Lupi 04 - Night Season

was good. The first course was a porridge-like mush that looked awful but tasted like berries and nuts, followed by some kind of roasted meat that had not come from a cow. There were roasted vegetables, too—carrots, squash, something pale that looked like a potato, but wasn’t.
    The porridge went down fine. Cynna asked Adrienne to bring her some water, not wanting to drink the strong, dark ale they served with the meal. Pregnant women were supposed to avoid alcohol, right? She made herself eat plenty of vegetables—they were pretty good—and some of the meat while she talked with the others and listened to their ideas. There wasn’t any dessert, but their servants brought them fruit at the end of the meal. Cynna grabbed an apple for later, yawned ostentatiously, and at last, thank God, she left.
    Problem was, there was nowhere to go. Except her rooms.
    Her damned, tiny rooms with the oily air. She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to be with people, either. And they sure as hell didn’t need to be with her. Wouldn’t exactly reassure anyone to know just what a thin thread their lives all hung by, would it?
    She paced. Anywhere else—back home in D.C., or in any of the other cities she’d stayed in while working—she’d go out when she felt like this. She’d walk or run or go to a club and dance for hours. Or maybe she’d go to a gym and work out until she wanted to puke.
    These days, she did the workout more often; the club, less. It was too easy, too tempting, to pick someone up at a club. Easy to get in a fight, too. And that’s what she really wanted to do—fight or fuck. The nameless feeling scrambling her insides like a cat clawing its way out of a bag would settle if she did one of those things.
    No gym here. No nightclubs. Not even a goddamn TV, a book, a DVD player. No, nothing at all to do in the garish little room.
    Cullen was just down the hall.
    No, she told herself. She’d made herself a promise, right? She was upgrading her taste in men, which meant no more desperate one-nighters. Not even on the bad nights, when she couldn’t stand living in her own skin. Because she had nowhere else to live, did she? She had to find other ways of dealing with a really bad mood.
    Cullen wasn’t a one-nighter. He was a friend.
    That thought made Cynna want to put a fist through the wall. He was a friend, and she couldn’t go to him because…because he was part of the explosion building inside her.
    Besides, what if that elf-lady had beat her to it? The mood Cynna was in, if she saw the two of them snuggled up, she’d try to kill them both. She’d fail, of course, and probably wouldn’t be lucky enough to die herself, and tomorrow she’d wake up with post-insanity humiliation.
    This will pass , she assured herself. She just had to ride it out.
    But how? There was no gym, no club where she could dance, and it would be stupid to go walking the streets of the City when she had no clue what the dangers were. Especially when so much was riding on her and her Gift. She could not risk herself that way.
    She shouldn’t risk her tiny rider, either. Cynna stopped, her hand resting on her stomach.
    Crunches. She could do crunches and scissors and lunges and work up a sweat right here.
    Here? She wanted out. Out of this room, away from the oily air and the damned walls and—
    Someone knocked softly at her door. She spun. Dragged in a breath, dragged both hands through her hair, and prepared to do her best impression of normal and sane. “Yes?”
    The door swung open. Cullen stood in the doorway, wearing what looked like tight gray sweatpants. No shirt. He held out some cloth. “Put this on. We’re going to go spar awhile.”
    Â 
    C YNNA was staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. Cullen supposed that Rule would have worked out not just what to do, but why he was doing it. Not him. He was right to be here. He knew that instinctively, but the why escaped him
    â€œExpecting a different sort of invitation?” he said sweetly. “Not tonight, luv. Aggressive sex can be fun, but you’d brood later. Here.” He tossed her the knit pants and shirt his servant had scrounged up.
    She caught them. For a moment he thought she’d start their sparring session right now. She thought so, too.
    She settled for slamming the door in his face. He smiled and leaned against the wall