I pull back from him farther so I can read his eyes better. “You’re really worried.”
He doesn’t deny it; he just waits for my answer.
I chew on my bottom lip. “Okay. So—the future? Anything in particular you wanna see?” I smile and tease, “Like—” my eyes glance up at the ceiling as I think “—will I meet a tall, handsome stranger in my future?” My breath curls out of me in an icy plume of smoky air, choking off the rest of my teasing. I’m disoriented, but I don’t leave my body like I have in the past when I go to the future. This is different. My consciousness isn’t ripped from me.
With my hands cuffed behind me, I’m restrained to the high-backed seat as I gauge the man approaching me. The grim expression on his handsome face as he draws his arm back squeezes my heart in my chest, causing it to ache. The open-palm slap to my cheek from his rough hand makes my face turn away from him. Blood sprays outward through my parted lips in an array of red. If I hadn’t been in a fight before, the sting of it might’ve shocked me. I never know whether to clench my teeth or loosen my jaw when I see it coming. If I clench my teeth, I usually end up with a few loose ones. If I loosen my jaw, I run the risk of biting down on the soft, fleshy tissue inside and shredding a hole in it. The best thing to do would be to duck, but that would be counterintuitive, since I want him to hit me.
His green eyes lean near mine; his breath is warm on my rapidly swelling skin. “Does a priestess feel pain?” he asks.
Lowering my forehead, I drive it into his nose, hearing it crack as blood spurts out to spatter my cheeks and his. As I reel with dizziness and an aching skull, I try to smile when I murmur, “Yes. Do you?”
When I become lucid once more, Trey’s smile of encouragement is gone, replaced by a look of deep-seated concern. My hand reaches up to touch my throbbing cheek. I wince. With one hand on my hip, he gently squeezes my side. “Kricket, are you all right? What just happened?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. Holding my head in my hands, it aches for a second with remembered pain from a dream, and then the pain is gone.
“Did you see something? You didn’t lose consciousness, but you feel like ice.” He rubs my arms, attempting to make them warm.
Was that the future? I wonder. “How long was I like that?”
“Twenty, maybe thirty seconds. Are you okay?”
“I’m . . . fine.” I opt for a truthful answer. I am fine right now. If I have another freaky blipisode, I won’t be; but for right this second, I’m okay. “I saw something: it was like a different film spliced into the movie of my real life, but with sound and the sensation of getting my head bashed in.” I quickly relate to him what I saw.
“Was it an Alameeda soldier—the one hitting you?” he asks, his jaw tensing. He looks as if he’s having a hard time remaining calm.
“No—at least, I don’t think so,” I say. “He didn’t look Alameeda—he had green eyes.” Trey knows what I mean. Most Alameeda have blue eyes and blond hair—my color hair. I’m half Alameeda, but I didn’t inherit their eye color. I have my Rafe father’s violet-colored eyes instead.
Trey strokes my pale hair. “Your eyes became almost blue for a few moments, Kricket,” he says.
“They did?”
He nods; his thumb brushes my cheek. “The most startling color blue pushed outward from your pupils like a rolling cloud, infusing your irises.”
“Maybe I should try again—this time concentrate on the context of what I want to know. This vision just sort of happened—it pushed its way in. I wasn’t focused on a direction—a time or place.”
Trey lifts his hand to rub his brow for a moment. “Maybe you should rest—”
“We need me to learn how to do this, right?” I ask.
He nods slowly.
I square my shoulders. “Okay then, let’s try again,” I tell him.
I can tell he wants to know more about the vision I just had. He’s disturbed by it. So am I, so much so that I don’t feel like repeating it—ever. Trey lets his hand fall abruptly from his forehead. “If you want to try again, let’s try something a little different. Try jumping ahead in time just a quarter of a part,” he suggests, using his word part, which translates to an Etharian “hour.” “See if you can get a handle on this new flash-forward technique.”
“Okay,” I agree, trying not to show my anxiety. I take some deep breaths, attempting to calm my racing heart. “Ready?”
He sits up straighter, his hands going to my waist and holding me steady as he looks into my eyes. “Okay, I’ve got you,” he breathes the words, sounding anxious too.
I stare into his sexy, violet gaze, trying to think in terms of five minutes ahead. It’s so abstract to me. I’d much rather stay in the moment—with Trey. I blink. Nothing. After a few minutes, Trey leans forward and kisses me. He captures my bottom lip, tugging on it until I groan with pleasure. “You shouldn’t reward me for failing,” I whisper against his lips.
“You’re incapable of failure,” he replies. “You just need practice.” He holds up his wrist communicator. “Here.” He takes it off, holding it out in front of me. He presses the screen, displaying the time for me. “Focus on this.” He changes the time, setting it a few minutes ahead.
I try again to concentrate. I take a cleansing breath, inhaling Trey’s clean, masculine scent. I relax a bit. My eyes blur as I watch the timepiece tick away the moments. When I exhale, my breath is visible as cold, smoky plumes.
A trumpeting noise sounds near the entrance to Trey’s apartment. The holographic projector near the door lights up with the image of Wayra’s face filling the space. First Wayra’s nose is huge and then Wayra moves so that only his eye is projected. It spans the space of at least six feet. “May eye remind you,” Wayra’s voice pipes through the speaker in the wall, “that time waits for no one? Open the door.”
As my focus returns to Trey’s alert expression in the present, I break out into a smile. Trey smiles back and it causes my heart to race in my chest. “What is it?” Trey asks.
“Wayra is on his way here,” I reply. I begin to climb off Trey’s lap. He steadies me with an arm beneath my elbow. I don’t wait for him to rise, but hurry up the few steps to the main floor. From there I walk to Trey’s foyer and stand by the door. Over my shoulder, I tell Trey, “When Wayra arrives, he’s going to project an enormous, giant eye on the hologram.” Trey nears me, leaning against the wall by my side. He crosses his arms and waits. In a few minutes, a trumpeting noise sounds. Wayra’s nose appears larger than life and then his eye comes into focus. Through the intercom, Wayra’s voice booms, “May eye remind you—”