Page 79 of Blinding Light

“Lover. What are you still doing, up?”

“We were chatting,” Aviel replied instead, batting his eyelashes playfully. “Drinking.” He swept his gaze over Moargan, not missing a single detail. “I take it the night was interesting?”

“Very,” Yure deadpanned. It was his turn to look around. “Why do I get the feeling we’re interrupting something?”

“Because we are.” Moargan snatched Cyprian’s glass from the bar and put it to his lips. “You look way too pleased. And what is that smell?”

“Fire.” Yure gazed at the sink, before opening the fridge and grabbing two beers. “Couldn’t help yourself then, Aviel?” He threw Moargan one of the drinks.

Cyprian tried to snag his glass back, but Moargan pulled it away with a sly smile.

“One sip,” Moargan shushed, placing the glass against Cyprian’s mouth.

Cyprian rolled his eyes. “For all you know, I may have already finished a few of those.”

“Don’t get me started, lover. I’m not in the mood for small talk.” He was tense after tonight, though pleasantly surprised to find Cyprian like this. Chatting to his friends. For someone who admitted he wasn’t a good talker, this was a great start. Evenwith Aviel, who whistled and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, always the asshole.

“Oh, fuck off,” Moargan grumbled, polishing off Cyprian’s drink. He grimaced. It was sweet and lacked alcohol.

“He demonstrated what he can do with his eyes.” Cyprian sounded giddy.

“Show-off,” Yure muttered, though he couldn’t hide his grin.

“I know.” Aviel lifted his hands in defeat, a playful grin on his face. “I’m a terrible show-off, indeed. We can’t all be gifted like I am. The question is, can our sweetheart here shoot fire through his eyes as well? They sure look like they can.”

“Did you try?” Yure asked.

Cyprian blinked. “What, to shoot fire? No.”

Moargan wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Yes, you have.”

Cyprian whipped his face so they faced each other. His cheeks were coated with a slight flush and he looked guilty with pinched lips. “I have not.”

“You so have.”

“I have not!”

“Children…” Aviel held up his wooden spoon. “Regardless of what we did when you were not here—since that isourbusiness—there’s no such thing as just shooting fire. Even those who have the gift, need to be inspired. You can’t just go and spread fire.”

“You can’t?” Yure snorted, unconvinced. “Then what inspires you? Because you never seem to have any trouble burning shit.”

Aviel shrugged, but he had a wicked smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Moargan pointed to the sink. “And what inspiration did you have tonight?”

“Ahh…” Aviel winked. “You will find out when the time’s right.”

“Stop speaking in riddles, man,” Yure growled. But Moarganjust stared at Aviel. True, his friend liked to play around. But strangely enough, Moargan believed him. Enough to drop the subject for now. He squeezed Cyprian’s shoulder. “Give me a few moments. I’ll give Helianth a quick call. Meet you in the bedroom.”

He left the kitchen with his palm already in search mode, but his brother didn’t pick up. By the time he settled by the window sill of his bedroom, he had tried three times. Lighting up a red cinder cigarette, he promised himself not to worry.

Perhaps Helianth was already in bed. Which was something they should do, too. Tomorrow, they had classes, and it was late. Finishing off his smoke, Moargan got ready in the bathroom, then changed into sleeping pants and a tank, yawning as he crawled into bed.

A few minutes later, Cyprian joined him, his cool, smooth skin quickly warmed with the tangle of limbs. Under the sheets, they found each other's palms. Moargan settled in the peaceful silence that followed and let the thrum in his veins lull him to sleep.

21

Cyprian woke up with a start. His skin felt damp and hot, and his head was pounding. The room was dark and silent, except for the rustling of the curtain. Outside, the rain softly pattered.

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