Page 27 of Vanish Into Light

“That isn’t true.”

“It’s not? Tell me, since you’ve been here longer than I have: did Tristan and Gallo become worse soldiers when they finally allowed themselves to have what they wanted? Or were they better?”

She didn’t answer, and that was an answer in and of itself.

~*~

Lance woke with a start. A mental one, at least. Awareness hit him in a great jolt, but he found his body sluggish and uncooperative. For a moment, he breathed, listened to the quick throb of his pulse as it accelerated. Then he managed to crack his eyes open.

Rose.

Her face filled his field of vision. She smiled, faintly. “Good morning.”

He blinked the grit from his eyes, and realized that she was lying on her side, head on a white pillow. And that he definitely hadn’t gone to bed with her last night. No, instead, he’d–

“God,” he croaked, and forced himself upright. He felt ungainly, off-balance. The room swam a minute. Not his room. This room was papered in flocked black rosettes, and the bed was much larger. That’s where he was: in a bed. With Rose, who wore a t-shirt and panties, and he wore…

A glance revealed a thick, black velvet robe that definitely wasn’t his own.

He reached to touch his throat, and felt two small scabs. “God,” he repeated, stupidly.

He hadn’t dreamed it.

Becket – oh, hell, how could he call the man anything but Beck after that – had walked in on him in the shower, and he’d crowded in close, and…

When Lance screwed his eyes shut, he could remember the hot touch of his hands, the strength of his arms. The sharp, slippery kisses and the grip on his cock, and the feeling of being rutted against, and oh, God, it had been so good, and he could get hard just thinking about it, but it had been Beck, who had wings, who’d come back from hell, and it was just…no, no, no–

“Lance.” The sheets rustled, and Rose’s hand landed on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“What?” He opened his eyes and turned to her, shocked by the soft, peaceful expression on her face. He’d never seen her so open, so unaggressive. He spluttered out a laugh. “Did he tell you? Did he– Christ, in what alternate dimension is it even remotely okay?”

“You’re panicking,” she said, simply.

“No shit! Your boyfriend – your fucking demon boyfriend, or whatever he is – gave me a hand job in the shower.”It was more than that,his brain supplied, unhelpfully. It had been one of the most shockingly intimate, intense sexual experiences of his life; his body was still humming; he swore he could feel the places where Beck had touched him, brimstone brands left behind. Would he see them if he looked? Would there be handprints? “And apparently,” he plowed on, so he didn’t have to examine it closer, “you’re fine with that?”

Rose’s thumb rubbed little circles at the point of his shoulder, and her smile was kind – impossibly so. “Lance. No part of my life has been anything like normal. Is anyone’s, ever? But mine was shit. It was really shit. Until Beck came along. He saved me. He showed me who I was – and who I could be. He showed me how strong I was deep down, and how to use that strength.

“He and I are so similar. You said you love me – and I know you do. You want me. Can you really tell me that you don’t want Beck, too?”

He sucked in a breath, shocked by her candor, ready to tell her that she must have hit her head, or been hypnotized by that bastard. “I…” But words failed him. Because his tongue felt tender where Beck had bitten it, and heat pooled low in his belly when he thought about Beck plucking at his nipples, telling himgood boy.

It hurt to swallow. It hurt to look at her.

It hurt to acknowledge that even if he’d told himself for five years that he’d wanted to save her…he had in fact been magnetized by her.

Just as he’d been magnetized by Beck last night.

To his great shame, his eyes burned. He blinked hard, and gathered himself.

Rose got up on her knees and shifted in closer; cupped his face just like Beck had, and Lance leaned in, just as he had then. When she kissed him, she tasted of herself, of her cherry lip balm, and she tasted faintly of smoke, too, because Beck had kissed her this morning before he left the bed.

The bed where he’d tucked Lance in between them, where they’d all three slept together.

“I was miserable when he was gone,” she whispered, holding his gaze, her own dark, and steadier than it had ever been. Not resigned, not struggling, as he’d always known it, but settled. Sure. “And then he came back, and I wasn’t with you, and I was still miserable. I need you, and I need him – and we all need each other, I think.”

“This is insane,” he whispered back, as his pulse leaped and jerked, and his skin hummed, and want stole through him in a delicious shiver. He’d never felt anything like this in his life, and it should have felt wrong, he thought, because he was a Knight, and they had a fight ahead of them, but, oh, what if this feeling could last? What if it could be real?

Her smile widened, eyes dancing. “We’re talking about opening up a portal to heaven. Insane is relative.”

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