You coming?”
Taroc chuckled. “Wrong choice, tiger,” he said to Vexen as he stood. Then he sauntered over to me and took my hand. As we left the room, he whispered, “You're lucky he said no.”
“Why is that?”
“If he hadn't, you would have had four angry lovers to deal with.”
“Again, why?”
“Because you didn't ask us if you could take the next step with Vexen.”
“Oh, you mean like you didn't ask me to join you tonight?”
Taroc chuckled, picked me up, and faded us up to his bedroom.
Or at least, that's where I thought he was fading us.
Chapter Thirteen
“This isn't your bedroom,” I said after we arrived in a living space that did not contain a bed.
“Light,” Taroc said.
Lanterns came on, illuminating the room better than the moonlight that streamed through the windows. Taroc went to shut the drapes while I looked around.
My attention went to the fireplace first—a contradiction of natural rock with a delicately carved wooden mantel. There was a clock perched there, standing guard alone, and its hour hand was at 7. I wasn't sure what time it had been at the citadel, but it was later than that. So, we had faded to another continent.
The furniture gathered before the fireplace was sturdy but refined, with leather-covered cushions on swirling frames of polished wood that mimicked vines. The fanciful designs were echoed in the rug pattern and the light fixture that hung above.
