Triangle

by Sara L Daigle

  After letting the shock pass, she found herself wondering where she could go. Everyone she’d come to depend on these past few months wasn’t available, and she fought that sense of complete and utter loneliness. She didn’t intend to reach toward Merran, didn’t even expect to have him answer, from wherever he was, but as she walked through the rapidly darkening streets, her mind reached out toward the only other person who had not yet turned away from her tonight. Far sooner than she expected, she brushed up against a familiar mind, getting startling images of a roaring fire in a marble fireplace, of warmth and women’s voices in the other room.

  “Michel?” one of the women called out, and the images were abruptly cut off as Merran quite firmly slammed the door that had opened between them. The force of it made her stumble, and tears of self-pity burned her eyes. Blindly walking through the campus streets, she made her way back to Alarin’s apartment, feeling like she had nowhere to go, no haven she could call her own. Once at the apartment, she sat huddled in a corner, letting the falling darkness envelop her as she sunk deeper into her self-pity. Alarin was going to leave her for Francyne, whom she remembered as being tall and gorgeous; Greg would die on Ather; and Merran, well Merran hated her now. Both her mothers were dead, and her brother was stuck on Azelle, unable to develop anything more than a long-distance relationship with her, and to top it all off, as she sniffed, she felt like she was getting a cold.

  There was sort of a pleasant indulgence to the wallowing she was doing; it made her feel justified, and it was fun in a masochistic sort of way. She knew, though, that if Alarin showed up before she’d had a chance to pull herself together, it was going to lead to another fight, and she didn’t want that. Merran’s actions earlier reminded her that for better or worse, she and Alarin were in it alone, that if she screwed things up with Alarin that would be it. She knew she was being somewhat theatrical, but she didn’t care—right now it felt good. When feeling sorry for herself paled, she entertained herself with the thought of Alarin and Francyne together—although because that particular image burned, she hastily realized it wasn’t one she should be imagining.

  Alarin didn’t get back home until late, after she’d given up and gone to bed. He moved quietly, as though he didn’t want to wake her, but she’d been unable to sleep, too tortured by the unwanted images in her head. He climbed into bed and lay unmoving next to her, a small, artificial distance between them in the double bed. Tamara’s muscles screamed at her, wanting desperately to close that small distance and touch him, needing the reassurance of physical connection. She didn’t know if he’d welcome the touch or hurt her by pushing her away, but she tried anyway. She moved her arm across the distance to brush against his side.

  “You awake?” he murmured as she moved.

  “Hmmm. Sort of,” she said sleepily. Several questions flew through her head, but she quickly discarded all of them as being too accusatory. She finally settled on, “What time is it?”

  “Late.” His skin was cold to the touch, and she shivered. She wanted to apologize, something to end this awkwardness between them, but one thing she’d figured out tonight was that she had nothing to apologize for. Still, something had to break the ice between them.

  “You get what you wanted done?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Is it cold out?” She brushed her fingertips over his skin.

  “It’s snowing.” The faintest tremor went through him, so slight she almost didn’t sense it. “We’re supposed to get a huge storm over the next couple of days.”

  “We get those this time of year sometimes.” She expanded her touching, brushing her fingertips across the firm lines of his stomach toward his lower areas.

  Whatever his feelings were right at the moment, his body was quite happy to be there. She teased him lightly, sliding herself across the bed toward him. “Snow always …” he gasped as she wrapped her fingers around him and tugged gently.

  “Snow always what?” Tamara asked, quelling her rising feeling of triumph. Alarin, in one of his mercurial shifts of moods, had gone from touching her constantly to not at all during the past week, and it had contributed to her feelings of jealousy—she hadn’t realized until this moment just how much. Of course, she hadn’t been too accommodating either, lost in her studies. She forgot sometimes that psi made things more difficult, that Alarin could sense her withdrawal and responded to it in a way human men couldn’t and didn’t. Maybe this business with Francyne was her fault after all. She pushed away the tiny frisson of guilt as Alarin rolled over, shifting so he lay against her.

  Lowering his head to kiss her, he didn’t answer her. His shields remained close around him, despite the leaking of emotions through them, but passion slowly eroded their strength. She could taste the desperate joy in him, even despite the shields, the fear so oddly echoing her own. Was he actually afraid she was leaving him? It hadn’t occurred to her that he might feel that way—but it did, in some ways, make sense. It hadn’t been all that long since Merran had stood between them, when she’d straddled the fence using Merran as a shield against the powerful, passionate feelings Alarin evoked. She could feel the echo of isolation in him, and she opened her mind to his, welcoming him into her depths.

  He surged into the breach in her shields, even as he mirrored the movement with his physical body. He poured himself into her, his mind sliding around hers with that intense, sensual intimacy that only psi couples could attain. He moved his body against hers, and she rose to meet him, their movements becoming almost frantic. She cried out as he touched that intimate part of her mind and knew he followed her even as the sensations exploded through her body and mind. He caught her, supporting her as she tumbled from the heights, collapsing on top of her, as breathless as she.

  She came to herself slowly, lethargically, feeling deeply satiated and content. “I want to know how to do that,” she told him as he rested on her. “I want you to be on the receiving end of it for once.”

  He lifted his head, bracing on his arms as he looked down at her. “You’ll either get it eventually or you won’t. Either way, I don’t care. I like making you feel like your body is going to fly apart and you might just explode into a million pieces. I like taking you where no human can.” His voice was soft, tender, and carried a host of emotions he never talked about. He pressed himself against her as he leaned forward to kiss her, sliding out of her as he rolled away, just enough that he could pull her close to his body.

  She cuddled next to him; feeling loved and held, her loneliness eased. “I love you, Alari,” she whispered as she felt his body jerk toward sleep. The words came easily, but she didn’t think he’d heard them. His hand on her side twitched a little as she lay energized and sleepless against him. She turned her head to see him lying on the pillow next to her, his total relaxation making him look young and vulnerable. “I love you.” The words sent an odd tingle through her, and she knew they were true. “No matter what, I love you,” she murmured again to his sleeping form. It was the first time that she’d said those words to him, accepting their meaning in her own head. She cuddled closer to him and closed her eyes, basking in this fragile moment of happiness.

  Chapter 5

  A few days after their fight and makeup session, Tamara woke once more to a ringing phone. Their relationship had smoothed out after that fight. She didn’t mention Francyne, and Alarin was careful to tell her who he went out with—mostly Rory and Damiar, carefully avoiding the female Azellians as much as possible. She scrambled out of bed, reaching for her cell phone, which somehow always seemed to find itself on the other side of Alarin. By now, well used to Tamara’s tendency to clamber over him, Alarin did nothing but open one eye and pin her across his chest with his arm.

  Tamara momentarily struggled with the phone to see that it was Kari’s number on the display.

  “I gotta get this,” she muttered to Alarin. “I told you about Damiar and Kari, didn’t I?”

  Alarin opened the other eye. ”Uh-huh,” he
murmured affirmatively. Then he gave her a sleepy grin and slid his hand down her back to her legs. “Actually, you didn’t precisely tell me. I read it when we were—“

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tamara said, hastily cutting him off. “I told you I have to get this.”

  Alarin laughed, a throaty masculine sound that made Tamara’s stomach twist in her abdomen. She glared at him and answered the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Tam?” Kari’s voice sounded far more alert than her own did. “Sorry, did I wake you? I thought you’d be up by now. Do you guys want to go to the parade downtown?”

  “What parade?” Tamara asked, shifting so she slid off Alarin, who turned over and listened unabashedly to the conversation.

  “The one on the 16th Street Mall. They’re supposed to be having a festival this weekend to celebrate something. I’m not sure what. We just want to go to the parade.”

  Tamara exchanged a look with Alarin. “We?”

  Kari sounded sheepish this time. “Damiar and me.”

  “Ah,” Tamara replied, trying not to sound too judgmental.

  “Things changed.” The sheepish tone in Kari’s voice increased.

  “Apparently,” Tamara said, letting some of her surprise show through her voice. “More than a little it seems. Well, I hope it’s a good thing for you. Maybe we can talk later … if we join you at the parade?”

  “That sounds good. I hope you guys can make it.”

  “Let me ask Alarin and I’ll call you back. It sounds good to me, though.”

  “Talk to you later then,” Kari said cheerfully. “We’d like to meet up at ten or so to get a good position before the parade starts at ten thirty.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to him and call you back. Bye.” Tamara hung up the phone and turned to Alarin. “Did you get that?”

  “Most of it. Sounds like fun.”

  “Did you know they’ve been seeing each other?” She slid down next to him.

  “I had an idea.” He pulled her close. “Apparently, he left Azelle for similar reasons to mine.”

  Tamara propped herself up on one elbow. “Similar reasons… you mean he’s actually ended things with his lover? To take up with Kari?”

  “He said he was thinking about it. Looks like he did.” He pulled her down again. “Despite what happened before, Damiar is not a bad guy. Give him—them—a chance.” He ran his hands down her body, trying to distract her.

  She snuggled against him but didn’t let him distract her that much. “I don’t get it, though. Will he change his mind again?”

  “He could.” Alarin finally gave up on trying to divert her attention and slid a leg over hers instead.

  “But that would …” She struggled to sit up. “That would hurt Kari!”

  “What are you, Kari’s love-life monitor? Alawahea, Tam. Let things happen as they will. It will either work or not. You can’t control it, and you said yourself that Kari wants a relationship. So let’s see what happens.”

  Tamara settled back and shook her head. “I don’t like it. I mean, what if he does change his mind again?”

  Alarin kissed the back of her neck. “It’s her life and her choices. It’s not for us to interfere, whether or not you want to.”

  Tamara heaved a sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” He let his hand trail suggestively down her body. “I’m always right.”

  She scowled at him. “If we’re going to meet them at ten,” she said, ignoring the cheerful arrogance in his comment, “we’d better get moving.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “You take such long showers after all.”

  “Ha,” he said, sitting up and letting her go. “I think you’re thinking of yourself there.”

  Tamara called Kari back to let her know they’d be at the parade, then slid off the bed, putting her hand on the dresser table as dizziness assailed her momentarily. Her stomach roiled unpleasantly and she fought the sensation. What is going on? She’d felt fine a moment before.

  “Are you all right?” He caught her discomfort and came close.

  The scent from his skin was suddenly nauseating. Tamara shivered violently, trying to control her sudden desire to retch.

  “Tamara?”

  Tamara put her hand up and hastily sat down on the bed again. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a moment,” she muttered, willing her recalcitrant body into submission. What was wrong with her? Her whole body suddenly seemed alien to her, overly sensitive and unpleasantly unbalanced.

  Alarin frowned down at her. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m fine,” Tamara snapped, suddenly irritated, fear rushing through her. What if she wasn’t fine? What if there was something wrong with her? Emotions exploded through her with the force of a freight train, and she struggled to keep from bursting into tears. Something wasn’t right. “Go, take your shower.”

  Alarin left her, slowly, hesitantly. Tamara scowled at him as another wave of fear passed through her and left her shaking. She took a deep breath as he closed the door behind him. She would be fine, she told herself. She would be. There was nothing wrong with her. This was just a blood sugar crash or something like that. It had all the hallmarks of one. Getting to her feet, and still a bit dizzy, she made her way into the kitchen to figure out what would be appetizing. Right now, nothing was, but she forced herself to eat some of the crackers they kept on hand. The nagging sense of nausea faded a little, but she still didn’t feel particularly stable or in control of her body. She took another deep breath, and the feeling of instability eased up a bit.

  By the time Alarin was done with his shower, she felt better and more able to take a shower herself. She took a fast one and got dressed.

  “Feeling better?” Alarin asked when she came out of the bedroom wearing a warm sweater and loose jeans.

  “Much,” she said, giving him a smile. Maybe it was just a slight stomach bug. She did feel almost normal again. “Ready?”

  “Let’s go.”

  They walked to the 16th Street Mall area, Alarin using his psi to find Kari and Damiar. Rory was with them, as well as a petite, vaguely familiar woman who was standing next to him. After a momentary lapse during which her memory was frighteningly blank, Tamara remembered that her name was Sharynn Memaxthal.

  “Tam!” Kari said, slipping an arm around Tamara and giving her a one-armed hug.

  Tamara looked over at Damiar. He seemed somewhat hesitant and awkward, she thought to herself. Kari looked, well, radiant actually. Tamara glanced over to where Alarin was talking animatedly with Rory and suddenly saw how very isolated Alarin must have been feeling. Even though they’d made up after their fight, and Alarin had stopped spending so much time with Francyne, there was a part of her that suddenly understood what he must be going through. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to shiver.

  “Are you all right?” Kari asked her.

  “Fine,” Tamara replied, trying to quell her immediate irritation with the question. Why was everyone asking her that? She looked meaningfully at Damiar. “I definitely want to hear what’s happened with you two. When does the parade start?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject. It was cold, a cold that seemed to bite into the bones. Weather never lasted very long in Denver, but sometimes she wished she lived in a climate that never got cold.

  “Soon,” Kari squinted up at the sky. “It feels like it’s going to snow.”

  Tamara nodded. “I hate winter sometimes,” she said, somewhat surprised at the intensity of emotion that burst out of her. She rubbed her arms through her coat.

  “Come on, if we get lucky, we can sit in one of the bus kiosks,” Kari said, leading the way through a crowd less thick than it would have been if the weather were nicer. There were still too many people for Tamara’s taste, though. Their minds seemed to press upon her shields, in a way she’d never felt before. Another shiver raced through her as a wave of nausea assaulted her again. Her shields thinned and her dizziness returned with a vengeance. As th
e blood roared in her ears, she felt like her feet weren’t connected to her head anymore.

  Tamara must have lost a few moments of awareness, because when she came back to herself, she was lying on the sidewalk, with Rory crouched above her, his hands running lightly just above her body. She could see his aura clearly, a beautiful nimbus of light surrounding him. Streamers of light spilled from his fingers and curled oddly around her stomach and lower abdomen. She gasped as her lower abdomen gave a little leap, pulling away from the silver filaments.

  Tamara, Rory’s voice breathed through her patchy, thinned shields to her intimate level.

  What’s wrong with me? She tried not to panic.

  Rory’s hand drifted closer to rest lightly on the top of her lower abdomen. Nothing’s wrong. You’re reacting quite normally.

  To what? She shivered, her stomach roiling again unpleasantly as adrenaline surged through her.

  Rory moved one hand to her head, leaving the other on her abdomen. Now that isn’t going to work. You’re a powerful projector, you know. Pregnancy, especially a first one, can make your shielding go erratic, and you will make everyone uncomfortable if you project your emotions at them.

  What? Tamara struggled to sit up, feeling shockwaves go through her, even as her intuition whispered otherwise. But that’s impossible!