Page 31 of Under the Dragon's Spell
"I think you're supposed to be in bed," Tyrel said.
"And you're supposed to be on a date."
Tyrel shook his head. "We had dinner and then I sent him back." He came closer still. The bottle in his hand looked like it had held something alcoholic at some point, but it was empty now. He sat next to me on the bench and put it down.
"You sent him back?" That meanthehadn't immediately gone home. Grinding my teeth, I wondered where he'd gone off to. Some place with alcohol it seemed. To do what, though?
"I wanted to get drunk."
"Did it work?"
He shrugged. "High tolerance," was all he said. "I can get drunk, but it takes a lot."
"So you're saying you're not even a little tipsy now?"
"Yes."
"You're lying, then." At least, his voice sounded a bit different. I noticed, because I always listened closely when hewas speaking. I liked the cadence of his voice, the way he said things. Everything was deliberate and clearly enunciated.
Usually. Now? Not so much.
He shot me a long look, studying me intently in the low light. His gaze was so intense that I was tempted to look away, but I didn't. Tonight, I didn't feel like backing down. That was always what I'd done when I'd been with Rory, and in the end it hadn't gotten me anything but heart break. I wasn't going to make that mistake again. Couldn't afford to. So I looked Tyrel straight in the eyes.
"You can tell, can't you?" he asked.
"It's obvious to me. I think you've had a lot to drink, though I don't know why."
Tyrel eventually averted his gaze from me and looked out over the garden instead. "My mother is asleep," he said. "So's Paul."
That didn't tell me why he thought he needed to get drunk, but it told me a lot of other things. For one, that no one was going to see us. And that he had checked to make sure of this, for some reason. He was plotting something. I had an idea what he wanted to do, but I doubted that engaging in a drunk make-out session with a partner who'd just been out to dinner with another man was the smartest thing to do.
"You weren't in your room," he continued.
"Didn't feel much like sleeping."
"I see. Michael said you were angry. Furious was the word he used."
I gripped the wood of the bench beneath me tightly. "I was. Kind of."
"Because I went out with Michael?"
"Yes." There was no point denying it, was there?
"I see. He was right then." Tyrel eyed me curiously. "But you're not angry now." It wasn't a question, just an observation.
"I'm not. I'm…" I looked at the sky, searching for words that wouldn't come. I had no idea how to describe what I felt.Probably because so few people in my life had cared to know. My father had abandoned us early and my mother had turned to TV shows and soaps, which she watched for hours on end. And Rory… well. I'd always made his feelings a priority without caring much about mine. I'd been born with this need to take care of the people around me, but for once—just once, I thought—it'd be nice to be taken care of in return.
Tyrel didn't much look like a caretaker, but he waited patiently for me to reply. It was a start.
"You need to tell me," Tyrel said eventually. "Because I'm not very good at reading humans."
I got the feeling he didn't often confess to not being good at something. I couldn't help but wonder if the alcohol had anything to do with his sudden sincerity.
"I'm not very good at it myself right now." I looked at him and saw that he was watching me expectantly. "I don't like this competition," I admitted. "I don't want to quit, not exactly, but I hate the idea that you're choosing between all of us, and you might not choose me in the end."
"I understand." His gaze flickered to the garden for a moment, then he returned his attention to me. "I'm not going to pick one of the others. It's like I said, when Mother first told me of her plan I didn't think I was going to be able to suffer any of you, but you've caught my interest, Adrian. It's going to be you."
"Because you can suffer me?"
