“Now,” says Virago, her mouth turned up at the corners.
She practically whispers, the words rolling out of her beautiful mouth softly and slowly:
“Roll over, Holly.”
I stifle a laugh, because this situation I’m in?
It’s practically ridiculous.
But then I’m rolling over, my arms tucked next to my torso, my feet kicking against the floor as I try to control the roll.
God, I
feel
practically ridiculous, but when I’m fully rolled over all the way, I see that Virago was rolling over beside me, mirroring my motions.
To my completely surprise, when I glance up at my dog, Shelley is rolling over, too, as if she’s mesmerized by Virago’s command.
Virago’s still rolling, though, coming toward me in a slow curve.
And I know she’s much too controlled, much too graceful for what happens next.
She bumps gently into me.
Virago has rolled into me.
And to steady herself, she places one arm, elbow down, on the carpet on the other side of me.
She’s practically on top of me, now.
My breathing is coming much too fast as I stare up at her, at her piercingly blue eyes that seem to pin me to the spot.
Her body is so warm in all of the places that it touches mine, her arm curving around my waist to hold herself up is almost hot to the touch, heat that I can feel radiating through the fabric of my pajamas.
I
want
so much in that moment.
I want her to reach down and brush that beautiful, full mouth over mine.
I want to taste her, want to kiss her so passionately that all of my longings will be concentrated into that one single moment when we meet together, skin against skin, mouth to mouth, heart to heart.
Virago is gazing down at me, searching my eyes with her own piercing blue ones as we stare at one another for a long moment.
I think she’s going to say something just then.
She swallows, begins to frown, her full mouth downturning at the corners as she begins to say…
A whistle sounds.
The tea kettle—the water must already be boiling.
I’m so flustered that I practically jump at the sound.
I groan and struggle up onto my elbows as Virago grimaces, too, and sits up, no part of her touching me now.
She stands, and then she’s offering a hand down to me.
She won’t meet my eyes as she helps me stand, pulling me up effortlessly.
I head into the kitchen, get the chamomile tea bags out of the cupboard with shaking hands and place them into two mugs, letting the boiling water wash over the tea.
In the living room, Virago gently ruffles the fur behind Shelley’s ears, just like I do, as she talks in low tones to the dog, telling her what a good girl she is.
My heart still pounding inside of me, I bring the too-hot tea into the living room, setting the mugs onto the coffee table pushed to the side.
“Virago,” I say, clearing my throat.
Virago rises from her position, kneeled next to Shelley, stretching overhead.
When she does that, her shirt rises enough so that I can see about an inch of her tanned, toned middle, and I wonder what it would feel like…
“Yes, Holly?” asks Virago, her tone almost amused.
I can feel myself redden, and I don’t look at her as I hand up a cup of the tea.
“Well, I have work tomorrow,” I finish stupidly, which is
not at all
what I was going to say, but it seemed that the moment of a declaration of love and attraction had probably already come and gone.
“And you need to try and find the beast, but I don’t think you should do it alone.
I mean…our world is pretty…”
I falter on the word “dangerous” as I stare up at this amazing knight, her sword carefully lying on the couch.
She could probably take on anyone, but that doesn’t mean she should wander around the city of Boston by herself.
“I mean, our world is pretty
complicated
,” I finish, chewing on my lower lip.
“Do you just want to…”
I trail off, uncertain.
“You could come to work.
With me.
If you wanted.
I work at a library,” I continue quickly when her brows furrow together.
“It’s full of books—”
“We have libraries on my world,” she says with a small smile.
“And I did love them there.
I’m sure I would find them just as enjoyable on your world.”
“So then it’s settled!”
I’m utterly relieved.
“You can come in with me tomorrow, and then we can try to locate the beast.”
I rise too quickly, a little of my tea sloshing out and hitting the carpet where, moments before, Virago and I were rolling around together.
Albeit not exactly the way I wanted.
But it had happened.
“Holly,” says Virago.
And she’s rising too, setting her mug of tea down easily on the coffee table as she crosses the space between us and takes my elbow gently in her hand.
“Yes?” I say, feeling my heart pounding in me.
And then, upstairs, I can hear the stupid, incessant beeping of my phone.
It’s a specific rhythm, that pattern of beeps, though.
Nicole.
Nicole is calling me.
Are you
kidding
me?
How bad can my luck
possibly
get?
“I’m sorry…I’ve got take that,” I stammer miserably as I take a step backward, and then I’m bolting up the stairs.
When I enter my bedroom, I carefully shut the door behind me, and then my heart is in my throat as I pick up the phone from my purse, start the call and press it to my ear.
“Nicole?” I say, a little breathless.
“Hello,” she says woodenly.
I slump a little, setting my mug of tea on the table beside my bed, sitting down on the edge of my bed as I toe at the carpet with my slipper.
I try to make my breath come slower, take a deep breath in, feel the awkwardness press down on me like a lead blanket.
The silence stretches on for a full moment before I make any sort of effort at a conversation.
“How are you?” I say then, trying to keep my tone even.
“I think that the time for pleasantries has come and gone,” says Nicole with a practiced snarl.
“Are you going to apologize for what happened at that asinine festival or not?”
Her tone cuts me like a knife.
And after the wave of pain comes another equally sized wave.
Of anger.
I’m so tired of all of this.
I felt
guilty
downstairs that I was having these thoughts about Virago.
But Nicole doesn’t want me, hasn’t wanted me for a long time.
This needs to be over.
We’re not right for each other.
That much is fairly obvious.
“Asinine?” I whisper into the phone, feeling my hand shaking as it holds the phone to my ear, but feeling firm resolve curl like a fist in my stomach.
“Nicole, I admit, Carly stepped over the line.
But you could have—”
“I should never have even been there in the first place.
I only went to
appease
you.”
She spits out the word like it’s poisonous.
“You’re always so
precious
about that festival, and I assumed that if I didn’t go, I’d never hear the end of it.
You’d sulk about it for weeks, and frankly, I have no energy to deal with your petty needs right now.”
“
My
needs?” I whisper.
“Look,” she says then, her tone hard and sharp, “I want to see you tomorrow.”
For a long, full moment, I am utterly speechless.
She wants to “see” me for one reason and one reason only, and you know what?
I’m not in the mood.
I’m not in the mood to be cast off and away like I’m meaningless to her.
I’m not in the mood for someone who no longer cares about me to tell me what to do.
“No, Nicole,” I say, my voice not in the least bit shaking, to my surprise.
“I want to see
you
tomorrow.
I’ll meet you at your place.
We…we really need to talk.”
“Finally.
I have about an hour between four and five.
We can, perhaps, get in some intercourse, clear this up.
You can apologize to me in person.”
I’m fuming so hard that if I were a cartoon character, flames would be coming out of my ears.
Thankfully, I am
not
a cartoon character.
“Fine.
I’ll see you then.”
And then I hang up.
But the anger that had fueled me so powerfully while I was speaking with her is gone in an instant.
Because I think about how she spoke to me.
The sharpness, the demanding cruelty in her voice.
And I remember that when Nicole and I first got together, she used to speak to me so softly, so gently.
She used to make time for me and my “asinine” needs.
She was thoughtful and brought me flowers and take-out.
And I didn’t exist solely for her.
I was my own person, and we loved each other equally.
And it’s not that way anymore.
And it’s never going to be that way again.
I feel so deflated as I sink down deeper into the edge of the bed, let the phone fall into my lap as I realize exactly what I have to do.
We’ve dragged this out for far too long.
Tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to break up with her.
I was supposed to for a very long time, now.
I can, at least, finally make this right.
Chapter 12:
Books
and Breakups
Virago insists on taking her sword with us to the library.
“I cannot leave Wolfslayer here,” she says firmly when we’re ready to go, standing by the door with my purse, my thermos of coffee, and Virago decked out in all of her jacket and button-down shirt glory…with her scabbard belted tightly—and unmovingly—onto her back.
“Wolfslayer?” I ask her perplexed, and then nod.
“Oh, right, right…your sword.
You killed wolves with that?”
I frown.
The animal lover in me says that this is Not Okay, no matter how much I’m falling in love with this gorgeous creature.
(And yes, I
am
falling in love with Virago, but at this point in time, I’ve decided not to do anything about it.
I think.
Not yet anyway.)
“Well, not exactly
wolves
,” she says with a grimace and a wave of her hand, “but the name ‘Wolfslayer’ worked better as a sword name, and was a bit more concise.
My wolf tail,” she points up to her ponytail, even though the wolf tail no longer resides there, “was cut off from a murderous werewolf.
There are groups of them in the country who terrorize entire villages, killing everyone they encounter.
My band of knights and I followed the wolves back to their lair.
There were many people the werewolves had held captive, ready to cannibalize and eat.
We killed the wolves and set them free.
It was my very first quest, so I named my sword after it.”
I’m staring at her with my mouth open, but I shut it and swallow.
Cannibalistic werewolves.
Of course.
Why did I think she’d randomly hurt an innocent animal?
Also…cannibalistic werewolves?
I probably shouldn’t poke further into that.
“Well, be that as it may,” I start, but Virago’s folding her arms in front of her, her feet hip-width apart, a single brow raised as she shakes her head slowly.
“M’lady Holly,” she says formally, inclining her head to me.
“If you would have me leave my weapon here…”
I watch her carefully, brows up, my own arms folded.
“Then I will do as m’lady asks of me,” she says softly, her piercing, blue gaze searching my eyes as—
holding
my gaze—she slowly, carefully, starts to unbuckle the sword from over her shoulder.
The buckle, of course, lies right on top of her chest.
She’s slow and methodical as she runs the leather through her hands, unhitching the buckle with long, nimble fingers.
I swallow, can feel my cheeks start to turn a very unflattering shade of red.
She takes the buckle off, and it’s over then, the sword lying, sprawled on my couch, its pommel glinting in the early morning light.
“There,” Virago says with a slow, sensuous smirk as she gazes at me.
“Better?”
“You’re being cheeky,” I admonish, but my voice is a little high-pitched when I say it, and it’s obvious that I’m more than a little flustered.
Did I
really
just call Virago
cheeky?
Well.
I guess it was better than letting “sexy as hell” slip out.
“Thank you, Virago,” I manage, and then I hold open the door for her to stride out of my house and into my car and then into my workplace that I have a feeling will
never
be the same again after Virago has been there.