“Right.” She bit the inside of her lip, embarrassed.
But like an echo, she heard Keenan’s silence earlier at Rath and Ruins, his careful avoidance of her questions when she asked about faeries and mortals. There was a chance that if she was their queen, she’d lose Seth. She closed her eyes.
“Ash, I want to. I want you, but because of us, not because of something they do or don’t do.”
She nodded. He was right; she knew it. It didn’t feel fair, though. None of it felt fair or right. The only thing that felt right was Seth.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t stay. Just no sex.” He spoke softly, like he’d done the other morning when she was freaking out. “That still leaves a lot open.”
Seth took Aislinn’s hand as they walked back to the other train car, the one that he’d turned into a bedroom, but he barely held on. If she wanted to, she could turn and go the other way. She didn’t. She wrapped her fingers around his so tightly it probably hurt him.
But now that they stood in the doorway, with a bed that stretched from one side of the narrow room to the other, she almost panicked. “It’s…”
“Comfortable.” He let go of her hand.
It really wasn’t that big, a queen at most, but that left only a couple feet on either side of it. Unlike the Spartan interior of the front car, this room was a bit more dramatic. Dark purple, almost black, pillows were piled on the bed; a few had tumbled onto the floor, like shadows on the black rug. On either side of the bed were small black dressers. A sleek black stereo sat on one; a candelabra sat on the other. Wax trailed down the candles and onto the dresser.
“I could sleep out on the sofa.” Seth kept his distance when he said it, smiling gently. “Give you space.”
“No. I want you here. It’s just that it’s”—she motioned to the room—“so different from the rest of the house.”
“You’re the only girl who’s been invited back here, ever.” He walked to the stereo, his back toward her, and flipped through the discs in the wall-rack. “Just so you know.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, folding a leg up in front of her, leaving the other foot on the floor. “It feels weird. Like it’s more important now that I’m here.”
“It should be.” He stood on the opposite side of the bed, holding a clear jewel-case. “I’ve done it the other way, with people who didn’t matter. It’s not the same.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Felt good.” He didn’t look away, even though he seemed uncomfortable. He shrugged. “Drunk. All sorts of reasons, I guess.”
“Oh.” Aislinn did look away.
“It got old. There’s, umm”—he cleared his throat—“some papers over there. I wanted to give them to you before…I was going to bring it up the other day…but, and, now…” He pointed.
Aislinn reached out and pulled the papers off the table with the candles. On the top sheet she read “Huntsdale Clinic.” She looked over at him. “What?”
“Tests. I had them earlier this month. I get them regularly. Thought you’d want to know. I want you to know.” He picked up one of the pillows, flipping it over in his hands. “I haven’t been, you know, unsafe in the past, but still…things happen.”
Aislinn skimmed them, test results for everyt