Page 83 of Immortal Longings
By early evening, the skies have turned dark to bring in squally weather again, which means Calla navigates the alleys with more difficulty than usual, feeling around with her hands to make sure she isn’t tripping on a trash bag.
She glances at her pager, arriving at the section of the wall where she is needed. Just before she can emerge fully from the alley, she only pokes her head out, cautiously perusing the scene. Ahead, August and Galipei are waiting with a considerable number of palace guards.
“I thought you didn’t want to use the royal guard,” Calla mutters beneath her breath. She cannot fathom what he needs her here for. There hasn’t been a single location ping from her wristband today, even though night is crawling in. Maybe the games room is distracted.
A hand closes over her shoulder. Calla jumps, her sword already half-drawn, before the stranger whisper-shouts: “What fine daylight we have today!”
Calla’s hand drops from her sword. “For the final time, Makusa, quit sneaking up on me.”
“That’s my only mode. You wanted me to comestompingaround while we’re trying to avoid getting killed by other players?”
Anton puts the tracker back into his pocket. Calla forgot that he was still holding on to it, following her wristband wherever it went.
“Well”—she tilts her head—“I suppose not.” The new body he’s wearing looks like another plucked from the financial district: a young banker or an accountant or some newly graduated strategic consultant for the few companies that have survived long enough in Er to build a legacy. His clothes are so unworn that there’s still a gleam to the cotton fabric.
“How is Otta?”
She watches for Anton’s reaction. A slight frown. The curve of his lips hold a troubled stiffness.
“She’s fine. The hospital doesn’t know what’s wrong, only that her vitals are all over the place. I was summoned as her emergency contact.”
Calla doesn’t have much of a reply. She casts a look out to the wall again and sees that the royal group is still in discussion among themselves. Heated discussion. A denser rain cloud rolls in above them, and Galipei Weisanna doesn’t seem to notice because he’s more caught up making frantic gesticulations in August’s direction.
A cool touch brushes her forehead. When Calla ignores him, Anton grasps her chin, snapping her gaze in his direction by mild force. “Why do you look so glum?”
Calla’s brow quirks. His light tone is a mask, overcompensating for another emotion he doesn’t want her to see. She knows him now, for better or worse.
“We are players in a set of games that demand slaughter,” she says. “I bid you to look more glum.”
“Ah, there’s no use,” Anton replies easily. “The games go on whether youapproach them glumly or not.” He leans in, and when Calla arches her neck for him, he trails his lips along her jaw. “In the face of danger, we might as well have fun.”
Calla casts a glance out the alley again. They’re still arguing. The storm clouds are growing heavier and heavier as the sun begins to set, but it doesn’t appear that the rain is going to come down yet. Instead, the skies heave with motion, like a balloon filling toward capacity.
“Terrible scruples,” she whispers. She slides her hands around his torso, burying them under his jacket and smoothing down the fabric of his white shirt. “I hope you realize that your crown prince awaits a hundred feet away.”
“He can get fucked,” Anton says, and Calla doesn’t think he is joking.
“Sounds treasonous.”
Anton presses his lips harder into the hollow of her throat. His hands settle on her hips. “Getting fucked is certainly not treasonous. In fact, one would encourage it.”
Little shivers dart down her spine. Calla’s eyes flutter shut. “Oh?”
“Especially for royals. It prevents them from becoming sticks-in-the-mud.” His whole body is pressed into her now. “Maybe up against a wall, with—”
“Ahem.”
Anton freezes. Calla sighs, recognizing the sound and the person it came from. She gives Anton a small push, and he draws away from her slowly, a frown already setting into his expression.
“Hello, August,” Calla says pleasantly, like he didn’t just catch her committing unruly business in an alleyway. She straightens her jacket. “Did you need something?”
“Yes,” August replies. He does not look amused. “If you go to Galipei, he can direct you. Anton Makusa, could I have a minute?”
August is already walking off, pushing between them and heading for the end of the alley. Calla blinks. Anton’s displeased frown twitches, the plainest confusion crossing his face before he swallows it away.
“I suppose so,” Anton says evenly. He squeezes Calla’s shoulder once, then follows after August.
With a small grumble under her breath, Calla pivots the other way to go to Galipei.
