Chapter One #4
All that’s for later, though.
Because right now, Alexo’s brows scrunch with his smile. “You want to buy me a drink?”
“Just a drink. No expectations,” I clarify. “I’m Orok.” I hold out my hand.
He shakes it gently. His hand is doll-like against my thick fingers.
“Oh, I know who you are,” he says.
I fight back a wince, waiting for his reaction, but he’s a blank slate. So I guess, tentative, “You a rawball fan?”
“You could say that.” I get the feeling that’s all he’ll give me, and I worry he’s one of the people set against me until he grins.
He’s gonna play it coy, which is fine. Enticing, actually, and prickles race down the back of my neck, fizzle straight to the base of my gut when he bites his lower lip.
But that taunting smile dims. “I have to go, though.”
I keep my own smile up, hoping not to look too disheartened.
Because it’s dumb that I feel upset—I don’t even know this guy.
He’s just alluring and magical, and I can still smell him, fresh, bright apples.
I want to know what he was thinking about when he was singing, what happened in his life that he wants to escape from.
Whether he’s had any luck with that.
Whether he can give me some tips.
I force myself to relax the muscles that’d tensed me forward.
“Can I walk you out?” Alertness sharpens my tone. “Or we really could call an adventure party, just in case.”
Alexo shakes his head. “No. I’ll be fine. I—I should leave.”
I don’t like the idea of him going out alone with that guy still gods know where. “Please let me walk you to your car. Or the bus stop.”
His smile. Gods, let it be what kills me.
“You’re surprising, Orok Monroe,” he tells me. And before I can figure out how to respond to that, he lifts up onto his toes, balances with a hand in the center of my chest, and motions for me to come the rest of the way down.
I comply, and he presses a kiss to my cheek.
His lips are cloud soft, barely making a brush of contact, but their warmth plunges through me in gentle whorls and I lean into it, chasing that sensation as he lowers back down.
“Thank you,” he says again, and I think he means that he’s accepted my offer, but he adds, “I can take care of myself. I promise.”
My mind is still fuzzy from his lips on my skin, from the pressure of his hand on my chest, so he gets a few feet toward the door before I turn after him.
Am I going to ask for his number? I don’t do that. No numbers. No commitments. Rarely last names, even—and this is exactly why.
Because I can already feel that overpowering possessiveness scratching away at my self-control.
The need to follow him, make sure he not only gets home, but that wherever he lives is in a safe location, and then check with the local adventure parties to update them on that guy who threatened him.
And before I can stop it, I’ll be consumed in him, pouring all my time and energy and need into him.
I’ve fixated on things ever since I was a kid; it’s why I was such a good little Urzoth follower. I obsessed over the rules that the church passed down and made every aspect of them my entire personality.
I did it with Seb, too. It took me years to break my dependency on him, and our relationship wasn’t even sexual; he became such a crucial part of my life that I ended up getting two full degrees I didn’t want or need to stay with him.
It’s usually easy to keep my walls up. I’m so obnoxiously aware of how detrimental it is for me to make attachments that I keep everything locked in tidy little compartments.
Marlow and Darian: work friends.
Seb: brother.
Thio: Seb’s.
Hookups: temporary.
So what is this? Did Alexo cast some kind of spell?
Seb is half listening to Darian perform, half watching me.
“Enchantment spells?” I ask.
Seb shakes his head. “Only the one you’re wearing.” He points under his own face, where the words are subtitled in an arcane glow. Marlow’s earring.
I turn, and Alexo’s reached the door.
He glances back. I don’t try to cover that I’m staring right at him.
He should leave. On his own. I don’t need to follow him, don’t need to pursue this desperation. I have way too many life shake-ups plaguing me right now. I can’t risk falling into dangerous habits when I’m vulnerable.
Let him leave.
Alexo pushes out into the night.
I dive forward, using every ounce of rawball training to deftly weave through the crowded bar until I reach the door, throw it open, and burst out onto the sidewalk.
The night’s warm in late summer. A few people walk by, making for one of the many bars or restaurants that pack this street. My head swivels left, right—
He’s standing at the bus stop a few yards down, arms wrapped around himself, chin tucked low. Given the fact that the guy who attacked him could be anywhere, he should be doing a better job of keeping watch. But there are other people at the stop with him, safety in numbers and such.
I step to the side of the door, leaning against the bar’s window, and dart my eyes up and down the street. No sign of that guy.
Alexo stays tucked into himself. He seems zoned out, unaware of anyone or anything around him. The way he was on stage, sucked into his performance.
I push at the inside of my teeth with my tongue.
That focus was sexy on stage. It’s worrying here.
No, I snap at myself. Not worrying. Because he’s not mine to worry about.
The bus rolls up to the stop.
Alexo doesn’t look back as he boards. Why would he? I stayed in the bar.
I should have stayed in the bar.
This is as far as it goes. He’s on the bus; he’ll get home safe. I have to trust he meant it when he said he can take care of himself. Maybe he’s a wizard, like Seb, and he was one spell vial away from fireballing that guy before I stepped in.
Back inside, Seb and Thio have claimed a standing table, while Marlow’s flirting with the bartender and Darian’s on his second song to an adoring crowd who have recognized him as a Hellhounds bard.
“Damn it.” Thio punches my shoulder. “I bet Sebastian a—thing that you wouldn’t come back.”
Seb grins at his fiancé. “Like my prize is something you’re so opposed to doing.”
When I don’t good-naturedly blanch at what’s clearly foreplay, Seb’s expression softens.
“You okay? Did he not want to give you his number?”
I shake my head, then amend, “No, it’s not that.” But my mouth hangs open.
I really, really don’t want to get into it. Any of it.
Not tonight. Not when we should be celebrating.
Why hasn’t this felt like a celebration?
“I’m gonna get some champagne. That’s what we need.” I tap a quick rhythm on the table and shove away to Seb’s disgruntled “O—”
It’ll take some time to settle out of the fight-or-flight reaction.
That’s all. I need to come down from the trauma response.
My therapy appointments will be more spaced out going into the season, which will help my schedule feel normalized.
I’ll do my job, make sure the Hellhounds have no reason to regret accepting my trade, whether or not the team has it out for me.
I’ll worry about the things I can control, and fuck all the rest.
Today marks a turning point in my life, and from now on, I’m moving forward.
No matter what.