Bently~~

Two things:

One: Never, and I mean never, let the Beta of Elleany take you out for waffles at three in the afternoon.

Two: If you ignore that illustrious advice, never under any circumstances accidently drink his coffee over your own.

Colton's eyes narrow, his fork with a skewered piece of waffle hovering in the air. He clamps down on the metal fork, probably imagining it's my tongue.

And I quite like my tongue. I can do a lot of things with it.

Like taste coffee that doesn't belong to me—not very good coffee mind you.

And, also, it's good for talking myself out of . . . er . . . non-preferable situations.

"I'll order you a refill."

His glare tightens.

"I'll buy you a coffee machine." I signal for our waiter. "Your very own coffee machine."

His eyes flick down to the cup. "It has your germs."

"We're family. My germs are basically the same as yours."

"No, they aren't. You kissed her."

I wince, heat working its way up the sides of my neck. "I—"

"What can I get you, Digamma, Beta?" The waiter bows to each of us.

I push down the unpleasant emotions clambering up in me. "A refill of your"—disgusting—"coffee. In a new cup."

"Right away, Digamma."

Once the waiter leaves, I take a bite of my waffle, a slice of banana stacked on top of it. Colton's still staring at me like I broke his favorite toy.

I let out a sigh and wipe my mouth with my napkin. "We didn't know." I've been over this with him, with Jonas. "I thought I was dreaming. I thought it was Abella."

"It doesn't change the fact that you still kissed her and now her germs are on this." He points to the mug.

"You've had a girlfriend for how long? If you think that's how an indirect kiss works, you apparently need some growing up to do."

He stabs his fork into his next bite. "Says the man who's never had a girlfriend. And besides." He leans forward. "We both know you love her."

My throat tightens, and I know I won't be able to take another bite. "What does that—Why are we here, Colton?"

"Because you've been moping about the Estate, and Jonas notices."

All Colton can focus on is the part about Iris, not what I went through, what I witnessed in the catacombs. "So you stole me away so I don't cockblock Jonas?"

He rubs the bridge of his nose. "Vienna gave me a list of suggestions for places to take your mind off France. Waffles was at the top."

"And second?"

He shrugs, raising the fork to his mouth. "Fire."

*****

Colton's idea of fire is a candle shop apparently. Mine would have been explosives.

In the middle of the Westerton candle shop is a metal table in the shape of a U with stools placed along one side. Most of the stools are piled with bags and jackets. A few seat guests who converse with the staff members wearing gray aprons on the other side of the table. Along the table are placemats, trays, and some strange looking tools that seem fitting for a doctor to shove in you.

There are three bookcases along the right wall. Instead of books, candles line the shelves in row upon row.

We're greeted by one of the staff who does all his posturing to us before asking if we've ever made candles before. Robbie is scrawled in what looks like chalk across his nametag.

Colton answers for the both of us that we have not made candles before, and Robbie gives us a general overview. By the end of his explanation, I find myself beside Colton in front of one of the bookcases as he sniffs candle lids.

"What am I going to do with a candle?"

"Light it."

I cast him a dark look as I take the top off of a bergamot scented candle and sniff the cork of the lid. My nose wrinkles.

"You could give it to your mother. Be a doting son."

I replace the lid. Her birthday is coming up. It would be nice to not have to worry about it.

I take a peach-scented candle in my hands. My mother doesn't want something handmade. She'll want jewelry or something equally as valuable.

"You're not supposed to pick the whole candle up." Colton replaces the cork lid and marks the scent on the checklist he was given by Robbie. Mine lays in front of me on the edge of the bookshelf.

"Why not?"

"Because you could break it."

"I'm not going to break a candle. Do you think I have no coordination?"

"None whatsoever."

I smell the candle and return it safely to its spot and mark it on my sheet.

"Tobias told you he's going to be gone this weekend?"

"No?"

"He's going to Mexico. To court that woman as he's taken to calling it."

I reach for another candle. "Oh?" Truthfully, I just wish we would all remain together and stay at home. We're safer as twelve. When we get separated, bad things happen. Like—

Phantom hands take hold of me, hands that drag me down, down, dow—

Something shatters.

I'm ripped from my memories.

My own hand is empty. At my feet shattered glass is mixed with chunks of cream-colored wax.

Colton's nostrils flare, and the staff member from earlier rushes over with a dust bin and brush. I hold up my hand.

"I've got it." I can clean up my own messes.

"Digamma, please. Don't trouble yourself."

"I said I've got it. Do I need to repeat myself again?"

"No, Digamma." He hesitates after he hands the dustpan and brush to me. Colton waves him away.

It's after I've crouched down before my mess that I realize I've never used a dustpan before.

Beside me, too close to my head, Colton's foot taps. Go back to candle sniffing, you prick.

The quick learner I am, I get the glass and wax into the pan in only a few sweeps. I pass it off to Robbie to toss.

"At least tell me you have your favorite scents chosen," Colton says when I return to his side.

I scan over the list and mark off the ones that sound like they smell the best and hold it up for my cousin to see. "There."

He looks entirely unimpressed.

We take our seats on the stools sandwiched between people who are probably likely to wet themselves the longer they're in our proximity.

We have that effect on people.

Robbie examines our cards and pulls out the bottles of the scents we checked. He then suggests pairings of Colton's favorites, and Colton takes in the scents as Robbie holds the bottles near his nose. Once my cousin makes a decision—I bet he's making his for Vienna—Robbie stares long and hard at my scents and looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but here. But at last he creates a few pairings, all but one of which smell terrible. Considering the others made me want to gag, it's not much of a choice. Robbie leaves the bottles of peach, vanilla, and something that the store has decided to call cloud.

I start pouring, a little bit of vanilla, a lot of peach, a dash of cloud.

Colton lowers his spoon used to stir the scents together. "Uh Bently, you might want to smell yours as you're pouring."

I raise the measuring cup and give it a delicate whiff.

I blink.

Oh that's bad.

In front of me, Robbie wrings his hands.

"I'd like to start over." I set the glass down on the tray on top of the placemat and start to push the tray toward him.

I didn't count on the tray sticking to the placemat. The glass rattles, tipping over and spilling all over the plastic tray.

I clamp down on a curse, fighting to keep my composure in public. Why am I now always such a damn mess? Yes, I fell in love with Iris. But so what? From the very beginning I knew it was hapless. I knew she'd never be mine. I'm damned to watch her live happily with my cousin, have his children, while I marry the first person I find who I know I'll be able to tolerate long enough to have an heir with. I'll be repeating my parents' marriage. Even more so that I'll be in love with someone else like my mother was. But this is the Society. Love is not the rule. Power is.

Once I'm given a new set of tools, I go through the motions, sniffing after every bit of scent I add, stirring, tapping the spoon. When I pour the concoction into the glass that will hold the wax and wick, I feel like I can breathe, the smell of peaches reminding me too much of my mother and every single memory I have with her.

If peach cobbler was ever on the menu at the Estate, my mother would be sure to be in attendance. Without fail. And her room has always carried the scent of the fruit though I've never been able to figure out the source of it.

The girl I marry doesn't have to be miserable. She can be like my mother, delight in her power, and all but forget I exist.

*****

I'm wary by the time we walk into what Colton promises is our last stop. It's a small warehouse, one length of it sectioned off by lanes that have targets hung on the wall. Wooden troughs hold axes at the end of each lane.

The warehouse appears to be empty.

"I rented out the whole place. I figured you wouldn't want anyone to see how bad you are."

I give him a dry look and move to pick up one of the axes. I've thrown axes twice in my life. The sport isn't for me. In a fight I don't like separating myself from my weapon.

Colton picks up an axe, gets in position, and draws his arm back before letting the axe fly forward.

It embeds itself right into the bullseye.

I try to copy what his movements were and release the axe. It bounces off the wall beside the target.

Colton picks up another axe. "Imagine its Odette."

The muscles along my arm tighten until I can't unfurl my fingers to grab another axe.

They hurt me. Tortured me down there. Drugged me. Made me watch murder after murder.

The only power I had was telling Odette I'd be her Delta. Why would I ever let what power I have go? Why wouldn't I marry whoever will hand me the most power?

I strain my fingers, opening them, taking hold of another axe at last. When I let it fly, it hits the target but bounces off it.

I'll go to my father, my uncles, I think as Colton gatherers the axes. Let them find me the best match.

And then I'll marry.

And it will be done.

That obligation fulfilled, I can focus on being the Digamma. Focus on making the Society stronger. More powerful.

I take an axe from Colton. His next throw once more hits the bullseye.

"If you need to talk about it . . . you can."

I throw him a disgusted look. "With you?" He's the only one to whom I confessed my feelings for Iris. A decision I regret immensely, even if at the time I felt like I just had to tell somebody.

What I felt for Abella and what I feel for Iris are two different things. I know that much. Abella was lust. Iris is—no was love. I can't continue to love her. I have to stop.

This all has to stop

I snap my arm forward, releasing the axe. As it whirls through the air, it's quickly apparent that it's going to go too high.

Helpless, I watch it smash straight through a window far above the target.

Colton curses as the glass rains down into the lane.

I drop my head into my hand, inhaling deeply.

"I hope you at least meant to do that."

I didn't. Just like I never meant to fall in love with Iris.

Soon she'll share my last name and yet she'll be the farthest thing from mine.