By the time they got back to the hotel—still wreathed in the familiar sight of police lights—the dread in Con's stomach had bloomed into guilt. He couldn't bring himself to so much as look at either Park. They had absolutely nothing to do with any of the dead Marinos. As far as Con knew, the closest they'd come to any member of that family was when Ella had almost been crushed by Nina Marino.

The sheriff's sudden interest in Taemin only really had one explanation—Con. 

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that's what Jones' questions had been about. His suspicions had shifted a little from Con to Taemin...because of Taemin's closeness to Con.

If Sheriff Jones had heard of Con's confrontation with the Marinos, and he knew Taemin and Con were involved...maybe he had made a leap and was wondering if Taemin had taken matters into his own hands. Maybe he was wondering if the body Taemin had found in the woods hadn't been mauled. Maybe he was wondering if a human could leave another human in such a state.

If the sheriff was wondering those things, it was Con's fault. It was his fault because he was the one to find the dead, but they were always the ones to protect him. After he'd found Mariah... they had lied for him. After that, they had consistently defended him to the police.

They had waited in his room with him. They had come to get him at the station. He had kissed not just one, but both of them in full view of the sheriff and Officer Morris.

Was the sheriff starting to wonder if they weren't all strangers? 

Was he beginning to suspect not just Con...but all three of them?

All because Con had a nasty knack for finding dead bodies. How was he supposed to explain that to either of them? How was he supposed to tell Taemin that he'd made a mistake, wanting Con. How was he supposed to explain to Ella that the local police now suspected her brother of murder, all because of him.

He parked the car, passing the keys back to Ella before walking toward the hotel's front door. Behind him, he could hear the low murmur of their voices and wondered if they were talking about him.

The muscles in his neck and upper back ached from so long spent sitting and the stress of the night. The tight muscles were pulling on his collarbone, making it hurt near the break. His headache had bloomed behind his eyes and all he wanted was to drop into bed.

A loud rattling drew his attention up and he stopped in the middle of the lobby, Ella bumping into him. They all looked up to find two coroners wrestling with a gurney, trying to get the black-swaddled body on it down to the ground floor.

Con couldn't stop himself from staring. Couldn't stop himself from remembering the slick warmth of the man's blood coating his body. An itch built beneath his skin and he dug his nails into his palms. His breath shuddered as the coroners finally made it to the lobby and began to wheel Mister Marino's body out the door.

A prickling sensation skittered over the back of his neck and he turned, searching for whoever was watching him.

He found Clara standing in the shadows of the hall she'd led him down that morning. She was staring at him, her glasses reflecting the light from the lobby's chandelier. Con stared back at her. Had she been the one to tell them about his confrontation with the Marinos that morning?

Had that really only been this morning?

It startled him when she offered a smile. There was something different about her, but he couldn't quite decide what with how she stood half in the dark. He furrowed his brow, taking a step toward her. A dozen questions burned on his tongue. What did she know? What had she seen? What had she said? 

A hand on his arm stopped him, and he looked at Taemin.

"Con?" he asked, the lines of his beautiful face drawn sharp by worry and exhaustion. "What are you doing?"

"I..." His eyes drifted back to the hall, and he started. Clara was gone.

"What's the matter?" Ella asked from his other side.

Con continued to stare at the place Clara had just been. Where had she gone? He'd looked away for no more than a second. He was close enough he would have heard the dining room door opening and closing.

Fingers touched his forehead, startling him so badly he slapped them away. "Don't touch me," he snapped, the itch under his skin getting worse.

Taemin withdrew his hand slowly, eyes wide and suddenly wary. "You're not getting sick, are you?" he finally asked.

"No." His voice was shorter than he'd intended. He winced when Taemin looked down and drew back a step.

But...maybe that was better for him. 

"I'm just tired," he muttered.

"Okay," Taemin said. "Let's—"

"No." Con shook his head. "I just...I want to go to sleep. Alone."

Before the hurt on Taemin's face could sway him, Con turned and started toward the steps. He forced himself not to turn around. Not to wish them goodnight. His shoulders bunched tighter under the additional strain and the skittering under his skin was so persistent he couldn't stop himself from scratching the inside of his forearm so hard it turned raw by the time he'd made it to his floor.

A police officer stood in front of the door leading into Mister Marino's room. It was closed, but Con could still see blood staining the carpet at the cop's feet. He quickly averted his gaze, just to meet his own eyes in an age-spotted mirror.

The reflection wavered and his breath caught as he found a monster instead of himself. The blue of his eyes had turned to silver, like moonlight on glass. Blood smeared his mouth and his reflection smiled, displaying teeth stained red. A length of crimson silk ribbon wrapped around his neck and he instinctively knew it hid a cut throat.

Like the story of the girl whose head was only held on by a choker of satin.

Con hurried down the hall, ignoring the curious look he got from the police officer. His forearm was starting to sting now, but he couldn't stop scratching. His chest was so tight it hurt to breathe and he struggled for several seconds to unlock his door.

When he finally succeeded, he kicked it shut behind him and ran into the bathroom. Turning the tap as hot as it would go, he stuck his bloodied forearm under the stream. A small cry escaped his lips at the pain that wrapped around his arm, the heat and sting from the raw skin combining into something sharper.

It had the intended consequence of chasing the skittering itch away, though. When the itch was gone, Con turned off the water and slumped to his knees on the cold tile. He stayed like that, leaned against the cabinets beneath the sink until his legs were numb below the knee.

Pricking pain shot down to his toes when he finally stood and stumbled into the bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed, cradling his aching arm. It took a couple minutes before he was brave enough to look.

He let out a sigh of relief when he found the skin red and raw but not burned. The cool air of the room soothed the overwrought skin, and Con closed his eyes, relieved that he hadn't burned himself again.

Maybe it was time to see a professional.

Con stood, going to his suitcase. He dug around until he found the sleep aid he'd stuffed in there when Mercy wasn't looking. The strongest thing he could find without a prescription was technically cold medicine. Trying not to think too much about the disappointed look she'd give him, he took two of the pills, grimacing as he dry-swallowed them.

Then he flopped back onto the bed, arm extended to the cool air, and closed his eyes, waiting for the medicine to drag him under.

When he was just on the edge of consciousness, he realized what had been different about Clara.

She'd had long hair.

                                                                                      )~~O~~(

When his eyes opened again, he instinctively knew it was too early. He felt hungover from the cold medicine, his arm hurt and the muscles in his back were tight and strained like he'd spent all of yesterday in the gym.

That same instinct told him he was not getting back to sleep, regardless of how shitty he felt. Rubbing his aching eyes, Con got out of bed and went into the bathroom. He used the toilet and turned on the faucet, letting cold water flow over his hands before cupping them. He splashed his face several times, trying to get rid of the grogginess clinging to him.

When he looked in the mirror, he found bloodshot eyes and dark circles.

The hot springs will help with those circles, dear.

Con blinked, water dripping down his face. Who had said that to him? Slowly, he dried his face off, racking his brain. Nothing was forthcoming, but now that the idea was there, it wouldn't go away.

The hot water of the springs would probably feel amazing on his stiff back and shoulders.

"The last time you tried going to the springs, you found a body," he reminded his reflection. "You should stay right here in this room until you're allowed to leave this goddamned place."

Then he sighed. Staying by himself wasn't the most appealing thought in the world. And he really was sore. Everything from the base of his skull to the bottom of his ribcage ached. It felt like he had a knife between his ribs on the left side every time he inhaled.

He gave his reflection a stern look. "If I find another dead person, I'm leaving. Someone else can call the police."

Con snorted and left the bathroom to change into his trunks. Hesitating at the door, he tried to talk himself out of it one more time. Who cared about a little pain?

The pull on his collarbone and the knife in his ribs staged a counter-argument. And won.

Con crept from his room, nodding a good morning to the officer sitting outside the Marino room. The hotel was dark. The sun wasn't even up yet, the sky still pitch black. When Con passed a grandfather clock on the second-floor landing, he found it was three in the morning.

At least no one else would be awake.

Con slipped past a dozing receptionist at the front desk. He shed his hoodie and shoes in the changing room and refused to look at the pool as he crossed to the door on the opposite end of the room.

When he opened it, a wash of warmth swept over him, steam billowing in the air and clouding the glass. The air smelled vaguely metallic, but nowhere near the eggy, sulfur smell he'd been expecting. Con glanced around, making sure he was truly alone before he padded to the edge of the huge, square pool.

Wisps of steam danced on the blue surface, the water rippling slightly.

Carefully, Con stepped down, finding a ledge of concrete running around the pool. He lowered himself gingerly, sighing when he was seated, the water up to his shoulders. The scratches on his forearm stung, but it wasn't unbearable. Con tipped his head back, resting it on the tiled edge of the pool. He closed his eyes, basking in the sensation of pleasant heat burrowing into his muscles and plucking apart all the knots.

Time slipped by unnoticed until the sound of the door opening behind him made him shoot to his feet and whirl, water sloshing at his waist. He froze when he found Ella staring at him. 

She frowned, crossing her arms. "Why are you up?"

His mouth fell open but before he could find an answer, she stepped down into the pool beside him. Her hair was piled on top of her head, her bathing suit baring vast swathes of creamy skin. She stood way too close.

"W-Why are you?" he managed.

Ella's frown deepened to a scowl. "I couldn't sleep." She sat down, her hand drifting through the water until her fingers touched his. When she tipped her head back to look at him, Con's mouth went dry. "Sit with me," she whispered.

He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. He'd just drag her down like he'd pulled Taemin with him into this hotel murder mess.

His knees apparently had other ideas, bending until he was sitting beside her. Ella scooted closer until there wasn't so much as a centimeter between them. She didn't speak for a long time, and Con began to relax again.

"They asked you about Taemin," she said, making him look down at her. She turned her head. "Didn't they?"

"How did...how did you know?" he said, his heart icing over.

"Sheriff Jones kept looking at him when you were talking. And you went so white." She sifted her fingers through the water. "You pushed him away in the lobby. Which really hurt him, by the way." Ella turned to face him fully, her eyes narrowed. "Tell me why you were so cruel to him. Right now."

"To protect him," Con whispered. "Jones is starting to look at him. Because of me. And I think...it would be best if you two steered clear of me for a while."

Ella relaxed, her anger slipping away. "You need to be careful with him, Con." She bit her lip. "With both of us. Our hearts get broken easily." 

All Con could do was blink, brows pulling together. "Ella, did you—"

"I heard what you said. You should know better." She tilted her head, drifting closer. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"No." The question startled an immediate answer out of him. Ella looked down. "I think...there's attraction at first sight. And if you're lucky that can lead to love."

"Taemin and I aren't lucky." 

With that, she turned from him. Con caught her shoulders before she could get too far away. One hand slid to her waist, the other lifting to trace the tattoo spanning her back. Delicate lines hemmed in shades of reds and black. The design wasn't as bold as Taemin's. The shapes were more slender, softer, more feminine.

"Beautiful," he murmured, leaning forward to study an amber eye more closely.

Ella shuddered and turned, the skin of her stomach just inches from his nose. Con eased back, chest hitching when Ella sank onto his lap. 

"Ella," he said on a breath. "I don't—"

"Don't you?" she asked, looking suddenly uncertain.

Our hearts get broken easily. The last thing he wanted was to break either of their hearts. 

Tentatively, she lowered her mouth to his. Con's hands slid up to her waist, his eyes half-closing as she kissed him. "Please, Con. Please. I wanted to be patient, but after today I can't."

Con moved his head back. "What do you mean?"

Tears lined her eyes like quicksilver. "I saw that blood all over you and thought it was yours," she whispered. "It scared me, Con. It scared me so much and I can't get it out of my head."

He sat quietly, feeling how hard her heart pounded. Feeling how her body trembled with the memory.

Slowly, he lifted a hand to grab her chin. "This morning," he said, enunciating every word, "I slept with your brother."

Ella's throat bobbed, her eyelashes fluttering. Then, she gave a shallow nod. "I know. I don't care. I want you as much as he does. He knows that."

"I think..." Con sighed, his hand sliding down to her throat. "I think this will hurt all three of us. Maybe not right now, but...eventually..."

"If you live on eventually, that's not really living." She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. She dropped her hand to the one he still had on her waist. His breath caught when she moved his hand up until it cupped her breast. "Please, Constantine."

Something in his chest cracked at her soft voice. His throat dry, he said, "I don't have anything with me."

"It's okay. I'm okay." Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. She reached behind her, undoing the knot holding the top of her bathing suit in place. She buried her fingers in his hair, gasping when he lifted her higher out of the water, mouth sliding over sensitive skin.

It felt right to move more slowly with Ella than with Taemin. 

Cloth was pulled away and Ella's kisses grew hungrier as he touched her. Her nails pressed into his neck and shoulder as she buried her face against his throat. She clung to him, letting out a startled cry when he stood and turned, laying her on the tile edge of the pool and following her out.

He hovered over her, giving her the time to change her mind. Ella smiled before she yanked him down. 

Being with Ella was all supple movement, the soft curves of her body melding to the lines of his. It was her nails on his skin and her head tilted back, exposing the beautiful line of her throat. It was give and take, and the inability to catch his breath.

When it was over, they laid on the warm tile still twined together. Con closed his eyes, basking in the sensation of her rapid breath fanning across the skin of his shoulder.

"We should probably put our clothes back on," she finally whispered, a small giggle making Con look at her.

Her cheeks were flushed and damp strands of hair clung to her temples. Con rolled until he was above her, and kissed her throat, her collarbone, her shoulder. "Probably," he whispered back.

She pushed him away so she could get up and slipped away from him. All he could do was watch as she scooped up their bathing suits from the edge of the pool. He didn't lift his hands fast enough when she threw his, the wet material slapping him in the face.

Ella burst into laughter, arms behind her back to retie her bathing suit top. Con shook his head, pulling his trunks back on and prowling toward her. Ella's eyes widened and she backed away.

"No."

"Yes," he said with a grin, his arm looping around her waist as he lunged toward the water.

Ella shrieked as they hit the water, twisting in his arms as they floated beneath the surface. She glared at him, fist making light contact with his chest. Con smiled, cupping her face as he pulled her into a kiss.

When they broke the surface, Ella gasped against his mouth. His arms went around her waist as she wiped the water from her eyes. When she looked down at him, he kissed the edge of her jaw.

She brushed her fingers through his wet hair, slicking it back from his face. Con's smile faded as he stared at her. 

"Don't," she said softly, touching his cheek. "Please don't regret this."

Con turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand.

He couldn't even if he'd wanted to.