Triangle

by Sara L Daigle

  “Will you stop talking about my boyfriend like he’s a piece of meat?” Tamara demanded hotly, knowing they were teasing her, but unable to restrain her indignation. “Aren’t you offended, Alarin?”

  He grinned wider. “Of course not. It’s too much fun watching you get upset.”

  Kari giggled. “You should know by now that we love teasing you, Tam.”

  Tamara did know, and that was one reason she never ever wanted Kari to walk in on them. I’d never live it down, she thought to herself. “Are you ready for the spring semester to start?” she asked Kari, trying to change the subject.

  Kari sobered and shrugged. “As much as you are. I thought I’d come by to see if you want to head over and grab some lunch. But considering lover boy’s here, you probably have better things to do.”

  “Dinner sounds great,” Tamara said, glancing at Alarin. Balancing unconcernedly on one leg, then the other, he slipped on his socks and sneakers. “Are you hungry? Did you want to join us, Alarin?”

  He looked up. “Given the amount of energy we recently expended, I’m starving, actually. I’d love to join you.”

  Tamara blushed ferociously, as Kari raised a hand. “Hey, I don’t get to share in it; I don’t want to hear it, kids.”

  “Kari!” Tamara protested again.

  “I said I didn’t want to hear it, didn’t I?” Kari asked with an unrepentant grin. “It’s not like I asked for details. Come on, lovebirds, let’s go get dinner.” Alarin and Tamara trailed her as they left the room to walk over to the cafeteria for lunch.

  As they walked, Tamara slipped her hand into Alarin’s. He squeezed her hand lightly, just a gentle pressure on her fingers. She’d missed him, and more than that, she felt this odd hunger to touch him. Not necessarily to lead to anything more, just to touch him. He let her, his mind wrapping around hers in a mental echo to hold hands. It had taken a little adjustment for him to get used to her need for physical touch and for her to get used to the way he used mental touch like she did physical, but now that they had, Tamara loved it.

  The cafeteria was not yet full, since it was still a couple of days away from the start of the new semester, but Tamara could feel the mental pressure of the people in the cafeteria on her shields anyway. She let Alarin’s hand go as they separated to see what was being offered, but they remained in light mental contact the whole time. Enough so that when Alarin saw the other Azellians sitting at a table by themselves, she felt it, and she agreed that they should join them.

  Alarin got to the table first, Tamara not far behind. “Welcome to Earth,” he said in Azellian. Tamara didn’t hear him speak Azellian often; it changed his voice and made him rather exotic sounding. A thrill washed up from her stomach to pull at the top of her head, and a peculiar sense of possession pulsed through her. She took a deep breath. Now was not the best time to get lost in emotional forays—not with five newly arrived Azellians sitting there quite able to read any nuance of emotion she let past her shields. “I’m Alarin Raderth. How was the trip from Azelle?”

  “Long,” a young woman said. She was handsome rather than pretty, her nose prominent and slightly too large for her face, but her cheekbones were high and well-defined. She oozed physical confidence in a way that made Tamara vaguely jealous, especially when the woman gave Alarin a frankly appraising look. “So you’re the famous Raderth who came to Earth.”

  Alarin grinned. “I don’t know about famous,” he said, “but I am a Raderth and I am on Earth.”

  Even sitting down, it was apparent that the woman was slender, willowy, and athletic looking, a body type Tamara had always wanted and most emphatically did not possess. She slipped in the empty slot beside Alarin, trying not to feel possessive, but failing miserably. Alarin didn’t seem to sense her discomfort, which in some ways was a relief, but in others made her even more nervous. She was doing her best to shield from the other Azellians, but she was most definitely not shielding all that well from him, their psychic link preventing them from shielding effectively from each other. For him not to notice her upheaval meant he was either ignoring it or too distracted to notice, neither of which made her happy.

  “I’m so pleased to meet you, Alarin. I’m Francyne Mennak Corvik,” the athletic, handsome woman said. Her interest was plain to read. “I hope to get to know you better over the semester.” She smiled at him, her eyes intent. Tamara took Alarin’s hand, which rested on the table. He let her touch him only briefly, before moving his hand away. Tamara could feel a flush crawl up her cheeks as she tried to tell herself that it was just his lack of interest in touching that made him let her go so fast, not an interest in Francyne. Indignation warred with uncertainty within Tamara. Francyne gave Alarin a warm smile, ignoring Tamara completely, as she picked up on his dismissal. Tamara wasn’t sure what Alarin’s attitude about Francyne was, but she certainly knew what Francyne’s was about him. Alarin’s aura read clearly like a man who’d done what they’d just done—and she knew her aura matched his. For Francyne to be ignoring it meant she’d do things that Tamara didn’t trust. She looked steadily at Francyne, who still didn’t acknowledge Tamara’s presence.

  “I, for one, have been dying to know how a Raderth managed to convince his family to let him come,” a very slender young man with wide shoulders said, leaning forward and interrupting them. He had the same effortlessly confident air that Francyne did. But with deep dimples that appeared when he smiled and an infectious quality to that smile, it seemed considerably less like arrogance and more like charm. Tamara met his dark brown eyes and somehow knew he had quite deliberately interrupted to break the tension.

  Alarin looked over at him. “The same way a Healer and a Memaxthal managed to get himself onto the roster of Azellian exchange students,” he said with a grin. “Ignoring family strictures. Hey, Rory. Didn’t expect you to make the leap to come to Earth. Long time no see. How have you been?”

  “Not bad, not bad at all,” Rory replied. “Much better than I was on Azelle.” He looked at Tamara. “May I ask who this lovely lady sitting next to you is?”

  Tamara flushed slightly. “I’m Tamara Dorvath Carrington,” she said, using the Azellian form of her name somewhat self-consciously.

  “Dorvath Carrington?” a petite brown-haired woman who looked barely old enough to have Awakened, much less to be in an exchange program, said in a high voice. “Are you related to that Carrington who got thrown off the planet for interference in internal Azellian affairs by getting an Azellian woman pregnant?”

  “He’s my father,” Tamara replied, trying not to feel sheepish or defensive, but not really succeeding. “My mother was Jasmian Dorvath.”

  “So you know Justern Memaxthal, then?” Rory asked, interest sparking in his eyes. He leaned against the table, pressing his weight into his forearm, which made the muscles in his arm stand out sharply. For a man who is as thin as he is, he’s quite muscular, she caught herself thinking before she cut it off abruptly.

  “I’m his half-sister,” Tamara admitted, feeling heat rise up her neck to her cheeks.

  Rory grinned at her, his dimples turning into deep grooves down his cheeks. “We’re cousins of a sort, then. I’m related to Justern through our fathers. It’s somewhat distant, as our families aren’t that closely related, and you’re related to the Dorvaths, not the Memaxthals, but it’s a connection. I’m Roryn Mennak Memaxthal, by the way. You can call me Rory.”

  Tamara let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. With one sentence, Rory had managed to somehow make her feel included. Greg, Alarin, Merran, Mellis, and Justern never made me feel this way, she thought, that I should be ashamed of my family connections. I don’t even know how Francyne did it, but she did. I feel like the lowest thing on the planet right now. “Pleased to meet you, Rory,” she said, feeling a rush of gratitude toward the handsome young Healer. Rory’s grin softened into a smile.

  Alarin didn’t seem to notice, or maybe wasn’t reacting to, the unspoken superiority at the ta
ble. This is not at all like the last time I met Azellians, Tamara thought, feeling out of her depth and uncertain about what do or how to act.

  Rory continued the introductions, rescuing her yet again. “This is Francyne Mennak Corvik as you already know,” he said. Sitting next to her was a quietly pretty young woman who lacked the flashy good looks of Francyne and the other Azellians at the table. “Malinna Sorved Serryn, who has relatives who work at the embassy.” A faint moue of distaste crossed Francyne’s face as she sniffed at Malinna, and Tamara knew she wasn’t going to like Francyne. On the other side of Alarin was a young man with midnight blue eyes that looked almost black, even in the bright fluorescent light of the cafeteria. Tamara had to look twice to make sure his eyes were actually blue. “That’s Damiar Corvik Darvyne over there. He’s related to Francyne, if somewhat distantly, and more closely to Greg Darvyne Tenricth, whom I believe you know quite well. Sitting next to you is Sharynn Mennak Memaxthal. She’s a very distant cousin of mine and of Francyne’s.” Sharynn was the petite woman with a pleasant expression on her face who had asked about Tamara’s father. She smiled warmly at Tamara, and Tamara smiled back.

  “It’s great to have five more of us on Earth. Do you want someone to show you around? I’m more than happy to do it,” Alarin commented, looking around the table.

  “There are actually six of us,” a new voice said, and Tamara looked up to see a dark-haired beauty standing above them, her gentle elegance making even the handsome Francyne look dowdy. “Hello, Alari.”

  Alarin didn’t reveal anything on the surface, but Tamara could feel the shock reverberate down to his toes through the still active connection between them. Before she could react, he slammed up shields between them, heavy shields that only imperfectly hid the tangle of conflicted emotions the bond allowed her to access, even despite his shields. “What are you doing here, Idara?”

  Shock reverberated through Tamara, too, and she wasn’t nearly as accomplished as Alarin at hiding it. This is Idara? Idara Tenricth, Alarin’s ex-girlfriend? God, she’s gorgeous. No, gorgeous isn’t the word for it. Model beautiful, elegant, hot, drop-dead stunning, Aphrodite come to Earth. Alarin left this poised, elegant woman to take up with me? They must have looked absolutely breathtaking when they were together, Tamara thought, her brain racing. Idara’s elegant beauty matched Alarin’s own aristocratic good looks, complimenting and adding to them. Insecurity suddenly slammed through Tamara, and she fought to hide her reaction.

  “Greg’s been telling me so much about Earth that I thought I should come to find out what’s so fascinating. You don’t need to worry that I’ll get in the way.” She set her tray next to Tamara and sat down. Alarin vibrated with tension. Unlike Francyne, who seemed to want to pretend that Tamara didn’t exist, Idara looked straight at her. “I’m Idara Darvyne Tenricth. Greg’s sister. You must be Tamara Carrington. I’ve heard quite a bit about you from my brother. It’s a pleasure to finally get to meet you.”

  Before Tamara could say anything in return, Alarin broke in. “You don’t need to be a shiia, Idara,” he said sharply. “Leave her alone.”

  Idara blinked her large brown eyes at him. “What?” she asked, sounding wounded. “I did nothing but introduce myself.”

  “I’m out of here,” Alarin said, slamming his chair back as he got to his feet. He grabbed his tray and stalked toward the dish return.

  Not understanding what had happened, but not really wanting to spend any more time with these Azellians whom she didn’t know, Tamara got up and followed him. She wasn’t sure what had just taken place, but she knew she didn’t want to be alone with Azellians who were doing things she didn’t understand, even if Rory was being nice.

  She passed by Kari, who was just getting her food and about to sit down.

  “Tam? What’s going on?” she called out.

  Tamara watched Alarin slam out the door and made a motion with her two fingers and hand, mouthing the words, “I’ll call you later.”

  Kari nodded and headed for a group of people she and Tamara both knew, as Tamara hurried after Alarin.

  Tamara broke into a jog to catch up with him. “Alarin? Alarin!” Alarin didn’t slow his long-legged stride much, just shortened it enough that Tamara could join him. “What just happened in there?” she asked as she came up next to him. Sullenly, his aura flared a turquoise green, the link between them telling her he was still in the grip of some powerful emotion, although she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. She grabbed his arm. “Will you slow down and tell me what happened?”

  Alarin turned on her. Tamara stepped back for a moment, out of breath and just a little frightened by the anger that was evident on his face. “She’s the reason I left Azelle,” he muttered in English, then added something in Azellian that Tamara didn’t understand. It was either slang or another dialect Tamara didn’t know. Maybe both. “I can’t believe Merran okayed her coming,” he continued in English. “I can’t believe he’d do that to me.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know,” Tamara suggested, guessing that by “her” Alarin meant Idara.

  Alarin gave her an expressive look that told her what he thought of that idea.

  “Well, he’s not omnipotent,” she defended herself. “Ask him, if it’s got you so upset.”

  “I’m planning to,” Alarin snapped, turning on his heel and lengthening his stride, which forced Tamara to run to keep up.

  As she trotted beside him, she thought about Alarin’s reaction. When Alarin told her he’d had a girlfriend at home, she hadn’t expected that ex-girlfriend to look like she’d stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. Idara was beautiful, elegant, and tall. She could easily make Tamara feel short, dumpy, and ugly. She hadn’t, but Alarin had reacted as though she’d done something much more offensive than sit down and introduce herself. What exactly had she done? What had Tamara missed? Idara hadn’t been nearly so unpleasant as Francyne, with her air of superiority and her attitude of holier than thou … yet Alarin hadn’t reacted to that. As a matter of fact, although Idara’s elegance and beauty were intimidating, she didn’t seem to use them as a weapon. She looked nothing like her brother, nothing at all, but there was a quality to her, a similarity to Greg that made Tamara think she was nice underneath the emotional tension between her and Alarin. Francyne, on the other hand, was nothing short of a bitch. The strength of her reaction to Francyne surprised Tamara, but she didn’t pause to question it.

  Tamara trailed Alarin to the embassy, although he didn’t say a word as she followed him. His shoulders were clenched, his fists tight against his sides as they approached the gates and she tried to catch her breath. He wasn’t the slightest bit winded, and it bothered her on some level, as though he’d left her behind … again.

  “Alarin, Tamara,” the guard, a young woman they both knew, said. “We don’t usually see you this early in the day. Something happening?”

  “Hi Eryka. Is Merran in?” Alarin asked, mitigating his tone just enough that he wasn’t being rude, but still letting all his urgency through. “I need to see him. It’s very important.”

  “Let me call in and see, Alarin. I think he might have left for the day. I saw his assistant leave, anyway,” she added, stepping back into the booth.

  Alarin waited, thrumming with tension as she called up to the office.

  She returned a few moments later. “Merran’s in and he’s got some time available. Go on in,” she said.

  Alarin nodded. “Thanks, Eryka.”

  “Thanks,” Tamara echoed, and they entered the embassy grounds. Neither of them spoke as they walked up the winding path that led to the entrance of the main embassy building, a beautiful large mansion and grounds that had been purchased by the embassy and converted to an office complex. As they always did, the doors opened silently to accommodate their entry. Tamara sensed the feather-light brush of a mind scanning them with psi as they entered, but no one said anything or confronted them as they proceeded into the building.

  Ala
rin paid the doors no attention as they closed behind him. He headed for the large marble winding staircase in the huge entrance hall of the mansion, up toward Merran’s office. It was silent in the office complex, many of the offices closed for lunch. Alarin’s aura flared in the dim interior of the embassy, building up in a well-known intensity toward a crescendo Tamara wasn’t sure she wanted to be near. She followed anyway. Maybe she’d learn what had actually happened.

  Chapter 2

  “All right, Dana. I’ll review the final proposal and give you an answer by tonight,” Merran said, leaning back in his chair as he focused on the woman in front of him. “I don’t know that I like that I’ll be—”

  The office door opened abruptly, slamming into the wall and interrupting him. Alarin stomped in, his aura flaring brightly in the shadowed corners of Merran’s office, glowing so strongly that Merran glanced surreptitiously at Dana Redmond, his human public relations director, to see if she noticed. She didn’t seem to perceive anything unusual, much to his relief.

  Merran felt a slight surge at the sight of Tamara looking somewhat lost and forlorn. He hadn’t seen or talked to her in weeks and hadn’t quite realized how much he’d missed her. She was heavily shielded, but the link between them told him she was uncertain, confused, and even frightened by the aggression Alarin was projecting.

  The young man moved forward in a cloud of his fury and slammed his hands down on the desk in front of Merran. “You asshole,” he said in the street dialect of the urro-ken who lived in the caves outside their hometown of Azorantxl. It was a dialect Merran didn’t realize Alarin knew. Merran’s full-blooded High Council siblings certainly didn’t speak it. How had full-blooded High Council Alarin picked it up? The dialect was uniquely appropriate for swearing, though. Most of what Alarin was spewing was nothing but swear words. Alarin continued to swear at Merran for a good thirty seconds before switching to the cleaner, more formal Azellian they all spoke. “I left Azelle to get away from her, Merran. How could you let her follow me?”