Page 21 of Vanish Into Light

Lance took a sip of his coffee – belatedly, he wondered if it had been poisoned; but, no, that would be dumb, and it was sugared just the way he liked it; he wondered if Becket had asked Rose – and closed the book in his lap. “Nah. This guy’s deep into animal mutilation. Divining the mysteries of the universe or whatever.”

One of Becket’s nostrils curled in a faint display of disgust, and Lance found himself on the verge of grinning. He tamped it down fast.

“Divination is all bullshit,” Becket said, plainly, with a dismissive wave. “Take a break, then. Save it for tomorrow. It’s late, and you’re squinting.”

Lance glanced toward the window, rather than tell this prick that he wasn’t the one giving orders around here, as he should have, and found that it was still raining hard – he could hear it – but the sky beyond the glass was black with night. A scan of the library proved that Morgan was seated cross-legged on a ratty chair, shoveling chocolate cake into her mouth without relish; Gavin was face-down and snoring at the table, cheek resting on the mildewy page of an open book. He didn’t see Rose, Gallo, or Tris.

As if sensing the question to come, Becket said, “Rose went upstairs. The lovers are making food, if you want some.”

Lance sent him a sharp look, but Becket’s face was a mask again, smooth and ageless.

Lance nodded, set the book aside on a cobwebbed table, and stood – noting, too late, that Becket didn’t step back to allow him room to do so. That left them standing toe-to-toe, face-to-face. Close enough to smell the smoke of him –far tooclose.

Becket, he noticed with chagrin, though leaner, was a fraction taller.

Lance’s hand tightened on the warm mug. As did every other part of him. “Excuse me.”

Becket held still a long moment – utterly still, his regard birdlike, and totally inhuman. Then his expression melted into something approaching conciliatory, and he stepped aside. “Of course.”

By the time Lance reached the kitchen, he was shaking.

He set his mug down on the counter rather than spill it, and tried to pull himself together.

“You okay?” It was Gallo who’d asked. He stood at the long island, chopping onions.

Tris stood behind him at the stove, throwing butter into a pan. He glanced back over his shoulder, gaze unreadable as ever.

“Fine,” Lance said, and could hear how unconvincing his voice sounded.

Gallo’s brows shot up. “Hey. Why don’t you sit.” He gestured to a bar stool with his knife. “You look a little–”

“Like shit,” Tris finished.

Gallo rolled his eyes.

Tris said, “He’s fucking with your head.”

Lance did sit, though he didn’t want to. It helped – that and the sight of tidy, sliced carrot rounds, and the scent of warming butter. The presence of his fellow Knights and friends. All normal, knowable things that had nothing to do with the fanged, winged creature who keptlookingat him.

“Who?” he asked, just to play dumb. He didn’t want to have this conversation in any way, shape, or form.

Tris clicked the burner off, and turned to stand beside Gallo, hands resting on the edge of the counter. “That freak in there,” Tris said, with a tilt of his head, though his gaze was dark and accusing.You know exactly who, it said. “He may be able to help us, and we have may to tolerate him – but we don’t have to trust him, and we damn sure don’t have to like him. He waltzed back from hell, stole your girl out from under you, and now he’s psyching you out. Don’t let him.”

Lance’s pulse ticked up. “What? That’s bullshit.”

Tris snorted. “He barely acknowledges the rest of us at all. We might as well be invisible. Butyou.” He jabbed a finger at him for extra emphasis. “He looks at you like you’re what’s for dinner.”

Gallo smirked. “Or dessert.”

Tris shot him a side-eyed look.

Lance’s pulse tripped again.

“Oh, come on,” Gallo said. “Beck looks at Lance the way you look at me when we’re sparring alone together.”

Tris didn’t react – save for a deepening of color along his cheekbones.

Gallo gave him a blinding grin.

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