Frustrated or not by Trey’s refusal to share his earlier message with me, I can hardly keep my eyes off him. My foray to the window has garnered only a brief respite from my need to track his every movement. The creases between his brows deepen. I want to reach out and smooth the furrow, then trace the lines of the thick, black tribal tattoos that run from his throat, beneath his pressed uniform, to his broad chest and over his flat-muscled abdomen. I want to rest my cheek against his chest—hear the sinfully melodic beat of his heart. Maybe if I did, it’d stop me from worrying about our uncertain future.
“Keep me informed, Wayra,” Trey barks, his lips straightening in a grim line. “The moment you know something, contact me.” He ends the communication with his thumb to its screen. Staring at nothing at all for a moment, he’s lost in thought. Then his violet-colored eyes, an almost universal Rafian trait, connect with mine. My heart stutters to a halt before taking off again at a dangerous beat, leaving me breathless. He’s so handsome it hurts, I think.
He relaxes a little, his hand plowing through his short, dark hair, making it less militarily precise and more sexy and unkempt. I like it like that; it makes me want to entwine my fingers in it and muss it up some more. His ruggedly attractive face loses its scowl as he studies me in the same manner that I’m studying him. A blush heats my cheeks; I’m suddenly fidgety. I tuck the long strands of my blond hair behind my ear.
“What’s going on, Trey?” I ask him in a soft murmur.
“I’m not sure.” The edginess in his tone, although subtle, is apparent to me. “I’m attempting to find out.” That’s not exactly true. He may not be sure, but he has an idea of what’s happening, and I’d bet it has something to do with the message he received earlier. I’d also bet that it’s extremely bad, whatever it is, because he’s being tight-lipped about it. I witnessed his expression in the moments after viewing the message. Gone was the sultry air with which his eyes had followed me. It has been replaced by a protective, almost possessive mien that has me worried.
I sigh. “Okay, you must have forgotten that I know when someone’s lying—it’s one of my special, freaky priestess gifts, remember—the one you love to use until it becomes inconvenient for you? You can try to throw me off, but even half-truths ring false with me. So, what do you think is happening?” I rephrase my question.
Trey gives a low, sexy growl of frustration as he approaches me with a stealthy gait. I love the way he moves—confident and in control. He stops in front of me. I have to tip my head back so I can see his face. Grasping the lapels of the black uniform jacket he gave me to wear this morning, he straightens my collar and tweaks the line of matte black buttons down my front so that I have an immaculate, military rightness to my look. He’s not even really touching me and it’s doing crazy things to my insides. No one has ever affected me like he does. “All of this would be so much easier if I could lie to you,” he states.
“It would, would it?” I ask, giving him a flirty smile, trying a different tactic with him to cajole the information from him. My finger comes up to trace the buttons of his Cavar uniform. I like him in it. When he was my bodyguard at the palace, he wore plain clothes to fit in. Dressed in a gennet’s rank, with silver pins on his collar in the shape of saers—the saber-toothed tiger that are a symbol of Rafe—he looks even more formidable than normal.
“I never want to lie to you—”
“Good, because you can’t,” I interrupt.
“But,” he goes on, “I like frightening you even less, so until I understand exactly what’s going on to explain it to you, I’d rather not discuss what little I know at the moment.”
He’s been treating me like I’m breakable ever since our arrival here last night. I’ve been trying my best to act normal, but everything from our location to our hard-fought relationship is still so new. I’d spent last night with him—talking mostly, exchanging a few kisses. He had let me cry on his shoulder; he’d wiped away my tears, keeping the memories of the massacre in the palace ballroom yesterday at bay. I’d fallen asleep in his arms.
“Is it the Alameeda? Have they done something else?” I try to be nonchalant, but the shudder that runs through me belies my words. It’s beyond my control to stop it. No matter what I claim, I’m still half in shock from last night and more than terrified of them. I stabbed Kyon. Neither he, nor they, will let that go unanswered.
“Shh.” Trey’s large hand brushes my cheek. He entwines his fingers in my hair. The warmth of his body manages to calm my fears a little, if not my racing heart—that increases by the sheer nearness of him. “I missed you, Kricket. Every second of every rotation that we were apart was torture.”
My breath catches, and I have to wait a moment before I can respond. If he’s bent on distracting me from my thoughts of the Alameeda, he’s done it. “It was the same for me,” I admit, laying my hand on his hip. My touch affects him as well. He bites his bottom lip, giving me a devouring look.
Inhaling the scent of my hair, Trey’s cheek skims mine. The sensation makes my insides come alive with desire. His soft breath falls on my ear. The deep vibration of his voice sends a wave of pleasure through me again. “I promise that it’ll be you and me from this moment forward—whatever happens.”
I fall into his embrace as if he’s my home. “Things are really bad, aren’t they? What are we going to do?”
He leans down and presses his lips to mine. It elicits a soft gasp from me. My lips part, and the ache of desire he creates with his kisses clouds my thoughts. “I know what we’re not going to do, Kricket,” his sultry voice assures me. “We’re not going to allow anyone to come between us again.”
His strong hand on my back travels down me; it glides over my bottom to the back of my thighs. Trey picks me up in his arms, continuing to kiss me as he takes me over to the cushioned divan. As he sits, I sink onto his lap. Shifting in his arms, I straddle his hips; my form-fitting black slacks slide against his thighs as I settle upon them. My hands rest around the nape of his neck. Both of Trey’s hands come up to hold my face. He gently pulls away from me to look in my eyes. “I need you to do something, Kricket,” he says.
“Anything,” I murmur, shivering when his thumb traces my bottom lip. My platinum blond hair spills over his thick forearms, blanketing them.
He keeps his tone deliberately calm as he says, “I want you to try to see the future.”
He’s never asked me to do that before, my mind whispers. I tense. “I don’t know if I can—it just happens—you’ve seen it—”
He stops my stuttering by leaning forward and kissing me again. Uncertainty and fear fall away, replaced by desire. He ends our kiss to say against my lips, “I know that in the past you’ve had no control over what you see in the future or when you see it. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll have to take things as they come. But if you can use your gift of precognition, we might have an advantage and an opportunity to change the future if we need to.”