Page 4 of Distant Heart (Vicious Valentine)

Rexton was bored.

He’d ended up in the type of room one might expect to find in an upscale bar or club, not a prestigious university. There were three pool tables, a corner filled with old-school arcade machines, and at least two holo screens on every wall, each one hooked up to a different gaming system. A small bar sat across from the entrance, manned by a bartender who appeared to be either a student or a fresh graduate. There were also a couple of small metal square tables in that area. That along with the two brown leather couches made up all the seating arrangements.

There were several people there, most minding their own business, but what had caught Rexton’s attention initially was the ruckus at the main pool table. It’d been so loud, that he’d heard it from down the hallway, trailing after it out of pure curiosity.

The two guys working the table had been good, really, really good, so he’d lingered to watch them finish their game. As soon as it’d ended, however, another challenger had stepped forward to take on the winner and he, to put it frankly, sucked ass. The only reason Rex hadn’t already left was because he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Vitality, that’s cool.” The shitty player wrung the top of his pool stick between his hands, not even bothering to watch his opponent eye up his next shot. He’d started talking to Rexton at the start of the game, but so far their conversation was going nowhere.

“Yeah.” He had half a mind to ask if he could play next, just so he’d have something to do, but Rexton wasn’t sure he wanted to be locked in like that. “You from here?”

“Born and bred.”

“Right.”

“So, if you’re not a student, who did you come with? Cor Night is a big deal, typically outsiders aren’t invited. Lucky you.”

Rexton wasn’t feeling very lucky at the moment. It wasn’t too obvious, but he was fairly certain the guy was flirting with him, and he had zero interest in pursuing anything with him. He couldn’t even recall the guy's name, though he was certain they’d introduced themselves at the beginning of this lengthy and pointless conversation.

Tonight was dragging and he was this close to throwing in the towel and—

“Excuse me, sir.” The bartender appeared at Rexton’s side then, placing a small silver tray on the edge of the pool table where he was standing.

His brow lifted as he stared at the three pieces of chocolate-covered fruit on the platter, the tips of his ears turning red when that drew unwanted attention from those playing. “I didn’t order this.”

“I did.” Illya’s smooth voice came from the doorway and Rex turned just in time to see him enter. He waved the bartender off and glanced briefly at the player before wrapping an arm around Rexton’s hips. He planted his palm against the table, effectively blocking Rex in and then set his chin on his shoulder. “You should eat them while they’re still cold.”

Rexton blinked at him, at a loss for words.

“Oh,” the player who’d been chatting him up paled and took a distinct step backward, “I didn’t realize you came with a Black Hart.” His wide eyes turned to Illya. “We were just talking.”

On Vitality, there were two elite groups who ruled the planet and the universities they attended. They were collectively known as the Devils, and one of those bastards was the reason he was here now, on a planet in the midst of their winter season instead of home finishing his midterm project. The way this dude was now sucking up to Illya reminded Rexton of that fact, and he found annoyance brewing.

His elbow shot back, connecting with Illya’s stomach. He was careful not to be too rough—he was mad, but he wasn’t an idiot—the contact just enough to smart and get his point across. The second there was a bit of distance between them, he sidestepped, removing himself from the Black Hart’s clutches.

A hush fell over the room, the only sounds the pinging and music of the video games still going. It was so intense, Rex almost apologized.

Almost.

Instead, he straightened and crossed his arms.

Illya sighed and rubbed at the spot where he’d been hit before letting out a low whistle. The shrill noise was instantly understood by everyone but Rexton, the room emptying in a matter of seconds, as though people couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

His eyes widened in a mirror of that player’s shocked look earlier—the one who’d fled even faster than the rest—as he watched them clear out until it was only him and the Black Hart left. “What the hell?”

“Don’t curse.” Illya rested a hip against the pool table and selected a piece of fruit. “It’s unbecoming.”

Rexton slapped the morsel away when it was held up to his face, sending the chocolate-dipped fruit rolling across the velvet surface of the table. It hit the side of one of the balls and sent it spinning a few inches, straight into a side pocket.

“I hope that wasn’t one of his,” Illya stated.

“His?”

“The one who was hitting on you. Was he stripes or solids?”

The ball that had gone in was the latter.

“I don’t remember.” It wasn’t a lie to try and help the guy out; Rex really couldn’t recall. “He sucked, so I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Did he?” Illya smiled and Rexton scowled.

“That wasn’t me saying you’re any better.”

“Oh, I can guarantee I am,” he drawled. “In every sense of the word, in fact. Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

“No.”

Now that they were alone, the air in the room suddenly seemed heavier. There was also a heady scent to it that hadn’t been there before, something warm and peppery with a hint of sweetness at the end. It was coming from Illya, and Rexton tried hard not to let on that he liked it.

Because he did, damn it.

He liked the smell a lot.

But he wouldn’t give in to a stranger just because they smelled nice.

“Try to be,” Illya suggested, grabbing one of the balls. He rolled it beneath his palm before sending it off toward another, knocking it into the nearby pocket. “How about this, I’ll play you.”

“For?” Admittedly, he shouldn’t be, but he was slightly intrigued.

Illya hummed as though thinking it over. “Let’s keep it simple. Questions and answers. I sink a ball, you answer one of my questions. You sink one, I answer one of yours.”

“What if I don’t want to know anything about you?” Rexton asked.

“Don’t be so stubborn,” he countered, moving to set up the table.

Rexton glanced at the doorway, but before he could so much as take a single step toward it, Illya spoke again.

“My patience is wearing thin. You don’t seem like the stupid sort, and you claimed to understand what tonight was all about. Do you really think running from me is your best move here, Rexton?”

“Praeda is bullshit.”

“Easy for an outsider to say.”

“So you’re fond of it?”

Illya paused while setting the triangle over the balls. “I wouldn’t put it that way…”

“Could have fooled me.”

“A lot of different things can happen on a night like this,” Illya said. “A friend of mine is planning on ordering someone to play an otome game with him, for example.”

“Yeah?” Rex looked at the pool stick when it was offered to him, but didn’t reach for it. “Is that what this is? You ordering me to play a couple rounds with you and that’ll be it?”

Illya smirked and shoved the stick against his chest, forcing him to take it. “This? This is a means to calm you down. A way to get to know one another, so to speak. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And after we’re done with this ?”

He was quiet as he chalked the end of his stick, then got into position and took aim. The break was good, sending balls rolling, three of which went directly into pockets. “Solids.”

“Illya.” Rexton refused to be ignored.

“When was the last time you took it?” Illya asked passively, his carefree tone causing Rexton to frown. When he noticed he chuckled. “Well?”

“What?”

“I sunk a few in,” Illya pointed out. “Which means I get to ask you a question and you have to answer. So, when was the last time you stuffed that plush ass of yours? Rubber or dick, either counts.”

“Good Light.” Rex didn’t know why, but the crass way he spoke caught him off guard.

“It’s not a hard question. Or can you not remember? Maybe you got drunk one night recently and—”

“Last week.” He shoved Illya away. “With a toy, and I was sober.”

Illya seemed far too pleased with that reply, moving to take another shot with a grin. When he—unsurprisingly—sent another ball into a pocket, he straightened and cocked his head. “Would you like me to keep going? We can count up all of the shots and I can ask you the questions all at once at the end?”

“What’s the point of the game if you aren’t even going to let me have a turn?” Not that Rexton wanted one. He just didn’t want to feel like he had no real part in this. Even if getting out of this unscathed was a lie he was telling himself, he wanted that lie. Wanted to hold onto the belief that he could prolong the inevitable.

Because it was inevitable. If someone like Illya had taken an interest in him, there was nothing he could do aside from escaping campus to get away. The rules of Praeda were clear in that regard. Only those on Sacrum Cor Hart grounds were allowed to be targeted.

“You signed a waiver at the door, or has that slipped your recollection?” Illya suddenly asked, and when Rex frowned, he sighed. “There are guards patrolling all of the exits. Once you’ve entered, you’re allowed to go anywhere so long as you don’t step foot off—”

“I didn’t even say anything about that,” Rexton stopped him, mostly because it was unnerving how the other guy had somehow read his mind. Clearing his throat, his hands tightened around the pool stick he was holding and he motioned toward the table with his chin. “In any case, that counts as your question. Go again.”

Instead of arguing, Illya laughed. “You have to answer in order for the round to be completed.”

“Yes,” he sneered, “I do remember signing your damn waiver. Can you go now so we can get this over with?”

“Eager to move on to the next game?”

When all Rexton did was stare, Illya rounded the table and took another shot.

The seven ball went sailing into a corner pocket.

“Do you have any siblings?” Illya asked.

The tame question caught Rexton by surprise, and for a moment he stood there dumbly before his brain processed what he was doing. “No. Do you?”

“Yes. My brother is three years younger than me, and our sister is a year younger than him.” Illya pointed the end of his stick at Rexton’s chest. “I’ll give you that one for free.”

He stepped back. “Why?”

“I like that you showed an interest in me.” Illya shrugged and then took another shot, only this time he missed.

Rexton’s eyes narrowed. “You did that on purpose.”

“Aren’t you the one who complained about not getting to play?” He clucked his tongue. “Work with me here. You’re really hard to please, aren’t you?”

“I don’t have to answer that.” Not that it was an actual question, but still. Stubbornly, Rex moved to line up with the cue ball. Back home, he spent a lot of time at the bar with his friends, so he was confident he could make at least a couple of shots. He pocketed one and then smugly glanced over at the Black Hart.

There were a million and one safe questions he could ask, but not a single one of them were things he really wanted an answer to. Taking a second to internally debate with himself, Rexton found his resolve to play things cool slipping.

“Why are you interested in me?” He didn’t like the way his voice dipped, the uncertainty ringing so clearly in his tone, it was a wonder he didn’t wince from embarrassment.

But Illya didn’t act like it was an embarrassing thing to ask. Didn’t seem to be judging him for his moment of self-doubt.

And Rexton liked that far too much.