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“A Catalyst and a Conduit,” the others chanted. “All and none, all and one. Mirrors, my King. Mirrors. Not one Harbinger, but two—one yet to be reborn! Two fates entangled, another entwined. The Source, it gives and takes and gives and takes and gives and takes. They are life and death. They are the cycle, preserved. They are vengeance and mercy, incarnate.”
“That so? What are we up to today, then, Miss Ansari?” I asked, amused. “Mischief and nonsense.” See, this was why Laurel and I got along. “Any particular flavor of mischief?” Laurel reached into her bag and pulled out a dark green bottle. “Strawberry.” I snorted. “Day drinking it is.”
I really wasn’t in the mood to go out on the town and fish for another distraction, so it was just me and the tea kettle, screaming to ourselves at midnight.
“I would like to be your friend, though. I don’t really do that much, either… But for you, I think I’ll have to make an exception.”
“Even pretty men enjoy a good stroke to the ego every now and again,” the cheeky bastard replied with a wink. “Among other things.” “Platonic,” I reminded him. “What? You can give platonic handjobs. I’ve given plenty of them.” I resisted the urge to ask for details. “In your dreams, Vistarii.” “Perhaps,” he grinned.
I was only human. Given the choice between the intricacies of the aetheric spectrum and the deep golden tan of the scouting captain’s muscled arms—now freely exposed and glistening with sweat as he dropped to the ground and held himself in a plank position… I was going to look respectfully.
“Consider this me begging, Ark. I want this. I want you. Gods, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, how many times I’ve…”
“You are,” he whispered. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Arken. It devastates me. You know that, don’t you?”
This wasn’t just lust, it was lunacy—and I was blissfully lost in this mutual madness of ours.
“Tell me this isn’t about what Hans said earlier, Arken. I swear to the fuckin’ Source, I will beat his ass if that’s what got under your skin,” Kieran said, eyes darkening. “Actually, scratch that. I’ll hold him down so that you can beat his ass.”
“I do believe you’re overdue for a bit of duress, Arken. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Táieach kyn chroí, myon-Caindélach,” I whispered. I love you, Little Conduit.
Three shots of honey-whiskey on an empty stomach and a wounded ego had certainly been… a choice.
