As Darkness Fears the Sun

III: Gemini

III

Gemini

"Does it ever disgust you?" Alasdair asked, tracing his thumb across Brontë's bare shoulder. She raised an eyebrow, prompting him to clarify. "Sleeping with me?"

She propped herself up on one elbow. "Why would it disgust me? It's fun."

He chuckled, twirling a strand of her pink hair absently around his finger. His other arm was tucked behind his head, and she watched his tattoos swirl, a sure sign of his anxiety.

She looked at his eyes, at their shape betraying his faerie heritage. And then she thought of the Magicians. Blood is power, they say, and in their eyes, Alasdair's was diluted.

"They won't like it if they find out," Al said. "My kind are hardly welcome in their society. And with you standing-"

"It doesn't matter," Brontë snapped, sitting fully upright. Her stomach lurched at his wording. My kind.

They said the blood is where the magic comes from, and because of that, Magicians were obsessed with it. In order for the magic to be the strongest, it must be kept pure. Intermingling with other species, magical and nonmagical alike, risked the purity of the blood. Most Magicians therefore held themselves above other creatures, using their status to render themselves nearly untouchable. And even then, hardly anyone would dare to do anything wrong to a Magician.

But it occasionally happened where Magicians intermingled. And occasionally these unions produced children. The Magician blood runs strong, but not strong enough in the eyes of society.

Brontë slid her feet over the edge of the bed and reached down to grab her bra. She could feel Al's eyes on her bare back, on the tattoos that swirled there and trailed around her hips to her thighs. "The Magicians can take their judgements and shove them up their asses," she continued. She pulled her sweater on over her head. "I have to go. I trust you can sort through the stuff I gave you?"

Al sat up straighter, the sheet slipping dangerously low on his waist. "You're leaving? You don't want to shower or anything?"

She shook her head. "I ca do that when I get home. Can you do it or not?"

"Yeah, I should be fine."

"Excellent. I will be back tomorrow as soon as I can."

Alasdair slipped out of the bed, and reached down to put on his boxer shorts. "What do you have to rush off to anyway?"

Brontë sighed, scraping her brightly colored hair into a sloppy bun. "It's family dinner night. My brother is in in town." Only half of the statement was a lie.

Al kissed the top of her head. "Say 'hi' to your parents for me."

She snorted. "Yes. I am sure they will appreciate that. And when they find out what you do for a living, I'm certain that you too will be invited to dine with the great Victoria and Vladimir Saeger."

He rolled his eyes and smacked her ass on her way out the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, babe."

"You better get that stuff done," she called over her shoulder as she opened the front door.

"Don't I always?" he shouted back as he slipped back into his bedroom.

"No."

"That was one time. One time! Can I finally live that down?"

"Now, what would be the fun in that?"

The last thing she head before she slammed the door shut was his laughter.