Page 18 of A Lesson in Thorns (Thornchapel 1)
“Thank you,” I say and go to find Auden.
Chapter 5
I expect to have to search the house for Auden. I assume I’ll have to tramp over the barely unfrozen grass across the gardens to find him.
But no. I walk down the narrow corridor connecting the east wing of the house to the main hall and there’s Sir James Frazer whining at the doorway—whining at Auden actually, who’s just outside the threshold talking with someone. The huge double doors are propped open by buckets of paint, and when I step all the way into the hall, I can see that he’s talking with one of the workers.
St. Sebastian.
Both of them are squared off to each other, and St. Sebastian’s arms are crossed while Auden’s hands stay by his sides. Only the occasional flex of his fingers betrays the depth of his agitation—his voice is low and calm, although whatever he’s saying has St. Sebastian’s mouth going tight, his plush lower lip flattening under his lip piercing.
This is none of your business.
It feels like it is, though. I need to talk to Auden, I already planned on finding St. Sebastian again. And I can’t repress my librarian-ish need for more information, just to know why. Why do they dislike each other so much? What’s happened in the years I’ve been gone to curdle their boyish affection into this hatred?
I step closer, but I don’t announce myself yet, and they don’t notice me, caught up as they are in their conversation.
“I never would have allowed you back into this house,” Auden’s saying. His hands twitch again. “You know that.”
“My uncle needed the extra help today.” The rain is only halfheartedly dribbling down now, barely enough to take notice of, but still enough that St. Sebastian has to keep shaking it free of his so-long-it’s-unholy eyelashes. “I wasn’t going to leave him hanging just because the job site belongs to an asshole.”
“Is it for the money? I’ll pay you whatever he’s paying you for you to go away.”
“It’s not about money,” St. Sebastian seethes. “I’m doing just fine, fuck you very much for asking, and I’m only here as a favor.”
“It’s always about the money with you,” Auden replies coldly. “One way or another.”
“Spoken like someone who’s always had it.”
“You weren’t so proud when you were begging me to—”
It happens in an instant. One moment St. Sebastian is standing there glowering, and the next, he’s slamming Auden to the ground.
They land—Auden first, St. Sebastian on top—with a thud and then a crunch as they start wrestling on the gravel. And for a split second—no more than that, because I’m not a total sex monster—I can’t help but notice how beautiful they both are like this. St. Sebastian with his threadbare T-shirt hiked up around his abdomen and Auden’s entire body a long, lean arch of strength as he bucks up against him.
Then I come to my senses and run toward them, shouting at them to stop. The dog has the same idea, tearing over the gravel to go bark in their faces and prance around them, as if he can’t figure out if he should protect Auden or if it’s a big play party and he wants in.
I reach them just as St. Sebastian’s pinned Auden’s hips between his thighs and fisted Auden’s sweater in one hand. The pose you assume when you’re about to hit somebody as hard as you can. I do the only thing I can think of—which is to throw my arms around St. Sebastian and pull him off my host.
My body is somewhere between the model-slim Rebecca’s and the summer-blown curves of Delphine’s, not really enough to tackle a full-grown man, but enough to knock him off balance when he’s not expecting it, and together we tumble to the cold, wet ground. Before I can process my new position, however, Auden’s on top of us both.
He freezes when he realizes he’s on top of more than just St. Sebastian.
We’re all completely still. St. Sebastian under me, Auden on top, me in the middle, and for a single moment we’re breathing as one, our chests filling and emptying, our hearts pounding in time. There’s a buzzing in my blood, and it’s along every stretch and tuck of my skin, like I’ve become electrified, like I’m sharing something deeper and more elemental than breath and a wedge of cold gravel with these men.
And then Auden shoves himself up to his feet and the moment ruptures wide open, spilling its guts and dying. There’s no more electricity, no more buzzing, no more of that heady awareness. We’re just three cold, damp people with gravel embedded in our palms.
Auden stands over us, furious and ferocious, and St. Sebastian sits up and angles his body in front of me as I struggle to sit too, as if he’s trying to protect me.
Auden scowls at this, scowls harder at where St. Sebastian’s forearm brushes along my bare legs. He yanks once at his hair, then storms away without another word, Sir James Frazer trotting behind him.
St. Sebastian and I sit there and stare at the doorway for a moment, and then with a sigh, he gets to his feet and extends a hand to help me up.
“I’m sorry,” he says after we’re both standing, but I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for. There’s no doubt in my mind that Auden knew his words would hurt St. Sebastian. That he intended them to be a provocation of the highest order.
“He started it,” I say.
“No, I started it,” St. Sebastian answers wearily. “Years ago.”
