Page 15 of Tempt

four

LUCA

Fuck, I should have switched to a day flight. In spite of drinking myself into a stupor last night, I didn’t sleep for shit. Then I ended up taking a cab to the airport far too early and sat in the empty terminal for hours before we were allowed to board.

Luckily I can pre-board every flight thanks to being Deaf—one of the few social perks of existing in the hearing world—so I was in my seat before everyone else and half-dozing as I scrolled on my phone.

I tell myself to rest, to shut my brain off and let Vegas disappear behind me. And of course, I do the opposite. I hop online and type Eissa, Vyastil into a search bar and pray I find nothing.

Instead, I find him everywhere. He’s apparently an ambassador for Vyastil-human relations. He’s on far more news channels than I expected, though most of the time the sites use auto captions so I miss half the stuff he says. But even so, I get lost in the movement of his mouth, the way he stands so fucking regal and—god help me—gorgeous.

He is far more important than I realized. But maybe I should have known. In Vegas he was constantly surrounded by guards, and he stands like he’s used to addressing large crowds and giving commands. How did I not realize he wasn’t just some random Vyastil visiting Vegas for fun? No, he’s more than that.

He’s a goddamn leader of his people.

Fuck, I feel so stupid.

I stare back at the video of him that’s playing. He’s beside our mayor, and he looks just as commanding as he did looming over me in the convention hall. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the careful way his mouth finds each English word. It’s the way he forms speech… almost as good as the way his hands move to create signs.

I don’t see any of the desperate, needy Vyastil I saw for just a few moments in the hotel room or that dark corridor.

Half of me feels special for seeing those parts of him, and the other half is angry all over again. I don’t want to think about this anymore, so I shut my phone, close my eyes, and hope that the next time I open them I’ll be back in town and never have to see him again.

Jet lag nips at my heels as I trudge from the rideshare to my front door, but there’s a restlessness in my limbs that tells me I won’t be able to crawl into my bed and sleep for the next two days. I throw my things in my room and start to pace, but the longer I’m alone with my thoughts, the more I think about Eissa.

We were both far from home when we met, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t live here where most of the Vyastil officials live. He probably has an apartment at the Foundry. Hell, he probably knows Rathyn.

I feel a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach and realize that if I continue to wallow here, I’m going to do something I regret. So, in spite of the ache in my bones and fatigue in all my muscles, I grab my gym bag and head out the door.

It might be early, and my mind might feel a little foggy, but I think a long workout will help keep me distracted. Or, at the very least, cause enough burn that I think about that instead of Eissa.

This isn’t the first time someone has fucked me and fucked off. I don’t know why this feels worse than before.

As I’m marching to my car, I hear a high-pitched sound, and I turn to see my brother waving at me from his front door.

I arch an eyebrow at him. ‘You’re up early.’

He rolls his eyes and shrugs. ‘Can I get a ride to the gym?’

Now that question is startling. My brother never works out, and if he does, it’s usually because I’m dragging him there so he can get some steps in. But as much as I don’t really want company right now, I’ve never been able to say no to Dante.

‘Come on. Hurry,’ I sign.

He’s already dressed and ready to go, so all he has to do is shut the door behind him and jog over to where I’m leaning against my car. His movements are more sluggish than usual, but I don’t think they’re from pain.

He looks like he’s been up all night pacing. His hair, which is normally styled to perfection, is in a messy bun, and he’s wearing mismatched socks. It’s so unlike him, and worry immediately floods my brain.

We say nothing as we climb into the car, and the drive over to the gym is weird and tense. I don’t like it. This isn’t how it usually goes with Dante, who never shuts up. He’s the reason I can converse so well and have perfected keeping one eye on the road and the other on him.

But this morning it’s different.

The tension in me finally snaps when I pull into the gym parking lot and turn the car off. He climbs out after me, but I’m not going inside until I get some kind of answer.

I knock my knuckles on the roof of my car to get his attention. ‘Okay. Enough. What’s going on?’

His lips turn down, and he shakes his head. ‘What? Nothing? Why would something be going on? I’m fine. Everything is great!’

The look on his face tells me he’s lying through his fingers. ‘Bullshit.’