Chapter 27. Grayson
Grayson
Eloise’s mixed emotions waft toward me every ten seconds as we rotate through practice stations in Akari’s training class. It’s distracting as hell and I have absolutely no idea what any of it is about. Because Naomi, Ivy, and Bas have been glued to my side and I haven’t been able to shake them.
Until now.
Akari bellows: “Change stations!”
Eloise breaks from Maggie and Adrien and heads for the blades station, a slight limp in her step even with the Ace bandage.
Naomi turns to me and Bas. “Ivy and I are headed to the rock wall. Join us?”
“I actually want to take another go at throwing daggers.” I flash my disarming smile and add, “You’re welcome to join me, though.”
Naomi scrunches her nose. “You know I hate blades.”
Yes, I do know that.
“Same,” Ivy says, as Akari yells at all of us to get a move on.
As the girls walk off, Bas claps me on the shoulder. “See, now that’s the smooth Grayson Stone we all know and love, keeping tabs on Belrose and making time for your friends. Win-win.”
Except there’s nothing winning about it. Naomi still hasn’t told me anything about her intel and Eloise has barely made eye contact with me since I turned down her offer to read last night.
I roll my shoulders out as I cross the room toward the long table littered with weapons. It’s about fifteen feet from the wall lined with bull’s-eyes.
“Tonight, Eloise,” Maggie says like a warning as she walks toward the poisons station. “I don’t care if ye fall over from exhaustion or suddenly contract the plague. No more excuses!”
Eloise winces as her friend walks away. She takes a deep breath and pulls back, launching a dagger right into the bull’s-eye. A damn good shot. She does a quick reset spell with her hands and the dagger floats harmlessly back to the table.
Eloise’s forehead pinches as I slide in next to her, and I can scent her hesitancy.
So, I don’t push. Instead, I lift my own dagger, flipping it in my hand.
Which is why I’m thrown when she leads with: “We need to talk about this fake dating thing.”
My eyebrow arches. “Really? Yesterday I got the impression that you didn’t want to talk about that. Ever.”
She palms a double-sided axe. “Maggie asked me to hang out tonight. Actually, she demanded. Like ten times.”
“And?” I say slowly, knowing I could tell her about the party and that she’s about to get her wish. But I’m curious what she’s going to say.
“And I didn’t know how to respond,” she says. “I can’t lie to her.” She throws the axe with startling speed. It lodges a good inch and a half deep in the center of the target.
“You can’t lie to her?” I repeat, because now I’m lost. “As in physically incapable?”
She turns to face me, batting her hair away from her face like it offends her. “Not incapable … just really don’t want to.”
Now I’m even more confused. “You could lose everything if we don’t pull this off.”
“I know that,” she says quickly, and I scent her conflict. “But if I lie to her—who even am I?”
I blink. Twice. Her life is on the line and she’s worried she’ll be a bad person if she lies to her friend? People rarely surprise me, but I think I might currently need assistance picking my chin off the floor.
“What?” she says, and now her conflict is laced with embarrassment.
“No, nothing. I just—how does fake dating solve this exactly?” I ask.
She picks at her nails. “I just thought that, I don’t know, maybe you could…” Her embarrassment doubles.
“You thought maybe I could sell it?” I guess, and she flushes.
“Yeah,” she says on an exhale. “Maybe you could do just enough that people assume things? And then when I tell Maggie I’m spending time with you and can’t hang out she’ll understand? But I won’t actually have to lie?”
“What is this thing you have about not lying, anyway?” I ask, intrigued.
She exhales. “Gran always said that if you love someone you don’t lie to them. And I love Maggie.”
And now she’s got me. “Fair enough. I’ll lie for you.”
She winces, like she feels bad, even indirectly.
I smile. “Question, though, should I tell you I was right now or later?”
“Seriously?” she says, completely indignant. “You’re going to gloat?”
“Should I not?”
“Why are you the worst?” she asks, but I don’t scent annoyance from her. In fact, she smells like relief.
“Should we discuss the rules? I mean, you probably want to have rules, right? Unless I should just make them up as I go?” I say, and the pink on her cheeks creeps across her nose.
Her grip tightens on her dagger. “Absolutely no kissing.”
And because I can’t help myself, I ask, “On the mouth or anywhere?”
“Mouth,” she huffs, and throws her dagger. “Cheek and forehead are fine.”
Am I a bad person that I’m enjoying this? “Holding hands?” I ask, and throw a dagger at the target as well, hitting the exact same spot her dagger sticks out of.
She narrows her eyes. “Also fine,” she says. But instead of calling her dagger back to her, she throws another and sticks it into the handle of mine.
I laugh.
“Casual touches?” I ask, and she turns to me.
“Also fine. But under no circumstances are we sitting together at meals. I can’t deal with your friends.”
Same, I think. But what I say is, “I don’t know, I think your friends would really enjoy having me around. Maybe a lot.”
“Grayson,” she warns.
“Claws,” I say back with a grin, and then I wink at her before she sends her dagger flying. And for the first time, she misses the bull’s-eye.