Chapter 20
20
It’s probably an alliance warning sign that I’m not eager to regroup with Erik. While we need to coordinate for the rest of the day, I have a dark foreboding that much of my afternoon and evening will consist of taking photos of his new temporary tattoo.
As I walk to the large Gothic archway where volunteers stain custom Elytheum designs onto guests’ various body parts, I console myself with the thought that I would look pretty badass with a thorned violet from the Northern Court on the back of my neck. I could wear my hair up to display it during the—
I ascend the steps to the archway and find Erik talking to Scott .
Goddess damnit.
I shouldn’t have let Erik out of my sight. Of course Scott was just waiting for his first opportunity to approach my roommate on his own. I didn’t even warn my own alliance that we have an enemy. I prepare for worst-case scenarios—Scott warning Erik off me due to a crush I don’t even really have anymore—or worse, sharing embarrassing details like when I intended to send a fairly…revealing piece of fan art to Amelia, only to absentmindedly cc the entire departmental listserv. My hot roommate, who I reserve the right to maybe or maybe not want to hook up with, cannot know of Listserv-Gate.
Except when I get closer, what is happening is worse than unintentionally mass-emailed fae dick art.
Scott says something to Erik, which makes him laugh. They look comfortable. Friendly . Like they’ve been hanging out for hours.
In what feels like horrible slow motion, Erik pulls off his shirt, then Scott proceeds to snap pictures with his phone while holding up a number of large, wolf-based Elytheum Guard designs to Erik’s chest and back. They are hideous—not his chest and back, which are chiseled and definitely waxed. No, the tattoos are ridiculous. And yet Scott is giving him the thumbs-up. Like he wants Erik to look bad.
Sabotage.
When Scott notices me, he grins victoriously. He is so going to pay for this.
I won’t retreat or surrender, though. I’m the lead of this story. He’s just the villain. No, not even the villain. At best, he’s an annoying antagonist. Chin held high, I walk up to them.
“Hey, Jen,” Erik says. “What do you think? I know Val doesn’t have this tattoo, but don’t you think it fits him completely? And looks fucking hot, too.”
It does not. But I don’t need Scott to know that. Erik has handed me on a silver platter the opportunity to check him out. I can still make Scott think he’s lost this battle.
“I need a better look,” I say, my tone thoughtful. Smiling sweetly, I hold my hand out to Scott for the wolf tattoo. “May I?”
“I can just show you the picture,” Scott says grimly.
I turn to him, blinking feigned innocence. “I’d like to see it in person. Up close.”
Scott scowls. He’s wearing sunglasses, and the tips of his hair brush the dark lenses. I wish I could see his eyes just to watch him glare. The gray in his irises really pops in a good glare. I content myself with the consolation prize of the tendon in his jaw straining delightfully. Honestly, it’s sort of hot. Hotter than a wolf tattoo anyway.
“Why not both?” Erik asks obliviously. “It’s important to compare how something looks in real life to how it photographs anyway.”
I nod like I very much respect that opinion. When I clasp the top of the tattoo sheet, there’s a moment where Scott doesn’t let go and we’re locked in a secret game of tug-of-war. He raises that damn eyebrow. I raise mine right back. Okay, maybe I sort of half raise both of them, but I think the effect is the same.
He releases the wolf with what looks dangerously like a half smile of amusement. My lips can’t help twitching, too. Still, I walk the tattoo sheet over to Erik. He turns around so I can hold it up to his back. “Hmm,” I muse, pressing the flimsy paper onto the hard ridges of Erik’s very broad, very muscular shoulders.
Behind me, I hear Scott shuffling his feet. He clears his throat impatiently, no longer amused. While I don’t know what Scott has said to Erik in my absence, I know I’m owed revenge for something. I take it in the form of brushing my fingertips lightly against Erik’s back as I adjust the tattoo. When I feel Scott has suffered enough, I step back and hand the tattoo to Erik.
“Well?” Erik asks, his voice grave like he’s awaiting a serious diagnosis.
I open my mouth, then realize that I just spent nearly ninety seconds touching a hot man and I didn’t actually observe anything. I was more focused on Scott’s micromovements than the sight in front of me.
“Only you can pull this off,” I say somewhat honestly to Erik, my thoughts still stuck on Scott.
Erik exhales in enthusiastic relief. It’s ironic how even as an actor, he puts every emotion out there with no artifice. “Excellent,” he says. “I’m going to get it.” He raises his hand for me to high-five. “Thanks, alliance partner.”
Oh, perfect.
Scott’s jaw tenses further. I no longer enjoy the sight. I realize now I should have specified ours was a secret alliance. Secret from everyone, and especially secret from Scott Daniels.
I guess I figured it was implicit. Not the Scott part, I suppose. The rest of it, though. Hasn’t Erik ever watched Survivor ?
“You’re in an alliance?” Scott asks.
“Yeah,” Erik replies, oblivious and undaunted. “To win the dinner with Val. Although Jen can take that part—I’m just in it for the glory. Are you competing?”
Scott faces me, a very worrying glee in his eyes.
“Yes, I’m competing,” he confirms. There is nothing casual in his casualness. “I almost beat Jennifer to her first clue, in fact.”
He’s speaking like he’s commenting on the weather. Only I know he’s predicting storms.
Erik just looks sympathetic, I’m reassured to find. Not won over by Scott’s pretty obvious vaunting of his own half qualifications. Good . “Ah, close one, man.” He claps Scott on the shoulder. “Next time.”
Scott doesn’t look put off from whatever strategy he’s enacting. No, he looks confident. He dips his head down so his eyes lock with mine over his sunglasses.
“So Jennifer showed you what was on the scroll, I assume?” he prompts. “Have you figured out the next clue?”
The air in the archway feels cold in the summer day. The shadows lengthen. Damn him. I want to stomp on Scott’s foot, but Erik would see, and the damage is already done.
Of course Scott knew I wouldn’t trust a stranger with the details of the clue I found. The scavenger hunt isn’t the only game he’s playing.
Erik rounds on me, his eyes wounded.
“You withheld your clue from me?” he asks. “Why? I thought we were going to the end together.”
Okay, his plaintiveness is a little much. We’re hardly Val and Lord Everbane, Val’s closest military companion until Everbane’s heart-wrenching death in The Risen Court . I only met the guy a couple days ago.
Still, I feel guilty. Whether Erik is overreacting or not, I have no doubt his emotion is genuine. I hurt his feelings. And…I don’t want to lose my new partner.
“I was going to show you tonight,” I venture.
Erik shakes his head. “I know a performance when I see one,” he accuses me woefully.
Scott laughs.
“Oh yes,” he joins in, no doubt finding our interaction more enjoyable than any character actors’ this week. “Jennifer’s no fun to work with. Trust me.”
“Hey!” I protest.
Scott ignores me. No, he’s—eyeing Erik, I realize. “ I wouldn’t keep clues from you, though,” he promises my partner. “Want to join my alliance?”
“You don’t want to join Scott’s alliance,” I interject, unable to restrain myself. “Trust me.” Honestly, I hope Erik does not interrogate my reasoning. What would I say? Scott, he’s…very observant. He’s very focused. He’s patient and dedicated when he puts his mind to something. In conclusion, you definitely would not want to partner with him on the scavenger hunt.
Erik doesn’t press me, fortunately. He wavers, looking at both of us in the way I sometimes look at my Tbr pile on my nightstand.
“Hey,” Scott says, his approach changing. I recognize the measured manner of his voice. The appeal to reason. The appeal not to read just one more chapter when it’s half past midnight. “I would understand if you want to stick with Jen despite her betrayal. I really would,” he informs Erik. “She’s exceptionally creative. Driven. Ingenious. I can’t count the number of times she’s outdone me at work.”
Quiet hesitation catches his final sentence, making me look up in surprise. He sounds…sincere?
Is Scott… complimenting me? It astonishes me more than any fake fae or stage-designed Elytheum court.
Unfortunately, I’m not the only one surprised. The stain of suspicion casts over Erik’s Val-worthy gaze. “You and Jennifer know each other?” he asks Scott.
I close my eyes. Well, crap.
Erik rounds on me. “You never said your work friend was here,” he states, like I needed reminding.
“We’re not friends—” I start.
“Definitely close acquaintances, though,” Scott speaks over me, cheerfully unhelpful. “We work together in publishing. I’ve known her for a year. Wow, time sure does fly.”
Erik has no appetite for cheerfulness. “I don’t think we were in a real alliance, Jennifer,” he goes on, heavy with judgment. “You didn’t share clues, adversaries—anything with me.”
I can’t even muster a weak reply. It’s not you. It’s me , I want to say. I doubt it would help. I know it’s over.
Yet again, Scott has foiled me. Yet again, Scott has driven his observant, focused, patient, dedicated foot right into something I care about. I’m the only Elytheum fan here—or, okay, I guess I need to give Erik credit. I’m the only longtime Elytheum fan here.
I roll my eyes when Erik extends his hand to Scott.
“Yes, I accept your offer of an alliance,” he states formally, in what is obviously more Val practice.
“Wonderful,” Scott replies, shaking on their misbegotten new pact. “Go get your tattoo and then we can strategize.” He half smiles in quiet delight. I expect the expression is somewhere in his notebooks.
Wait .
I won’t give up my alliance easily. No, I’ll make Scott’s subterfuge hard-won. I’m out for revenge. With no rivers nearby right now, I will make do with what I have. “Congrats, you two,” I say, my voice like poisoned fogberry syrup. “Well, Scott, why don’t you share your notebook with your new partner?”
I have to give him credit. Meeting my eyes, Scott doesn’t wince when I mention what is probably the most cringeworthy effort to up one’s game in the history of humankind.
“Of course, Jen,” he says. He smiles for show as he pulls his notebook from his pocket and hands the journal to Erik. “Happy to.”
He holds my gaze. Behind his sunglasses, I know ingenuity is working furiously in his eyes. Scott isn’t just observant. He’s inventive and determined, everything he said I was, and he’s going to need his resourcefulness now. I’ve upped my improv game at the Experience. Scott’s going to have to do the same if he wants to explain his Introduction to Val-ology notes.
Except Erik is reading the notebook and…nodding, like Scott’s serial-killer-style jottings make perfect sense.
“I can help with this,” my roommate says.
In unison, Scott and I whip to face Erik.
“Wait, what?” Scott asks.
“You can?” I say at the same time.
Erik nods, remaining improbably casual. “Yeah, of course,” he assures us both. He flips a few pages, evaluating the material, until something compelling captures his notice. “Here, we can tackle ‘the lean’ right now.”
While Scott and I wait in confusion, Erik walks off to hand the tattoo print to one of the attendants, promising he’ll get it applied in a couple minutes.
“Okay,” he says, returning. “The lean is, like, crucial for Val. It keeps Kethryn pinned between him and the wall so that he becomes her whole world. Which is how he likes it, because of course Kethryn already is his whole world.”
I feel my eyebrows rise. Plural, not just the one. Erik is…completely right in his reading of Val.
“You have to make sure you go in with the right mindset, understand?” Professor of Romance Erik elaborates. “It’s not just about the physicality. It’s deeper than that. If you get the mental part right, the rest will fall into place.”
He hands Scott the notebook.
“Watch,” he says.
Erik paces over to the Gothic archway, where he evaluates its height like he’s measuring it for a shelf.
His concentration is endearing, I have to say. It’s easy to forget he’s the guy who’s done nothing except regale me with stories about himself for the past day. In earnest pursuit of his craft, he reminds me of…Well, not Val, I guess. More like the best version of himself.
Satisfied with his archway assessment, Erik rejoins us.
“Jen,” he says, “may I?”
I startle like I’ve gotten called on in class. May he what? I nod, wary but curious.
Erik gently pulls me with him into the arch. Under the stone curve, he positions me with my back against the rough wall.
It is now that I realize the day is very much about to turn around for the better.
Erik lines himself up in front of me, in position for the lean . He is over six feet tall. He is the living likeness of my favorite fantasy love interest. He is shirtless. Dazed, I consider the coffee-shop AU fics I was just remembering. I’m pretty sure I’ve just stumbled into one.
Until Erik waves Scott over.
“You have to get close,” Erik counsels him. “Observe my microchoices.”
Is there no fantasy Scott Daniels won’t leave alone? No dream he won’t devastate? Honestly, while Scott might be taking notes on Val, every villain intent on world domination or realm devouring or whatever could take notes on him .
For what it’s worth, when Scott shuffles over, he does not look pleased, either. “Shouldn’t you have a shirt on?” he grouses to his new alliance-mate.
I glare at him. “That’s not necessary,” I reassure Erik with absolute selflessness and zero regard for my own—um, circumstances.
Erik eyes us in confusion, evidently not understanding our dynamic. Yeah, me too, buddy , I want to say. I mean, really. Scott seems jealous, the way he grimaces when Erik positions his own Hemsworthian frame over mine. Why? Could Scott Daniels really be…jealous of Erik flirting with me?
Possessiveness, urgent and unmistakable, pushes past his usual reserve. He scoops up Erik’s shirt from the ground and, with a warning glare, tosses the garment to Erik, who, ceding to his new alliance partner , shrugs and pulls on the shirt. Alas .
All is fortunately forgotten when Erik faces me again. He gives me his full focus. The way I look at fan art is the way he’s looking at me.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” my dry mouth permits me to reply.
Scott frowns behind him, pulling my focus.
Erik moves closer, hemming me in. I’m pleased we’re not in the period of his unshowered state. He smells incredible, like clean sheets and aftershave. I’ve ordered plenty of custom-made Elytheum-scented candles from Etsy—“Lord Valance,” “Lord of Night,” “Fae Guard.” I need to bottle this scent and send it to the fragrance artists. “Val’s Lean.”
Erik rests his arm against the wall near my head and— wow , he seems way taller now. I feel my back pressed into the stone, forcing me to look up to meet his eyes.
He holds our eye contact. The effect is…powerful. My knees weaken. My power of speech has abandoned me like the Western Court abandoned its allies in the Western Court Campaign.
I feel fantasy drunk. Euphoric on vesperynthe over rosewater cocktails. Indulgent, like I’ve eaten my fill of sugary night cakes. Dizzy from the high air in the Northern mountains.
And I love it.
Erik keeps up the performance. He sweeps his free hand through his hair like he’s struggling to collect himself, overwhelmed by our proximity. He’s good . It’s working. I feel like my favorite descriptions of Kethryn, emotion and hunger written on my heart in secondhand ink.
The spell is shattered when Erik steps away suddenly. Looking to me and Scott, he preens like a Labrador who has performed a trick. I straighten up, feeling shaky. It’s a nice shaky, a welcome shaky. Espresso with nine sugars.
“Alright,” Erik prompts Scott encouragingly. “Your turn.”
I can’t help myself. I look to Scott, curiosity and expectation warring in me. His expression is dark, the shadows in his eyes gathering into thunderheads. It’s what I expected. I could write Scott’s reaction like Heather Winters writes courtly intrigues or veiled flirting—perfectly.
“Oh, no, I got it,” he demurs. “Thanks for the demonstration. It was very…helpful,” he grinds out. “I’ve made a lot of observations.”
Although he holds up his journal, indicating he only means observations on Val-worthy conduct—Val-orous? Val-icious?—the inflection of his final word and the way his glance flits to me indicate something else.
Observations on how instantly swept up I was when a hot guy who resembles my favorite fantasy character flirted with me? Yeah, news fucking flash, Einstein. I refuse to feel guilty for indulging in the exact fantasy I’m here to indulge in, even if it comes from my roommate instead of the performers.
Erik, however, is resolute. He shakes his head patiently. Walking over to Scott, he places his hands on my rival’s shoulders and physically steers him in front of me.
“You gotta practice it, man,” Erik insists. “It’s the only way to improve.”
Scott fidgets.
And despite everything, sympathy hits me suddenly. In Scott’s self-consciousness, I’m reminded how out of his comfort zone he is. Elytheum is my fantasy, my escape, my refuge. Not his. And it requires courage to admit something isn’t working in your life. Not the courage of fae guardsmen fighting demons or Kethryn avoiding assassination attempts, either. Real courage.
Right now, I realize, Scott’s courage is faltering. Deep down, I…want to help. His noble effort is impressive, or whatever. Charming, even.
Of course, it’s not only selfless admiration inspiring me. If Scott decides he can be a romance-novel-worthy hero, he’ll realize he was wrong—and more importantly, I was right. Fantasy is worth everything .
He just needs a push.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” I goad him.
I’m not expecting the flash of determination on Scott’s features. He removes his sunglasses, fixing his gaze on me. “Hardly,” he intones. Without breaking eye contact, he shoves his notebook into Erik’s chest.
“You got this,” Erik encourages him.
Scott doesn’t need it. He strides up to me—no, stalks . Paces.
What the hell? I’m writing romance description in my head for Scott now. He is proving me right, and I’ve never felt more confused.
In surprise, I back up, only to remember the wall behind me. It’s just, I’ve realized this is a terrible idea. Even if it helps his self-growth or whatever, I do not need Scott to try to turn me on.
He places his hand on the stones next to my head. I turn slightly to look at it—the hand I’ve watched inscribe countless lists into his notebook in his impeccable penmanship, the hand he’s gestured with in maddeningly compelling presentations. Scott’s hand, I could probably draw the veins from memory if pressed to. I feel my breath catch in my chest. He leans closer.
“Is this okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod.
His gaze has captured mine, holding me hostage. I feel the space between our bodies, every shrinking molecule of it, while everything else disappears. The cicadas sawing in the grass, the sweet summer humidity of the day, the respite from the sun in the arch’s shade. Even the rough stone hemming me in.
Everything vanishes into the enchantment of—Scott.
He looks into my eyes. Really looks, like I am his whole world.
He’s become far too good an actor, I decide. He looks like he wants nothing more than to…lean down and take my mouth with his.
Or do I just want him to?
In the confines of the archway, it would be so easy to hide from my own wiser judgment. I could permit myself to forget every argument and petty clash we’ve ever had. I could plummet into his, yes, smoldering eyes, not knowing what I would find in their depths.
Instead, I remind myself he rejected me .
He claims he regrets it, yes. But he’s been talking like Batman and dressing like Val, too. Is he just pretending? Doing everything he can this week in service of his goal of becoming the perfect romantic hero, the book boyfriend?
Of course he is, I realize. Of course he hasn’t uncovered some year-old regret for the way our first conversation ended. He’s just reciting the right lines. None of it is real. He’s performing, just like this lean.
If I were to let myself want him, he’d just reject me again at the end of the week.
It hurts. Which makes me want to hurt him. I want to laugh, to dismiss his efforts, to derisively say he’ll have to work harder to impress other girls.
Unfortunately, I’m not an actor like Erik, or even Scott. I know I couldn’t pull off disdain. Not feeling the way I am now.
I put my hand on Scott’s chest, experiencing the heat of him for just one moment, the connection humming like the cicadas’ roar.
Then I push him lightly backward.
I address Erik when I speak. “No notes,” I say honestly. “He’s mastered it. You two really will make a formidable team.”
Decisively, offering no invitation for either of them to follow, I walk away without another word. I head farther into campus, needing something—anything—to replace the overwhelming heartache of fantasy and reality colliding.