Chapter 123 | Seduction…

[Jk: What insect lives on the moon?]

"It was good," he said simply.

Jasmine smiled. "Just good?"

"It was very good."

She laughed again, that bright, ringing sound, and flagged down the waiter for more.

By the time they finished, night had settled over Maryland City. The streetlights flickered on, casting pools of amber light on the cobblestones. The restaurant had emptied around them, the dinner crowd dispersing into the cool evening air, leaving Andrew and Jasmine alone at their table surrounded by the wreckage of an entire roasted double-headed lamb.

Jasmine ordered alcohol. A bottle of something dark and potent, served in two glasses that she filled with practiced ease. Andrew drank. Not heavily, but enough. The warmth of the alcohol spread through his chest, softening the edges of his exhaustion, blurring the sharp lines of the day's violence into something distant and manageable.

The exhaustion settled into his bones. Heavy and warm, softened by the food and the drink and the low murmur of the restaurant around them. His eyelids drooped. His muscles loosened. The adrenaline that had been keeping him upright since the fight finally, mercifully, drained away.

Jasmine checked her phone and frowned. "The academy's far from here," she said. Her voice was casual. Too casual. The same deliberate lightness she had used when suggesting the restaurant, when ordering the food, when pouring the drinks. "We should take a room at the hotel nearby. It's late."

Andrew stared at her.

This was her plan all along.

He saw it now. The pieces clicking into place with the clarity of hindsight. The restaurant. The food. The drink. The timing. The location. It had all been engineered, carefully and deliberately, to lead to this exact moment. The restaurant beside the hotel. The late hour. The full stomach and the warm alcohol and the exhaustion that made arguing feel like too much work.

He should have seen it coming. He should have said no. He should have pushed back, insisted on returning to the academy, maintained the boundary that a fifteen-year-old student should maintain with an older teammate.

Instead, he went along with it.

Jasmine stood, gathered her things, and walked toward the hotel. Andrew followed, his feet moving of their own accord, his brain quietly screaming at him that this was a terrible idea while the rest of him told his brain to shut up.

Jasmine approached the front desk. The clerk, a young woman with a professional smile and observant eyes, looked up from her terminal.

"One room," Jasmine said.

The clerk's eyes flicked between Jasmine and Andrew. A micro-expression, barely perceptible, flitted across her face. Professional neutrality reasserted itself in a fraction of a second.

"Of course," the clerk said. "One bed or two?"

Jasmine didn't take two bedrooms.

Jasmine didn't take two bedrooms.

"One bed," she said.

The clerk's professional smile didn't waver, but a small knowing smile appeared behind her eyes.

She typed something into her terminal, produced a key card, and slid it across the counter.

"Room 412. Fourth floor. Elevator is to your left."

Jasmine took the card then turned and walked toward the elevators without looking back, her hips swaying with confidence that drew eyes from the lobby.

Andrew followed. His legs felt heavy, his mind sluggish, the food and alcohol and exhaustion combining into a fog that made it easier to just... go along.

But with his bloodline, he shouldn't have been this groggy.

He followed Jasmine automatically.

The elevator was small and cold.

Jasmine stood very close to him. Her shoulder pressed against his arm, her reflection staring at him from three angles at once.

She was tall for a woman, nearly matching his height, and in the confined space, her presence was overwhelming.

She smelled like lavender and roasted meat and something else. His nose flared and he smelt something wet with a hint of fishiness.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened.

They walked down a carpeted hallway, until they reached room 412.

Jasmine slid the key card through the reader. The lock clicked green. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Andrew hesitated at the threshold.

The room was nice. Nicer than anything Andrew had ever stayed in. A king-sized bed dominated the center, dressed in white linens and a mountain of pillows. The windows stretched floor to ceiling, offering a view of Maryland City's skyline, the lights of buildings twinkling like earthbound stars. A marble bathroom was visible through a half-open door, all chrome fixtures and folded towels. The air was cool and clean, climate-controlled to perfection.

Jasmine tossed her bag onto the chair by the window and kicked off her boots. She stretched, her arms above her head, her back arching, her shirt riding up to expose a strip of toned stomach. She let out a satisfied groan, the sound low and throaty, and dropped onto the edge of the bed.

"Finally," she breathed. "A real bed."

Andrew stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame. His body was in the room, but his mind was still in the hallway, still on the street, still back at the restaurant where things had still been manageable. His heart was beating too fast. His palms were sweating. The fog of exhaustion was clearing, replaced by something sharper. Something electric.

"Jasmine," he said. His voice came out rougher than he intended. "I'm going to head back to the academy. It's not that far. I can walk, or get a cab, or..."

She looked at him. Those dark eyes. That knowing smile.

"Andrew," she said, patting the bed beside her. "Sit down."

"I should really..."

"Sit. Down."

He sat.

The bed was soft. Unreasonably soft. After days of sleeping on forest ground and running on adrenaline, the mattress felt like a cloud, and his body screamed at him to lie down, to sink into it, to never move again. He sat on the edge, his hands on his knees, his back straight, his eyes fixed on the carpet.

Jasmine watched him. She had shifted position, pulling one leg up onto the bed, turning to face him. Her chin was propped on her knee, her arms wrapped around her shin, her expression amused and tender and predatory all at once.

"You're tense," she said.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're exhausted, you're hurt, and you're sitting on the edge of a perfectly good bed like it's going to bite you."

Andrew said nothing.

"Lie down," she said. "Just rest. That's all. You need to sleep."

He wanted to argue. He wanted to get up, walk out the door, and put as much distance between himself and this situation as physically possible. But his body had other ideas.

[Ans: Lunatics…]