Page 60 of Twisted Fate

“You came here to talk to me about how I should lead my people? You want to talk fae politics? I’ve been the leader long enough to know what I’m doing.”

“What’s your point? This war is proof that you don’t have all of the answers.”

“I’m handling it, Aurora,” he says in a deep, tight voice—one that isn’t friendly and one I don’t hear often.

“Fine,” I grumble, shrugging.

His features smooth. “It’s interesting that you seem to care so much.”

“No, it’s not.” I’m not in the mood for where this conversation is going.

He chuckles again. “Okay, sweetheart.” His tone is borderline mocking.

I scowl. “Don’t do that.”

He rises from his chair and walks around the desk, closing the space between us. He stops a mere foot away, so close I could lean in and feel his breath on my face. “It seems we both have things we don’t want to talk about.”

“I . . .” Blood rushes to my cheeks. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

He reaches forward and twirls a strand of my hair between his fingers. “You’d rather not talk, then?” he murmurs.

My heart lurches in my chest. This scenario could go a few different ways. I know which way mybodywants it to go, but mymindis screaming at me to run away.

“I know we got off to a bad start, Rory, but I think you can agree things have changed since then,” he says in a hushed tone before dropping his hand back to his side.

I open my mouth to—what? Dispute his claim? He’s right. I just don’t want to admit it.

He wets his lips and backs away a few steps. “Tell me you don’t want me. Say it, and I won’t bring it up again.” His eyes flick back and forth across my face as he waits for my response. He’s giving me an out. All I have to do is say I don’t want him.

I can’t do it. I can’t make the words form on my lips.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter instead.

“I’m not asking for much,” he says.

“You know what you’re doing. I’m not going to do this with you. We work together. I have to see you at least twice a week on top of the times you pop up out of nowhere, including when I’m asleep—”

“That happened one time,” he cuts in.

I run my fingers through my hair. “It’s late, and I’m exhausted. I should go home.”

“If only you were in a hotel full of beds,” he says with a wry grin.

I sigh. “You are insufferable.”

“Thank you,” he replies.

I turn my back on him and walk to the door, opening it quickly. I need to get out of here and clear my head.

“When you’re ready to admit what you want,” he calls after me in that deep voice I can feel all over, “you know where I am.”

I pause for half a second at the door, and then I hurry out of the room, grabbing my things before leaving the building.

I stay in bed for over an hour after I wake up. It’s Saturday; I have no assignments due right away—no responsibilities I need to rush out of bed for. I pull my computer onto my lap and answer emails from classmates about group assignments and scroll through my social media feeds. When I’ve wasted as much time in bed as I can stand, I throw the sheets off and shuffle into the bathroom to take a shower. I shampoo my hair, humming a new song I’ve been working on. By the time I rinse out the conditioner, I’m singing the lyrics and enjoying the sound echoing around the tiny bathroom.

I towel dry my hair and wrap another around my body, my fingers and toes pruned and my skin radiating heat. Still humming, I open the bathroom door to grab some clothes from my closet.

I stop dead when I find Tristan and Allison standing in our room.

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