“Not constantly. I did have my own life to go about. Such as it was.”
My chest squeezed at his words. I drank to cover my dismay. “I don’t remember her all that well. Sometimes my memories contradict each other.”
“How so?”
“I’ll see her as kind and affectionate. In the next instance, I’ll recall her wanting me to become ‘vicious.’” What if she tried to convince me to take out other cards? My friends?
Aric, even.
Maybe Arcana weren’t inherently evil. Maybe our chroniclers or relatives molded us. “In any case, I swore to my mom I’d find her. So I will.”
“And I will help you. You know sourcing is a talent of mine—doesn’t matter if I’m looking for ballet shoes or my wife’s grandmother.”
“Yeah, I don’t see that working out too well. She was furious at me when I mooned over your card.”
“You forget how charming I can be.”
Never. “I once asked Matthew if you would prevent me from reaching Gran. He told me the subject bored you, that you don’t believe in her as I do. So why would you help me?” I finished my beer.
Like a blur, Aric had another round on the table. “As a Tarasova, she knows a great many things.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“I don’t have to believe that she holds the key to the game’s end. You do—and I believe in you.”
Smooth, tricksy knight. “What’s the difference between a Tarasova and a chronicler?” How did Gran differ from Gabriel’s people?
“Chroniclers are historians and guides. Some say each Tarasova is gifted with the sight. Others say she must be a minor Arcana.”
The last time I’d seen Gran, her brown eyes had twinkled as she’d told me, “You’re going to kill them all.”
A chill ran through me.
“Sievā?”
I changed the subject. “Now that you’re making the effort to trust me, will you tell me about your childhood?”
He inclined his head. “I told you my father was a warlord, but he was also a noted scholar. He raised me to be both as well. I had martial practice every day, then reading, then debates after dinner.” Aric peeled at his beer label, then smoothed it back with his elegant fingers. “I can’t imagine what he would think about all that mankind has learned. In his day, everyone believed the world was flat.”
Aric had grown up in that age, and yet I’d expected him to act like a modern boyfriend? That he’d come this far was astounding. “What was your mother like?”
“She was merry, quick to laugh. She and my father always wanted another child, blaming it on me: ‘If you weren’t such a wonderful son . . .’ I could ask for no better parents.”
“You miss them.” After all this time?
“Every single day out of hundreds of thousands.”
What could I say to that? Anything I came up with sounded trite. Silence fell over us.
Aric drank, lost in thought. And I knew he was remembering the night he’d killed them. . . .
30
Hot water poured over me in the upstairs bathroom, but it did nothing to shower away my buzz.
Or my confusion.
After dinner, Jack hadn’t checked in, and worry preyed on me. So I’d grabbed my bag and told Aric good night.
As I’d left the kitchen, he’d said to my back, “You once told me I was so good at this game because it’s all I’ll ever have.” The sadness in his voice had drawn me up short. “Your words were true, though I didn’t wish them to be. Not then. Or now.”
I’d heard Aric enraged, playful, fierce, in pain, and in lust. I’d never heard this soft sadness before.
In a murmur, he’d added, “I am ready to defy the will of gods and the dictates of fate to possess you, and yet a mere mortal stands in my way.”
My shoulders had stiffened, and I’d hurried away as if chased.
Now as the water sluiced over me, I raised my hand to my mouth, tracing my lips. My emotions might be in total turmoil, but my body wasn’t. I equally desired Aric and Jack.
I adored Jack’s raw passion; I craved Aric’s seething intensity.
Both had given me pleasure—and heartache. . . .
Once I’d finished with the shower, I returned to my room. I locked the door behind me and removed my hoodie to bundle up for a pillow. Lying back in my sleeping bag, I stared at the ceiling. What was I going to do?
I felt connected to Aric in inexplicable ways. At his castle, he and I had settled in together. We’d read in his firelit study, talking through the night. We’d been happy, his home nearly becoming my own.
Jack and I had never lived together per se, always out on the road—
My bug-out bag! I’d left it in the bathroom, forgetting Jack’s harsh lessons. Maybe he should’ve been harder on me.
I rushed from the room, skidding to a stop in the hallway.
Aric had just exited the steamy bathroom. He wore a towel. Nothing else. His lean face was clean-shaven, his wet hair in disarray, his cheeks tinged with color.
He spied me there, his lips parting. His eyes began to glitter, and I was momentarily blinded by the sight of him. Like staring at the sun.
Glorious man.
When my gaze dipped, his magnificent body tensed, as if I’d struck him. Sinews of muscle contracted, making the black slashing tattoos across his torso appear to move.
I’d wanted to kiss every inch of those runes. I’d never had the chance.
A drop of water trickled down the center of his chest, past defined pecs and rigid abs to his blond goodie trail. . . . My mouth went dry.
He rasped, “You want this?”
I raised my gaze, gasping at the dark hunger in his expression. My mind blanked. Want his body? How could I not? He was pure temptation.
“I meant this”—he held up my bag—“but I could easily be persuaded to share anything else my wife might desire.”
Say something, Eves. Words would be good here.
He closed in on me, all lethal grace and harnessed power. I realized I’d been backing away from him when I met the wall. He kept coming until we were toe to toe.
The damp heat from his skin was like an embrace. Up this close, I could see the blond tips of his eyelashes.
He tossed my bag past me into the bedroom. Then his gaze dropped to my tank top. It hugged my breasts, outlining them.