“Someone has to get laid.”
“Orion.” Kieran’s voice could freeze fire.
“What? I’m just saying. We’re all thinking it. Weeks of running and fighting and almost dying and I’ve gotten off twice in such a?—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll freeze your tongue to the roof of your mouth.”
“Kinky.”
“Orion.”
I should intervene. Should play peacemaker or at least tell them to shut up before they wake something that’s better left sleeping.
But there’s something about their bickering that steadies me. The rhythm of it. The familiarity. These three men, snarking at each other in the dark, and me walking through the middle of it like this is normal.
Like this is home.
Because it is. Orion poking at the guys. Trying to pick fights. Finn entertaining him. And Kieran threatening to end it with more violence.
I really do have atype.
“For the record,” Finnian says, “I could get laid whenever I wanted. I?—”
“What, Finn?” I turn and walk backwards. I should not encourage this. “You read a lot. Is it erotica? Do you need me to talk you through it?”
He blushes harder than I’ve ever seen him blush.
“Books,” Orion finishes. “You prioritize books. Over sex. Which is why you’re the way you are.”
“Excuse me, what way am I?”
“Repressed.”
“I am not repressed. I am selective.”
“You’re selectively repressed.”
“That’s not—” Finnian sputters. “That’s not even a coherent criticism.”
“Doesn’t have to be coherent to be true.”
I almost laugh. Almost.
“He’s not repressed.” I wink at Orion. “Far from it.”
“Then we fuck!” Orion claps his hands.
Then the forest goes quiet.
Not peaceful quiet. Not sleeping quiet. Wrong quiet.
I stop walking.
The moss beneath my feet flickers. Dims. Goes dark.
“Ash?” Kieran’s voice is sharp now. All the playful ice gone and replaced with the real thing.
“Something’s wrong.”
