Page 36 of Aberrant Monsters
“Then why haven’t you?” Shut up, shut up, why are you asking dumb questions? Why are you pushing his buttons? “Why did you stop just now? Why haven’t you forced yourself on me then,hmmm? If you own me, if you’re so fucking strong, why haven’t you taken what you want from me?”
His emerald eyes bored into me like twin lasers and then dimmed. “I will not take what is not freely given.” The words were hushed, a mere whisper falling from his lips and caressing mine. An echo from his past, maybe?
He frowned, pushing his mask out a little, making me wonder, not for the first time, what truly lay beneath it. I’d seen his monstrous face, with the teeth, the epic tongue, and the maw that could unhinge itself, but I’d never seen his face without the mask.
He released me suddenly and I hit the ground on my hands and knees.
Something soft and damp fell over me. The towel.
He’d covered me with the towel.
“Why did you call me?” he asked.
I pulled the soft material around my body, which suddenly felt as cold as ice without his heat to warm it. “Our handler is here. He wants to see us all tonight.”
“In that case, I shall go and get acquainted with him.”
He drifted toward the door and passed through the wood, leaving me alone and confused.
The questions I’d asked had been dangerous but valid, and the result could have gone badly for me. Itshouldhave gone badly if Telarion was a monster.
It was time to consider the possibility that maybe my aberrant infection wasn’t a monster at all.
eleven
Quentin had set up the study like a classroom with a row of chairs facing his desk. He’d even set up a chalkboard. I sat between Nandi and Archie. Telarion loomed behind us, back pressed to the wall, long coat flapping against his calves.
Uncle Fred took a seat by the bookcase.
Quentin parked his butt on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, muscular shoulders bunching beneath his navy shirt. He looked at home and at ease, as if this space belonged to him.
He peered down at me. “I assume you don’t know very much about the eldritch realm?”
“You assume correctly.”
“How often have you traveled there?” he asked.
I held up three fingers.
His brows shot up. “Three times? That’s it?”
“Once by accident when I was a teen—that was when Uncle Fred explained to me what I was.” I put down one finger. “The second time, to experiment.” Another finger down. “And the third time to get away from some nasty assholes who had nasty asshole intentions.”
“And that was the time you picked up Telarion?” Quentin asked.
“Yes. He saved my life. I was being mauled by these…things.”
“And how did you find the coordinates to the rift locations?”
I stared at him blankly. “Coordinates?”
“That’s right. There’s a map of active rifts that changes from time to time. Rifts aren’t the most stable things.” He slid a glance my uncle’s way. “I’m assuming you took a copy from the Order before you left?”
My uncle cleared his throat. “Yes, I did. She found them and she used them.”
What was he talking about? I didn’t need coordinates. I never had.
My confusion must have shown on my face because Quentin’s expression hardened.
