He doesn’t answer, instead grabbing the front of my shirt – actually, it’s Killian’s giant oversized shirt – and dragging me around his mess over to the table, snatching a piece of chalk up with an air of intense urgency.
“What?” I demand, letting him manhandle me.
With one hand on my shoulder and the other on my hip he pushes my ass firmly against the table and says, “Pace.”
“Huh?” I ask, not moving.
“Your bubble,” Seth explains, leaning against the banister and crossing his feet over each other.
My heart sinks, remembering Roarke’s theory about sleep.
Roarke steps to the side, and I do as I’m asked. Counting each one very deliberately.
“One, two, three, four, five. Still five.”
The room sighs. Seth runs a hand through his hair, and Roarke turns to scrawl on the table top.
“If it’s not sleep, then what is it?” Seth asks.
Roarke goes back to his bubbling cup and open books, resuming his cross-legged position.
“It could be random, simply the magic running out, or it could link to something very specific that we haven’t thought of yet,” Roarke says.
Seth moves around the trashed room, picking up a bone quill and flipping it end over end as he inspects the fresh damage in here.
“This space gets worse and worse every day,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound surprised.
“So what is in the drink?” I demand, the thing is unnatural and unnerving.
“It’s not a drink. It’s a dissolvant. Works for low quality protection wards, very low. Didn’t affect our ward, though,” he says, dropping three dried bright red flowers into the cup – then suddenly tossing it at me.
No warning.
Just tosses it.
I’m not even that close. Pretty sure he isn’t in my bubble, but the liquid splashes on my bare feet, dries to a thin crisp instantly, then cracks and crumbles away. All while I skip backwards to get as much space from Roarke as possible.
“What just happened?” I demand, feeling absolutely no effects except the fine powder now on my toes.
And boiling hot pissed-the-chuck-off gripping the pit of my stomach.
Seth takes a few steps back, and my wall takes me with him, then a few steps forward to give me my room back.
“Didn’t work,” Roarke drawls, putting the mug down and flipping to the next page in the book. “We need something stronger. An oil, maybe.”
“Nope, no oil. No more bubbling liquid either,” I declare, my tone between a growl and a shout. Both Elorsins look surprised, which they have no right to be. “I mean it – no more potions. If you think something will work, you ask me, and I get to do the cup tossing – got it?!”
“I think she’s upset,” Seth says.
“Damn right I am, no more chuckin potions, or there will be punishments.”
“Okay,” Roarke finally says, his brow drawn down like the idea goes against everything he thinks he has a right to.
First punishment, no fruit. I snatch up the small metal tray. It’s cold, balances nicely on one hand, and is soon relocated to the bench between Seth and me. Then I lean against the bench and pop a piece of banana in my mouth. I’d sit on the thing, the bench not the banana, but it’s littered with books propped open by all kinds of objects and an assortment of quills, all looking recently used. Seth still has a quill in his hand, and with the drama over he returns to flipping it end over end.
Roarke lowers his attention back to his books, and I up my game, asking, “Where’s the chocolate?”
“I ate it already,” Roarke says absently, not even looking up or acknowledging the importance of my question.
The nearest quill is in my hand and flying towards his ass in an instant. Not because I’m feeling murderous – sure looks like it though. My mouth drops wide, and I gasp as it arcs, then sinks right down the crack of his pants. A soft thunk escapes from the metal tip tapping the timber floor before the room explodes with his sudden jump, squeal, and dance – and laughter from the Chaos guy beside me.
Roarke reaches back to pull the quill out, and his eyes couldn’t be any wider if he tried.
I put a piece of apple in my mouth and chew it slowly, just soaking up his reaction.
“Don’t mess with a woman’s chocolate,” I drawl.
“Isn’t that like the number one rule, brother?” Seth asks.
“Yes, and number two is don’t admit to it while said woman is armed,” I say.
“You weren’t armed, and I’ll buy you more.”
“I’m always armed,” I say, flicking my pants up.
Which reveals my bare leg.
Damn, no darts.
Where the bralls did I put them this time?
Roarke looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Ask Killian. He took them off you last night.”
“Why?” I demand, a mix between disbelief and a little nervous he might not give them back.
I like them now, want them, feel a little naked without them.
I feel around my pockets, small blade in one and egg in the other.
“He thought you’d be more comfortable, I think,” Roarke says.
“So he was happy for me to sleep with hard steel in my pocket, but not with soft leather around my ankle?”
“I saw him polishing the leather. It didn’t look very soft anymore,” Seth counters.
“Softer than the damn knife,” I say, pulling the blade from my pocket.
It has a little loop on the end of the handle, and I pinch firmly with my thumb and forefinger to let the thing swing back and forth before sticking it back in my pocket.
“I don’t know what you’re worried about,” Seth says, holding a quill out for me to take. It’s identical to the one in his hand with a long white feather and silver tip, and it feels perfectly weighted by the small silver bead that’s been threaded onto the end of the feather.
He starts flipping his end over end again, and without thinking, I do the same. Perfectly in time, while Roarke grabs at his Allure speed and darts around the room
