Last Thursday Night
LAST THURSDAY NIGHT
SYDNEY
The incessant beeping that wakes me up is an unwelcome intruder. I stretch carefully, my brain committed to believing I’ll be sore when, in fact, I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in… ever. My muscles are loose and there’s not a single hint of the aches and pains present when I walked in the door of our dorm last night. My face flushes when I think about the way the guys relieved that issue, and I roll to my back to look up at the ceiling as my mind races with the implications of what happened.
I let them touch me, kiss me, even command me—and I’m surprisingly not sorry.
Because of my father’s rigorous dislike of the world—both supernatural and human—I was isolated and indoctrinated to think that withholding myself strengthened me and made me morally superior to those around me. I wore those convictions like a superhero cape, even when reality crashed into that belief so hard that it knocked me flat during the Sweeps. Sure, my father was killed trying to ‘work’ within the two groups for peace in the end, but now that I’m able to see his rhetoric clearly, I don’t think it was for heroic reasons. He was part of the peace brokering supes because he wanted both sides to fuck off and leave us alone.
I don’t know why , of course, except that he was adamant that my mother left because they were forbidden. Yet he vacillated between trying to develop my magic and keeping me focused on the more human ways to defend us when it wouldn’t work. My understanding was he was simply magical, and I thought my mother was human, then maybe a shifter. But neither makes sense when you add to his insistence that intermingling was so taboo that we had to stay on the fringes of all the societies.
Was he just crazy or was there an actual reason he was the supe version of a doomsday prepper?
Unfortunately, I don’t know and I also have no idea how much the rumors of the elders of the major supernatural species being confined in some secret locale plays into his nuttiness. Was he on the ‘we can all live in peace’ side because he feared such a thing happening? He wasn’t religious; he didn’t encourage me to believe in higher beings skewed toward any pantheon or species’ favorite deity. That means his absolutely feral conviction that we weren’t safe and I would be hunted if people knew about him and my mother didn’t follow some Flavor-Aid drinking, body of a holy man eating sect scripture.
Sighing, I close my eyes for a moment, pushing away my concerns about why I was so rigorously taught to avoid everyone, to keep myself strong by not allowing others access, and most importantly, why withholding things that gave me joy or pleasure were such a huge part of honoring myself. I’ve been able to enjoy things here and there since I was tossed into Tempest Seven—my two best friends, books, embarrassing assholes, etc. But even the occasional physical ‘boost’ I gave myself wasn’t enough to truly bring me more than physical relief, which is simply biology.
Living like a monk without faith in anything didn’t do me any favors, but that’s what he wanted for me.
The lingering questions will not be answered this morning, and certainly not while I’m lying in the ridiculously luxurious sheets of the comfy bed provided by my true enemies. No, I need to get my ass up and go face the men who just showed me what kind of true elation can come from defying my father’s whacked out bullshit. And, of course, to make sure that they haven’t changed their minds about what they said now that I’m not naked and willing to help them slake their own desires.
I frown at that knee-jerk reaction, sitting up to scoot off my bed and onto my feet. That’s my internal trauma talking, I guess, but it’s hard to push away. It was drilled into me that my mother left to protect me, and then my father died claiming he was trying to do the same. The truths I held to be part of my core being are in question, and I already didn’t trust people not to leave. Now I have to contend with my brain’s desire to insist that they will also lie to me and I’ll be left floundering for purchase after they’re gone.
“Get it together, Sydney. Why do you keep having to tell yourself that? For fuck’s sake, stop letting intrusive thoughts ruin everything. You’re doing fine and the guys will not abandon you after one session of oral sex and magical hand jobs. Stop thinking about how you will gut them and get dressed.”
The last part is necessary because the trickles of unfamiliar blue and red and black inside of me whisper, too.
I pull the stupid uniform out of my drawer and don it, then braid my hair in the tightly wound coil that serves as armor. It takes a few moments to do the basic skin care and makeup routine I’ve been advised on, then I load up my bag with the things I need for today’s sessions. Stopping to look in the mirror before I go out, I note that I don’t look any different, but I feel like a slight weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I don’t know if that weight is named self-denial, oppression, or anger because none of those are small enough to completely lift. It might be a tiny slice of all of them, and as I navigate the world as it truly is, more will flutter away.
Regardless, I check myself one more time, then something catches my eye. The damn tattoo for the team they scarred me with looks a little brighter. Not totally, but just a smidgen brighter than it was before. It might be the scarring healing, and I’m just imagining shit. My brain is so crowded with questions and worries that it’s possible I’m hallucinating a little. Even after the guys took me to the bathroom last night and helped gently get me clean and warm again, I still felt fuzzy from the strength of that release. I was barely awake when Rory—I think—carried me to my room and tucked me in.
Maybe I’m still high on orgasms and their attention that fed me like a starving stray on the streets?
Who knows what crazy shit I’m going to have run through my mind today as I come to terms with yet another major change in such a short amount of time? I’m a woman on the edge, and trying to predict what will happen as I process life-altering shit day after day is like trying to predict the weather accurately. There might be sciences dedicated to it, but they’re mostly pattern recognition and data-backed guesswork. No one can tell me how I’m going to react, not even me.
I let that deep thought go as I open my door and stride to the kitchen. My stomach flutters with fear as I face them for the first time since last night. I’m trying to be strong, but I can’t stop the lump from forming in my throat as I wait to see what they’re going to do. Before I can open my mouth to speak, Elias comes over to me, handing me a mug of coffee and a burrito with a stern expression.
“Eat, little rebel. Our days are long and we were quite late when we retired last night.”
Nodding, I take the breakfast he’s offering and, like a good automaton, I take a bite. It’s better than saying something stupid as I wait for the others to respond to my presence, especially since the room is quiet as a tomb right now.
Sebastian puts his tablet down, then rises from his stool to stand in front of me as I mechanically consume the tasty breakfast food. “Excellent, kitten. You need the protein for the amount of energy your body is using to push you toward emergence. The caffeine is simply to off-set our lack of rest—though, by the look of you, I believe you rested better than normal. Is that right?”
I wipe my mouth on my hand before I take a sip of my coffee. The bitter burn of the drink is soothing and I savor it for a second before I answer. “Yes, I slept very well—surprisingly so, in fact. And, um, I?—”
Rory bounds over like the overgrown puppy man he is and elbows the vampire aside with an eye roll. “Idiots, both of you. Come here, Vicious. Let me breathe you in for a minute, hmm?”
Blinking as he tugs me into his arms and just hugs me with his face buried in my neck, I carefully put my coffee-holding hand around him. “I have hot java, you know.”
He snorts against my skin. “Don’t care. Taking care of you means you don’t get up wondering if we give a shit or if we were lying to get in your pants, Sydney.”
Holy shit, that asshole is reading my fucking mind, I swear it.
“I’m not reading your mind,” he says as he pulls back with a soft chuckle. “Not even right then. What I’m doing is remembering how I’ve felt in the past—and despite being right in my case, I want you to know that your panicking brain is not right in this one.”
“It’s gonna sound bad when I say that I thought you were about as deep as a spit puddle when we met, mage, but I’m awful impressed with your emotional intelligence now that we’re gettin’ to know you.” Huck pushes his hat back as he gives Rory a sheepish grin. “I was a bit of a snob, too, I suppose. Sorry ‘bout that, man.”
The others look at each other, then Thad coughs. “Yeah, me, too. Sorry. I just… you know.”
Rory pulls away from me, his face resigned as he faces the group. “I play a role when I first meet people. It’s easy, safe, and gives me time to figure out who’s real and who’s not. If they don’t go beyond the surface, I don’t worry about showing them anything deeper. Clearly, all of you felt safe enough for me to show the real me. That’s also how I know what’s going through Sydney’s head when she’s getting caught in her trauma.”
I consider that for a moment, then hand Sebastian my coffee mug. He takes it and this time; I turn to the mage, wrapping my arms around him to squeeze him tightly. He seems surprised and I guess that’s fair, but I swallow my fears to say, “Thank you for trying to make sure I don’t feel like you did. You’re a pretty decent man, Rory Stormbringer.”
“He is, and we will help him remember that as we do for you.”
Elias’s support makes me grin as I squeeze Rory again, then I let go so I can face them all again. “You’re all pretty decent. And I’m going to try very hard to not be a jackass when things are overwhelming me. I promise.”
“That’s fair,” Thad says as he stands and clears his plate. “I accept it; how about you, Huck?”
The demon gives me a slow, sexy grin as he nods. “You know I’m in, sweet pea. Always have been.”
“While this repetition of commitment is touching,” Sebastian says with an oddly amused expression. “We need to get to the first session. If we don’t leave now, we’ll get caught waiting for the elevator and have to hustle to get to that stupid social media thing?—”
A loud squeal echoes throughout the room and my eyes widen as the Irina speaker in the living room makes a long wail like a siren. We all stop in place, concern etched on our features as we wait for the sound to stop. Sebastian moves to stand behind me and Rory grabs my hand, both looking resolute.
I don’t know what’s coming, but I knew yesterday went far too well for it to last.