The Marriage Game

In Which There is a Big Talk

Camila walked back to her hotel room. Her feet bounced on the ground, her body light and airy. After successfully brewing Zora's second cup of coffee, Camila had stuck around. They'd talked about everything, from the pronunciation of pecan to their most embarrassing moment; Camila had been delighted to learn that Zora had once shaved her eyebrows on a dare, then kept shaving them for two months afterwards because she thought it looked cool.

At one point, Zora had ordered Camila to close her eyes.

She'd heard muffled footsteps, a sharp bang and a corresponding curse, before Zora plopped a heavy wooden box on her lap.

"Open it," she'd said, her grin stretching from cheekbone to cheekbone.

Camila's jaw had dropped. Inside were two ornately carved iron daggers. The knives were identical, so polished they practically glowed. Each had a leather grip and a pommel in the shape of a wolf's head.

She'd choked up a bit and wrapped her arms around Zora in a fierce hug. "Thank you," she'd whispered.

The witch had sighed, accepted her hug, and then informed her that the daggers were actually Declan's idea. Camila hadn't known quite what to make of that.

Strolling down the hallway with daggers strapped to her belt, Camila felt strong. Prepared. If the vampires managed to track her down, at least she had a weapon in her hand.

And it had been good to laugh with Zora, to reminisce about all the stupid things she'd done in her pre-teen rebellious phase and to spend time ignoring the Heart of Catalina, the immortal vampire holding her parent's hostage, and the dilemma of how to tell Alex that they were sort of, halfway, mated.

She winced. That was not going to be a fun conversation.

"Camila, hey." Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Sparks shot down her arm. "Can we talk?"

Speaking of not fun conversations...

Declan's hair was damp, freshly showered, his skin golden in the soft hallway light. A thin white workout shirt stretched across his shoulders and his eyes were a pale, hopeful green. Looking at him was blinding, like staring into the sun.

Camila reached her hotel room.

"You're right." She paused at the door. Her good mood evaporated, blown away like a leaf in a windstorm. "We do need to talk."

When she stepped inside, Declan followed.

Camila sat down on the chair, but Declan paced about, like he couldn't stand to sit down. He walked through the kitchen, glancing inside the cupboards, fiddled with the TV remote, and his gaze lingered on the bed. It was a massive thing, identical to the one they'd kissed on, and Camila could guess what he was thinking of.

She thanked the Goddess that she'd had the foresight to wash the sheets before talking to Zora. If he caught a trace of Alex's scent on the bed, she didn't know what she would do.

"Would you sit down?" she said.

"Right." He sat down on the bed, forearms braced against his knees. "I know you're mad at me. What can I do to fix this?"

He made it sound so easy, like he could apologize and they could be friends, lovers even. Sitting across from her, his body tilted towards hers, she should see the intensity in his eyes, the hope and desperation.

"I don't think you understand," she said softly. It hurt to look at him, vulnerable, practically begging with her.

"Then explain it to me."

"I..." How to say this? Camila tapped her fingers against the armchair, looking for something to do. "I grew up with four people. Serena, Alex, and my mom and dad. I didn't go to school and I couldn't really trust any other relationships. Those four people are pretty important to me."