Page 76 of Gates of Tartarus

“Hmmm.” I guess that’s really not much more than I knew already, or, at least, nothing that would have made a difference to my visions.

“Forgiven?” Emlyn puts on a penitent face.

“Maybe.” I pause. “I guess… yeah, OK.”

“Good.” He bends down and kisses me on the cheek. “See you later.”

I look after him a little sourly, staring at the door. A kiss on the cheek. A bloody, bollocksy kiss on the cheek. Magda’s shagging her way across the Caribbean – I resolutely don’t think about Robert’s physique – and all I get are pats and pecks. Harrumph.

My turbulent emotions don’t make for good yoga. I feel as if I’m on an old-fashioned funfair ride, spinning round and round, and I can tell I’m trying even Kavi’s endless patience. But it’s his fault, because he’s looking delectable in a dark-red tee and yoga pants that cling to his very nicely muscled legs. And he needs a haircut – ink-black strands keep sliding into his face, and when he pushes them back, all I can think is thatIwant to do that.

After a fairly fruitless routine, Kavi decides that we’ll do some grounding techniques, starting with the tree pose. I groan: one-legged stands and I are not good friends. The muscles in my calves tend to bunch up, and I have a hard time maintaining my balance. I pick a focal point – Kavi’s chest – and lift my foot and turn out my knee, trying to find the sweet spot, where the currents of energy flow unimpeded, but it’s no good. I fall out of the pose repeatedly. The followingasanasaren’t much better, and it’s a relief when we move to the corpse pose, one of my favorites. Ilovelying flat on my back. Kavi lets me stay in the pose for several minutes before announcing that I need to get on with my reading.

“No,” I mumble. I’m half asleep, and if he’d just turn out the lights, I’d be away with the fairies. And then I could have pleasant dreams.

“Come on, Maela. You need to learn everything you can about your abilities.”

“Bring mm’ blanket.” I know if I open my eyes, I’ll see him looking down disapprovingly at me.

“Maela,” he says warningly.

I stick out my tongue at him, keeping my eyes closed and wrinkling up my nose, playfulness warring with petulance.

“Right. If that’s the way you want to play it…” There's a hint of laughter in his voice now, and I can sense him bending over. I make myself go even more limp. When my hands are clasped and pulled forward, I let the full weight of my body hang back. There’s an “mm-hmm”, and then he’s lifting my ankles and starting to pull me off the mat. I deadweight, and then I pounce: snapping my legs around him like an oyster shell. Taken by surprise, he falls forward onto his knees, arms coming down to brace on either side of me. Determined, I wrap my arms around him and pull back, and he flows on top of me, rocking between my thighs. The smell of sandalwood and spice envelops me, and I sigh, burying my face in the warm crook of his neck. And then, all of a sudden, I want him desperately. What started out as a bit of a joke has changed utterly, and I lift my head, eyes still closed, blindly seeking. I feel my head cradled in his hands, and then he’s kissing my brow, my eyelids, the tip of my nose, slowly, tantalizingly working his way down to my mouth. His forearm slides beneath me, holding me steady as he nibbles at my lips, one hand stroking my hair before trailing down my throat. I shiver, gasping a little, and when my lips part he sweeps in. He tastes of chai tea and something indefinably, wonderfully Kavi, and I suck on his tongue, reveling in the rough smoothness. He groans, one hand moving lower to cup my breast, and I arch into him. I can tell he wants me too, the light yoga pants no hindrance to the heavy weight pressed against my abdomen. I writhe against him, aching, and he kisses me deeply before pulling back and turning his head, panting.

“Maela,” he breathes, “Maela. We can’t, not yet.”

“Wecan!” I argue, reaching up for him again.

He takes my wrists in one hand, pinioning them above my head. “Wecan’t!Notyet!”

I still, listening to the sound of his heart thudding against my chest.

“We – this is all so new. None of us ever thought – but… but we all wanted… and so…” His words smooth out as his breathing steadies. “We made a pact, the three of us. Jorge. He’s my best friend, and yet I wanted to deck him when he kissed you the other day. When I saw…” Kavi clenches his jaw. “And I turned you to him! I thought I could handle… well” – a quick shake of the head, ink strands sliding over his cheekbone – “I don’t know how he stands it, knowing how I feel about you. And Emlyn, Emlyn doesn’t strike me as the sharing kind. But we’re trying. It might not be what we’d have chosen, but we want to make this work. Just give us time – givemetime – time to get our heads around the whole thing, and then we’ll drag you off to bed and keep you there for a month.”

He looks at me questioningly, and I squeeze him tight, making the most of the moment. My body is saying that there’s no time like the present, but my brain is scolding that I need at least to attempt to be an adult and show that I understand. It’s not like group-dating one woman was held up as a masculine ideal, so I have to be patient,capisce? Stupid brain.

“But kissing isn’t out, right?” I’m not sure I could go from zero to one-eighty in three seconds; I’m not a Ferrari.

He rubs his nose against mine and gives me an affectionate peck. “No, kissing is definitely not out.”

I rub back. “Well, that’s good, because I like kissing you.” I sigh: “So, we should probably get on with a little work. Emlyn’s left me some files.”

Kavi sits up and drops a kiss on top of my head. “That’s probably a good idea,priya. Otherwise…” He shrugs, looking guilty and a little regretful. “Come on.” He stands, holding out his hand.

Well, that’s just great. This is what comes of being mature, I think sourly. Books instead of bonking. And my breath soughs through the room before I quickly paste on a smile.

???

My own personal weather system hovers over me all day, steadily raining while my mind refuses to knuckle down and get to work. Studying? Bah. Training? Pah. Viewing? Forget it. I feel jittery and completely unable to concentrate. Jorge takes one look at me when we meet up in the lobby after work and announces, “Pub!”

“Tcheuh!” I chunter.

Kavi looks at me in a little surprise, and, yup, now his damn eyebrow’s sliding up. “I think,amigo, that’s a good idea. I could go for a beer.”

“Beer?” Seef echoes, coming up behind us. “I’ll join you, if I may. Marquess of Granby?” he suggests to Emlyn, who nods.

“Nice range of real ales,” Emlyn says, as if that’s supposed to be a clincher.

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