Wicked Lovely Page 62

But now that they stood in the doorway, with a bed that stretched from one side of the narrow room to the other, she almost panicked. "It's…"

"Comfortable." He let go of her hand.

It really wasn't that big, a queen at most, but that left only a couple feet on either side of it. Unlike the Spartan interior of the front car, this room was a bit more dramatic. Dark purple, almost black, pillows were piled on the bed; a few had tumbled onto the floor, like shadows on the black rug. On either side of the bed were small black dressers. A sleek black stereo sat on one; a candelabra sat on the other. Wax trailed down the candles and onto the dresser.

"I could sleep out on the sofa." Seth kept his distance when he said it, smiling gently. "Give you space."

"No. I want you here. It's just that it's" — she motioned to the room—"so different from the rest of the house."

"You're the only girl who's been invited back here, ever." He walked to the stereo, his back toward her, and flipped through the discs in the wall-rack. "Just so you know."

She sat on the edge of the bed, folding a leg up in front of her, leaving the other foot on the floor. "It feels weird. Like it's more important now that I'm here."

"It should be." He stood on the opposite side of the bed, holding a clear jewel-case. "I've done it the other way, with people who didn't matter. It's not the same."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Felt good." He didn't look away, even though he seemed uncomfortable. He shrugged. "Drunk. All sorts of reasons, I guess."

"Oh." Aislinn did look away.

"It got old. There's, umm" — he cleared his throat— "some papers over there. I wanted to give them to you before…I was going to bring it up the other day…but, and, now…" He pointed.

Aislinn reached out and pulled the papers off the table with the candles. On the top sheet she read "Huntsdale Clinic." She looked over at him. "What?"

"Tests. I had them earlier this month. I get them regularly. Thought you'd want to know. I want you to know." He picked up one of the pillows, flipping it over in his hands. "I haven't been, you know, unsafe in the past, but still…things happen."

Aislinn skimmed them, test results for everything from HIV to chlamydia, all negative. "So…"

"I planned on talking about this before…" He squeezed the pillow between his hands, mashing it. "I know it's not all romantic."

"It's good." She bit her lip. "I've never…you know."

"Yeah. I know."

"There's been nothing that would, umm, put me at risk." She picked at the comforter, feeling increasingly shy.

"Why don't I go…"

"No, please, Seth" — she climbed across the bed and pulled him toward her—"stay with me."

Several hours later Aislinn felt her hands curling, gripping the comforter. She'd been kissed before but not like that, not there. If sex was any better than that, she wasn't sure she'd survive it.

All the stress, the worry, had faded away under Seth's touch.

Afterward he held her. He still had his jeans on, scratchy against her bare legs.

"I don't want to be one of them. I want this." She put her hand on his stomach. She slipped her pinky nail in the edge of his belly ring. "I want to be here, with you, go to college. I don't know what I want to be, but it's not a faery. Definitely not a faery queen. I am, though; I know it. I just don't know what to do now."

"Who says you can't still do all that even if you are a faery?"

She lifted her head to look at him.

"Donia uses the library. Keenan goes to Bishop O.C. now. Why can't you still do the things you want?" He slid a handful of her hair forward, making it fall over her shoulder onto his chest.

"But they do those things because of this game of theirs," she protested, but even as she said it, she wondered. Maybe it didn't have to be all or nothing.

"So? They had reasons; you have different reasons. Right?"

It sounded so much easier when he said it—not easy, but not impossible, either. Could she really keep her life? Maybe Keenan hadn't answered her questions because he didn't like the answers.

"I do." She laid her head back down on him, smiling. "More reasons every day."


If we could love and hate with as good heart as the faeries do, we might grow to be long-lived like them.

— The Celtic Twilight by William Butler Yeats (1893, 1902)

"It's her." Beira stomped her foot, setting frost rippling over Donia's yard like a glistening wave. "You cannot let her near the staff. Do you hear me?"

Donia winced at the bite in Beira's voice. She didn't speak or move as Beira's wind ripped through the yard, shredding trees, uprooting the fall flowers still clinging to life.

Beira tossed the staff on the ground and said, "Here. I brought it. Followed the rules."

Donia nodded. In all the times Beira had brought the staff to her, in all the times they'd played this game, there had never been any real doubt in the Winter Queen.

This time it's different. This girl is different.

Beira's eyes had bled to pure white, her temper so close to uncontrollable that Donia couldn't speak.

Source: www_Novel22_Net

Prev Next