Free The Ylem by Tatiana Vila Page A

he’d regretted coming to me...
    Something caught his attention and made him
turn around. I followed and spotted his two friends coming down the
stairs toward us. I noticed how tall they were, an inch taller than
Tristan maybe. But he wasn’t looking at them. Chloe was standing a
few feet away from his friends, arms crossed around her chest. She
locked her arctic eyes with Tristan for a moment, and several
silent messages passed between them, none of them nice. Her eyes
tightened sharply. She turned to look at Tristan’s friends, who
wore anxious looks, told them something with her cutting eyes, too,
and strode away, shooting me a killer glare on the way.
    I frowned. What the hell had just
happened?
    Wait a second . I suddenly realized
something even weirder. How did Tristan know all of them were
there? He was giving them his back and we were several feet away
and as far as I knew, they’d been silent.
    Tristan turned to look at me and cleared his
throat. “Um, let me introduce you to my friends,” he said with a
stifled voice. Next thing I knew, they were standing next to him.
“Elan and Mingan.”
    It was as if I was facing a big human wall,
a sturdy human wall. Tristan’s friends were more muscular than him,
but not in the Rambo-burly-type way. Only pure lean muscle
displaying sexy strength. I clutched my tote nervously. The one
with the cool Mohawk took a step forward and stretched his wide
hand toward me. “Finally,” he said eagerly, shaking his warm hand
with my icy one. “I'm Elan.” He smiled.
    “Hi,” I said, smiling back. He was friendly,
full of energy. His smile a warm, bright sun that matched the light
autumn color in his eyes.
    “This is my twin brother, Mingan,” Elan
continued, pointing at the guy with the pony tail.
    I hadn’t been wrong. They were family—and
twins! Though they weren’t exact copies of each other, their
physical features were definitely similar.
    Mingan nodded in response, reminding me of a
soldier saluting. I didn’t care for his cold manner; it kind of
suited him. But the hostility in his eyes when he looked at me, as
if I was an enemy he wanted to wipe out, did bother me.
    I gulped.
    “So how’s it been so far?” Elan asked with a
grin.
    “Pretty good.” I said, trying to ignore
Mingan’s hard eyes. “I still haven’t seen too much. I’ve just been
to the supermarket and”—I peeked at Tristan—“Julian’s gallery.”
Tristan wasn’t looking at me. His face looked troubled and sad.
Why? Maybe I was reading him wrongly. Maybe he was mad. Because of
Chloe?
    “Pretty cool, huh? He has a lot of artsy
stuff there,” Elan said.
    “Yeah,” I agreed with a gulp, sensing
Mingan’s heavy stare on me again. He was studying every word I said
and every move I made.
    “Well, you need to sightsee more,” Elan
continued with his bright smile still on.
    “I'm going out on Saturday.”
    “On your own?” he asked.
    “Um, no, not on my own.” I blushed. I didn’t
want to say I was going out with Dean—especially not in front of
Tristan. Why? I didn’t know. The idea was ridiculous.
    “If you want to you can—” Elan trailed off,
looking like he was paying attention to something else in his mind,
or more exactly, listening to something else. He cocked his head,
eyes lost, and looked back at me. “I mean, you should go
with someone from here—a local,” he continued awkwardly.
    I looked at Tristan and Mingan, trying to
figure out Elan’s sudden change. They were staring at him, as if
restraining him with their eyes. But restraining him from what? I
hated all this guessing and weirdness.
    “Actually, I'm going with a local.” I told
him, suddenly feeling the urge to say it. “Dean. Maybe you know
him.” I glanced at Tristan.
    His eyes met mine, locking them for a long,
hot-blooded moment. My stomach clenched and unclenched, sending
tingles all the way to my toes.
    “We have to go,” Tristan said in a flat tone
seconds later, not taking his eyes from