by Kallysten
Hazel closed her eyes at the reminder. Not all squad missions ended up as successes. They’d freed these three women, true, but with two dead and one lost to the world, this particular victory was bittersweet.
“You might get some help in reaching her, though,” Petro said after a moment.
“Oh? Was one of the new prisoner you freed a doctor?”
Was Hazel imagining that hint of defensiveness in Paris’ voice? She allowed herself a small, wistful smile. He claimed to be fine with the idea of sharing her, but here he was, getting prickly at the hint of a doctor encroaching on his territory.
“Not that I know of, no,” Petro said, and the barest hint of amusement in his words meant that he, too, had noticed Paris’ sudden change of mood. “I just meant, one of the men had her name on his arm. I wouldn’t think it’s possible to have a non-responsive person as a mate, so hopefully she’ll finally wake up.”
“Hopefully,” Paris repeated, though without much conviction.
Although they all remained quiet after that, the atmosphere suddenly felt different. When earlier they had all been tense, electricity crackling between the three of them, this small chat about something that wasn’t directly linked to them seemed to have calmed things down. It was almost like proof that they could be civil to each other… at least when it came to some topics.
They finally reached the small all-night motel Petro had been driving to. He signed up for two rooms, handing one key card to Paris and keeping the other for himself. He met Hazel’s eyes as he muttered a quiet, “Good night,” and she had to stop herself from squirming when confronted so directly to his longing.
“Wait,” she said before he could disappear into his room, and that same tension their small discussion had appeased snapped right back to its highest intensity. Paris’ hand briefly tightened over her own before letting go, as though encouraging her to go with a suddenly hopeful-looking Petro. She wanted to both roll her eyes at them and disappear out of sight in embarrassment. She did neither and spoke as evenly as possible.
“Now that we’ve stopped, should we keep a candle on, in case Paul tries to reach us? We could take turns.”
“No need for turns.” Petro indicated his backpack. “I’ve got some slow-burning candles in there. They’ll last until it’s time to leave, and I’ll wake up if he talks through them.”
He paused then, just long enough for her to wonder what he was waiting for exactly, then nodded his head once and entered his room. A nagging suspicion came over Hazel and she glared daggers at Paris’ back as she followed him into their room. Only when she’d closed the door behind her did she say, “You told him.”
Try as she might to keep her tone even, she sounded accusing, and Paris couldn’t fail to notice. He set both of their backpacks at the foot of the queen-size bed before turning to her very slowly.
“If you’re asking if I told him you have my blessing to go to him, then yes. I did. He didn’t believe me, but I hope by now you know I mean it.”
The heat of embarrassment burned through her, fiercer even than anger. No wonder Petro had been throwing those hopeful looks toward her. Even if he pretended not to believe, he’d never lost hope.
“You say blessing,” she snapped, “but what you mean is permission. I’ve got your permission to cheat. How romantic! I hope you don’t expect the same permission in return, because—”
She was startled when he reached out to her. Her volatile mood demanded that she expect an attack—as if Paris would ever lay a hand on her!—and she almost took a step back. He did take her arm however, turning it over to unlace the leather brace that covered her wrist. When the three names were exposed, the black lines crisp against her dark skin, as legible as though the tattoo were still fresh, he placed his own arm next to it, her name traced in an elegant cursive on the vulnerable skin at the inside of his wrist.
“This,” he said quietly, pointing at his own skin, “means I’m never going to want another woman. I was attracted to you the moment I laid eyes on you, before I even knew your name. I’ve fallen in love with you just a little more every day for the past few weeks. I didn’t even know it was possible to love someone that much. And that’s why you have my blessing.”
She started opening her mouth, but he shook his head and met her eyes, stopping her short.
“Yes, blessing. You’re a grown woman. You don’t need my permission or anyone else’s to do what your heart tells you is right. And if you don’t believe your heart, then look at this again.”
He caressed the inside of her wrist with his thumb. A shiver ran down Hazel’s spine. As she looked at the names on her skin, she wanted to hide them again behind leather, hide the flaw that had haunted her since she first started wondering what it meant, but Paris held on to her hand and didn’t let her pull back.
“You have three mates,” Paris went on. “I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I know it’s true, and so do you. What right would I have to stop you from going to your other mates? If God saw it fit to mark you with three names, to say you’re such an extraordinary woman that you need three of us to bring you happiness, what right do I have to say ‘no, I’m the only one you need’? I’ve been trying to tell you since the beginning, love. I just hope you can finally believe me. And believe your own heart.”
He had tried to tell her that before, yes. And she’d never let him finish.
She wasn’t sure that, like him, she believed it was God that marked everyone with their mate’s name. Hard to, when all her life, she’d seen her own tattoo as a curse more than a gift.
“But I can’t,” she said, pulling her hand free of his gentle hold. “Don’t you understand? I can’t have three mates!”
“Says who?” he asked simply.
The question stunned her, and for a few moments she could only stare at him. When she found her voice again, she all but sputtered.
“Says… says everybody! You can’t be in love with more than one person at the same time!”
“I can’t,” Paris agreed with a slim smile. “But you can. You are in love with two people right now, whether you want to admit it or not. And when you meet that Paul guy, I expect you’ll start falling for him too. And I’m telling you, that’s okay. Fuck what ‘everybody’ says or thinks. There’s no such thing as loving too much, is there?”
This last question sounded as earnest as everything else he’d said, but Hazel had no reply for him, or for herself. The fire that had been burning inside her over the argument was all but extinguished, leaving only embers and tiredness behind.
After a few seconds, Paris leaned over and kissed her forehead.
“I’m going to take a shower before I catch some sleep.”
There was an invitation in those words, an offer to share that shower, if not more. Hazel didn’t quite meet his eyes and nodded.
“All right. I’ll go after you.”
Paris looked a little disappointed, but he touched her cheek gently before stepping into the attached bathroom with his backpack. When the door closed on him, Hazel let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and sat on the edge of the bed. Her mind was blank when, for the first time since entering the room, she looked around.
She’d stayed at a few motels while working with the squad, and every room had resembled this one: bland, with outdated decor and a television set that was as far from state of the art as could be while still being functional. The one thing that was different was the man staying with her in this room.
Trying her best not to think of Petro, she bent down to untie her shoes. Doing so, she noticed the leather guard Paris had dropped to the floor. She picked it up and held it in her hands, allowing a flood of memories to wash over her.
Fuck what everybody says, Paris had told her. Easy for him to say. He could go around with his wrist bare without attracting stares. He hadn’t been taught since his childhood that one day, he’d need to make a choice. And he’d never have to face his parents and tell them that n
o, as a matter of fact, he didn’t want to make that choice.
Hazel’s parents didn’t live in Sanctuary… or at least not yet. They’d been talking about joining her there when they retired. When talking to them on the phone, she could cut short any discussion that turned to her mates. The last time she’d visited, a year or so earlier, she’d lied and said she hadn’t found her mate yet. But if they ever came to Sanctuary, there’d be no lying, no hiding from them.
“Love? Are you all right?”
She startled at Paris’ quiet words. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed him coming back in the room.
“I’m fine,” she answered automatically, but she could tell from his pained expression that he knew she was anything but. She grabbed her bag and fled into the bathroom before he could start another uncomfortable conversation.
CHAPTER TEN
Like the bedroom, the bathroom was standard motel fare, with pale green tiles that gave her a sickly complexion in the mirror above the sink. She pulled her toiletries from her backpack and brushed her teeth, finding comfort in the routine. But when she’d climbed into the tub and turned on the shower, the same grim thoughts returned.
She sat down on green porcelain that matched the tiles, for once not managing to care that her hair would get soaked. With her legs drawn in front of her and her arms around them, she let the hot water pummel her head and shoulders, and wished it would wash away the doubts Paris had instilled in her.
What if he was right, a little voice whispered in her mind. What if she could have him, and Petro, and Paul, too, when she finally met him? What if she didn’t have to choose? What if she was allowed to be selfish, like a child who declares all the toys are hers, even if she’s not playing with them at any given time?
Paris might allow it—give her his blessing, as he called it—but she knew already that Petro wouldn’t be so accommodating, and at this point Paul was a complete unknown quantity.
Not that she was even entertaining the idea, of course not.
“Hazel? Can you hear me?”
Even with the pounding of the water around her, the words rang clear, Paul’s voice, already familiar, unmistakable. She took a deep breath to steady herself and not sound as though she’d been crying.
“Yeah, I hear you. Are you all right?”
“For the most part. My leg’s hurting again. It was a different doctor today and he didn’t do a thing to help with the pain. Complete asshole. He must have gotten confused when he became a doctor and taken a hypocritical oath instead of the standard one.”
Despite her worry that he was hurt, she couldn’t help but smile at his pun. That he could even joke when he was in such a situation told her a lot already about him.
“We’re close,” she assured him. “We stopped for the night, but we’ll be in Freetown in the morning.”
“All right, that’s good to hear.” After a second, he added, “Could you light up a candle or something? It’d be nice to get to see you.”
There was enough hope in his voice that she considered it, but in the end she shook her head even if he couldn’t see her.
“Sorry, I’m in the shower right now and I’d have to go next door and wake up Petro to get a candle.”
“See, first you say ‘shower’ and those really nice images come to mind, and then you say my brother’s name and it kind of ruins the mood.”
She knew he was only trying to joke again, but this edge of rivalry between him and Petro only brought back all her worries about the three names on her skin.
“Hazel?” he said after a few seconds of silence. “I didn’t mean to be rude, or to offend you, or—”
“No, no,” she said quickly. “It’s fine. It’s just…” She sighed. “You and Petro don’t get along all that well, do you?”
“Never did,” he confirmed. “I just about worshiped the ground he walked on when I was a kid, but all he ever saw was the name on my wrist. Like it was my fault it was the same name as his tattoo.”
And that explained a great deal about Petro. Like why he hadn’t batted an eyelash the first time he’d seen more than one name on Hazel’s skin; he’d expected it. And why, also, his response to the thought of sharing her had seemed so automatic. He’d had plenty of time to think of what he’d do if it came to that.
“I bet he wasn’t thrilled that you have three mates and not just two like he was afraid of, huh?”
At that, Hazel couldn’t help but let out a soft, bittersweet laugh.
“You could say that, yes.”
“And your Iliad prince? How did he take it?”
“Better than Petro, that’s for sure.” She hesitated for a second, unsure whether she wanted to know the answer, but in the end she had to ask. “What about you? What do you think of me having more than one mate?”
He was silent for so long that she started wondering if he was still there. She wished she could have seen him and tried to guess what he thought. Did he broadcast his feelings on his face the way Petro so often did?
“I won’t lie,” Paul murmured in the end, “I wish it was just my name on your wrist, and no one else’s. But we don’t choose, do we? None of us choose our mate tattoos, we just have to figure out who they point to, and make the best of it. If all you and I can be is friends… well, I don’t have that many friends, so I’ll be grateful for one more.”
Something ached inside Hazel as she realized he’d already given up on her. They hadn’t even met yet, at least not in the flesh, but he already believed they’d never be mates in all meanings of the word. Never mind her having to make a choice; he’d already taken himself out of the equation.
“Why?” The water was starting to cool down, stinging her skin, yet it was nothing compared to the stinging in her eyes. “You don’t even like Petro, so why—”
“I didn’t say I don’t like him,” he cut in gently, and she could hear the smile in his words. “He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s my brother. I’ve seen his face when he talks about you. I don’t know what’s going on between you, but the last thing I want is to make it worse.”
Pushing herself back to her feet, Hazel turned off the water and sat on the edge of the tub. Maybe she should have felt relief that Paul didn’t mean to complicate their lives, but she couldn’t lie to herself. That growing void in the pit of her stomach felt like grief more than anything else.
“We’ll talk about it when you’re out of that jail,” she heard herself say, though she wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was exactly. “Was there something you wanted us to know when you contacted me tonight?”
“Nothing in particular.” Now he sounded a little sheepish, and she could imagine him scratching his cheek with a finger the way Petro sometimes did when he was embarrassed. “I had one match left and I felt like talking to you for a bit. I hope that was okay.”
“It’s fine,” she said, smiling despite the shivers running through her body. “We can talk some more tomorrow when you’re free. We both should get some sleep now.”
“You’re right. Good night, Hazel.”
“Good night.”
There was nothing like a dial tone to indicate he’d cut the connection, and yet Hazel could all but feel the moment he was gone. She stayed in the tub a moment longer, carefully squeezing out water from her braids, then dried herself and put on the oversized t-shirt and pair of boxers she wore as pajamas. Out in the bedroom, Paris had left a table lamp on for her. He was in bed, a low snore that sounded like a purr rising from him. She started toward the bed, but somehow her steps took her past it and to the door. She grabbed the card key before she stepped out.
At this hour of the night, nothing moved around the parking lot at the center of the U-shaped motel. The neon sign above the office cast a bluish glow over everything. Somewhere, two birds were singing to each other; owls, maybe, Hazel thought, though she was hardly an expert on bird calls.
She leaned against the wooden railing that framed the long deck-like pathway, regular openings allowin
g access to the parking lot. She breathed in deep. The night air was refreshing, though not cool enough that she’d be cold.
When a door opened behind her, she wasn’t surprised in the least, although the voice that rose in the silence wasn’t the one she’d expected.
“I was wondering where those boxers were. I should have known.”
She glanced back just in time to see Petro’s eyes rise up to meet hers. There was no apology there for being caught staring at her ass; fine, then. She wouldn’t apologize for stealing the boxers.
“Paul rang me up,” she said, looking out into the night again.
Petro came to stand next to her, his shoulder barely brushing against hers.
“What did he have to say, then? He’s not in immediate danger, is he?”
“Not that he mentioned. I think he just wanted to talk to someone.”
From the corner of her eye, she could see Petro turning to face her fully. For some odd reason, the thought of turning toward him scared her a little.
“He wanted to talk to someone, so he called you,” he said softly. “What did you want when you came out here?”
She could guess where he was going with that thought, and she shook her head. He was wrong. She hadn’t come out to talk to him. She didn’t even know what to say to him anymore.
When she didn’t speak, he said even more quietly, “Paris told me he’s okay with you and me being together. He even sounded like he meant it.”
“I know he told you. And he does mean it. But that doesn’t change—”
She finally managed to ignore that strange fear in the pit of her stomach and turned to him… only to promptly lose her words. He was so close, she could see those tiny sparks of light in his eyes that only ever seemed to gleam at night. His nostrils flared when he breathed in sharply. His tongue barely peaked behind his lips, licking them in what she knew to be an absentminded gesture.
“Even if…” she started, but again lost her train of thoughts when his body inched a little closer to hers. Heat all but radiated from him, and her fingers itched with the need to slide under his t-shirt and caress skin that she knew would be as smooth as it was burning. “I can’t—”