To Best the Boys(55)

Germaine chuckles and wags an eyebrow. “I hear you’re finally proposing to make her legal. And I don’t blame you—that girl’s a firework. How far have you gotten with her?”

Vincent keeps his eyes on Lute and lets a small smile play on his handsome face. “Not far enough, I can tell you that.”

My chest goes still. I can’t breathe. I feel my face flood with mortification and I start to stand, but Seleni tightens her grip on my sleeve to pin me to my seat.

“I’d be awfully careful about what you say from here on out,” Lute warns. “Rhen Tellur is better than any one of you, and I’d hate for you to leave here in a coffin.” The flames illuminate his expression, which is seething.

“I think I can speak of Miss Tellur just fine.” Vincent sniffs. “Especially since she’s supposedly of no interest to you.” He tips his head. “Or . . . is she?”

“Too bad her body’s not curvier.” Germaine picks up on the challenge. “But man, that mind and sly mouth of hers. She can take your career places.”

Vincent never moves his gaze from Lute. Just lifts a brow. “That’s what I’m aiming for.”

“Plus, if she’s half as wild in—”

Lute launches across the fire pit and lands a fist square against Vincent’s jaw. Vincent falls back, and Rubin and Germaine lunge for Lute, but Sam is right there with him, swinging at their faces.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Seleni’s jumped up, the same as me—face burning with fury. But it’s Beryll who’s shoved between them and is pushing them apart. I’ve never seen him look so fierce.

“That’s enough,” he barks. “Everyone just cool it! There’s no need to take this any further.”

To my surprise, the boys obey—even Germaine. They sag back, out of breath, and glare at each other. Vincent, Germaine, and Rubin on one side. Beryll and Sam with Lute on the other.

Vincent coughs and stares at them, as if gauging their size. Then nods, and the next second he’s dropped his arm and waved them all off. “Come on, boys. He’s right. There’s no need to get into it tonight.”

He turns and starts to stride off—then quick as lightning stops and leans back toward Lute. “But you and I aren’t done with this. Not by a long shot.” Then Vincent strolls into the tent with the other two on his heels.

I swallow and don’t look at any of them lest my expression give me away. Instead, I stare at the fire and pretend I didn’t just hear all that and that my eyes aren’t trying hard to blink back tears. I can’t afford to give anything away right now. Not here. Not in front of them. Not with the light on my face and too little sleep. At least not yet.

I sit in the silence of the waning night until the fire winds down and even the crickets have stopped their singing. Waiting for the others’ breathing to slow and the snores to pick up. When they eventually do, I get up and stride up the small crest behind us and find a spot where I can sit and take a breath.

Except I’m not just taking a breath. I’m taking five in a row, and then I’m trembling, and soon my entire body is shaking. And once it does, it won’t stop. Because it occurs to me that while I don’t actually care what Vincent and Germaine think about me, I care that Lute and Sam heard it.

That they might think some of those things too.

And that maybe—just maybe . . . some of it is true. That I am good for doing things for boys like them. But not good just for being me.

I scowl down at the tent and Kellen’s words written across it. What do you want?

What do you want, Rhen? What does the girl without curves want?

I drop my gaze and it lands on Lute—or on where Lute should be. I lean forward. He’s not there. The rustle of a breeze and a cracking twig are my only indication that someone else is near. I turn to brace for whatever ghoul it is, in boy or ethereal form, but suddenly Lute’s standing in front of me.

His face is as gentle and strong as ever in the moonlight, and it takes all my strength not to tell him not to think less of me. That I’m just hiding up here long enough to find my backbone again.

“Would you mind company, Miss Tellur?”

Heat blossoms in my chest, which only makes my trembling pick up stronger. I eye him and swallow. I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s a good idea right now, especially depending on which mood he’s in. “Depends,” I say quietly. “Who’s asking?”

He lifts a brow. “Pardon?”

“The you who’s friendly, or the Lute who gets strange every time Vincent comes ’round? Because I’ve had enough male shallowness this evening.” And maybe that’s unfair of me to say because he did just punch Vincent on my behalf, but I’m not in the place for mental games.

He bites his lip, then drops down on the grass two feet away as his bangs slip across one side of his face. “I’m sorry about that. What they said back there—it was inappropriate and it was wrong. And it’s untrue.” His jaw pops and fury edges his tone. “You are more worthy to win this contest than any of them, Rhen.”

His words take a moment to absorb, but when they do they’re a light salve on an ache that I hate even exists. My chest relaxes. My heart relaxes. And it doesn’t escape my notice that he just addressed me by my first name.