Page 23 of Vanish Into Light

“No, no. Don’t hide. Don’t be ashamed.”

“I’m notashamed.”

“Baby, you’re blushing.”

“Well, this is – weird.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” His eyes were glittering.

“Beck. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I know that you care for him. And I’m not asking you to stop doing so.”

Her brain frizted out for a moment. Because surely,surelyhe wasn’t suggesting she keep seeing Lance. That she see him, too. That…

But Lance was so traditional. So steadfast. And Beck was so…

Beck was grinning at her with teeth, now, fangs long and sharp.

Because Beck had never been anything like normal.

And neither had she.

She swallowed, and the sudden tension that had stolen across her eased.

His hand shifted; opened so that it cupped her cheek, thumb sweeping slow and soft beneath her eye.

“Lance is a good man,” she said, seriously. “I never meant to get tangled with him. I never wanted to hurt him.”

“I know, love. But what if I hadn’t come back? I wouldn’t have wanted you to be all alone.”

“I think he tried to understand why I missed you so much. What you meant to me.”

He leaned in to kiss her, slow and lingering, one hot, bold flick of his tongue between her lips. When he pulled back, his gaze was low-lidded. “I think he might finally be starting to understand.”

~*~

In addition to a ridiculous amount of stolen groceries, and coffee, Becket had managed to acquire some bourbon as well. Lance knew that he shouldn’t, but, once he and the boys had eaten – Morgan had come for more cake before walking silently out of the room – and the others had gone off, Lance had retrieved the bourbon from the back of the pantry. They had patrol tomorrow, and were sleeping rough in the heart of enemy territory besides, but he poured himself a triple, anyway, and relished the burn.

He sat for a few minutes, until the warmth had seeped out into his limbs and he felt pleasantly untethered and less anxious. Then, because he could delay it no longer, he made the long trek up to his room.

A house this large made all sorts of noises: little creaks and groans and odd thumps. None of which, he could tell, were made by humans. Rain lashed the windows, a constant, drenching downpour, and he could hear the faint plinks of leaks through the walls.

He paused at the top of the stairs when he reached the third floor, afraid Rose and Becket would be entangled in their own room, that he would have to listen to them. Did she moan for him? Cry his name? She certainly had on more than one occasion when she was with Lance.

I love you. But she was down the hall with someone else, and he was bitter, and stupid, and pathetic.

And he should have been thinking about the task that lay ahead, their op, and not the constant, ugly ache in his chest.

Blessedly, he could hear nothing, and so he hurried into his own room and let out a deep breath.

It was shockingly clean in here. The rug was musty, but all the linens had been cleaned – or replaced, most likely. He’d inspected the bathroom earlier and found it scrubbed spotless, save for the flecks of rust on some of the fixtures. With a sigh, he headed that direction, stripping as he went.

The one thing he’d ever liked about this house was the size of the bathrooms. All were spacious, with long counters, double sinks, claw-foot tubs, and massive, glass-walled walk-in showers so deep they were totally open on one side. He left his clothes bundled up on the counter, cranked on the hot water, and stepped gratefully beneath it.

That was another thing about the house: dozens of high-efficiency water heaters. Showers rarely ran cold, even with people showering all at once. It was like base that way, he supposed.

The heat finished what the bourbon had started, all his muscles now lax and feeling better than they had all day. He even smiled when he reached for the shampoo that had been left on the shelf: something fancy and foreign-smelling that Becket had either found in the house, or stolen, along with everything else. When he squeezed it into his palm, it smelled of limes.

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