He kisses the hollow between the valley of my neck and shoulder. I gasp softly, my hand reaching out and gripping his bicep, feeling the smooth skin over powerful muscle. My hand moves to his back and strokes him over the woven tapestry of muscles that make up the intricate texture that’s Trey.
“I’m slowly learning all the subtle nuances of you, Kricket. I want to discover your every thought . . .” his kisses travel down me, over my clavicle “. . . your every look . . .” he kisses the pink tip of one breast, and I inhale deeply “. . . every curve . . .” he moves farther to kiss my stomach “. . . and every other freckle.”
I giggle as much at his comment as at the feel of his bristly skin against my sensitive flesh. Grasping his face, I make him look at my eyes. “Why every other freckle?” I ask him. “Why not all of them?”
“Well, I didn’t want to sound obsessed, and also some freckles aren’t as good-natured as others.” As I laugh harder, Trey rises on his elbow, smiling down at me. “That’s the sound that I want to live in for the rest of my life.”
I rise on my elbow to meet his lips with mine. He sits up and pulls me onto his lap so that we’re face-to-face. He makes love to me then, eye to eye and skin to skin. I watch his every expression and he watches mine.
Just after I call out Trey’s name in a breathless haze of pleasure, I hear a feminine voice speak from across the bedroom. “You’ve been hard to locate.” I stiffen in Trey’s arms. Looking over my shoulder, I find the Bee priestess seated in one of the tall wing-backed chairs that are facing the bed. Her legs are draped over the arm of it with her back against the other arm.
“How did you get in here?” I demand, as outrage and fear war inside me. Outrage wins.
“Who are you talking to?” Trey asks, startled by my abrupt change in demeanor.
I wave my hand at the blond girl in the chair. “An Alameeda priestess,” I growl my response. Slipping from his lap, I pull the sheet up to my chest as I face the Bee.
“Where is she?” Trey asks, reaching for his pants on the floor near the bed.
“In the chair.” I nod my head toward where she’s slouching. “Can’t you see her?”
“No,” he growls in response.
She looks at her fingernails. “Well, technically, I’m not really here. I’m just projecting myself here. Normally, no one can see me. You are the first person who’s been able to detect my presence.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” I ask.
“My name is Nezra and I want you to die,” she answers honestly.
“Well, Nezra, I don’t think I’ll accommodate you. I sort of enjoy breathing,” I reply.
Trey whispers in my ear, “Keep her talking while I alert the others for a random change in plan.” I nod.
Nezra watches Trey slip on his shirt and gather the clothes I had on earlier, bringing them to me. He leans down and kisses me, before moving quickly to the door. When he’s gone, Nezra says, “So the big Rafian soldier is your lover. Felicitations, little sister; I didn’t think you’d have it in you to defy the Brotherhood in this way. You surprise me.”
“Trey’s my intended consort.”
She laughs mockingly. “You’re either really brave or really stupid. Kyon will kill him in front of you when he gets here. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’ll kill him if he tries,” I counter savagely.
She straightens in the chair at once, anger showing on her beautiful face. “I’ll kill you if you harm him. You don’t deserve Kyon.”
“Ugh, gross! Do you like him?” I pretend to vomit in my mouth a little before I slip the black sleeveless blouse over my head once more, pulling it down over me.
“He was supposed to be my consort, but our mother ruined it all.”
“Our mother? You mean you’re my sister?” I ask. I’m unable to think for a second.
“Half sister,” she amends with disgust. “I’m not blood-tainted like you. I’m full-blooded Alameeda.”
“We have the same mother?” I repeat, stunned.
“That’s about all we have in common.”
“Did she raise you? How old were you when she—”
“—faked her own death?”
I stare at her in shock.
“She faked her own death so that she could leave me. Does that sound familiar?” Nezra asks.
I feel like I can’t breathe. “What?” is all I can muster at the moment.
“You don’t really think she’s dead, do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“She’s far too brilliant to die from Crue. Maybe she just wanted to get away from you.”
I want to kill her. “How come Kyon never mentioned you to me?” I ask incredulously.
“He doesn’t like talking about me,” she says.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too painful a subject for him,” she lies.
I snort and decide that she’s pathological. “Uh-huh. You’re a lurker, aren’t you?” I pull on my pants and then get up from the bed to put on the belt.
She gasps audibly. “I’m a priestess! It’s an honor to be in my presence!”
I roll my eyes. “Who are you people? You’re so conceited! You must bore him to death. No wonder he said he’s tired of inane blonds. I can only assume he means you.”
“I am highly intelligent,” she growls, pointing her sharp fingernail at me. “If you must know, my suit was awarded to his cousin, Chandrum, instead of to him!” She’s breathing hard, as if what I said offends her.
“So they forced you to commit to Chandrum instead of Kyon?” I ask with an aloof air, putting on one boot and buckling it.
“Yes,” she nods.
“Why’d you let that happen? Why didn’t you fight for him?”
She makes a derogatory sound. “No one fights the Brotherhood. That’s a ridiculous statement.”
I pull on the second black boot. “Well, why’d they choose Chandrum for you and not Kyon?”
She ignores my question. “Why haven’t you left the city yet?” she asks. “You’re hiding like cowards here. Kyon will be here soon. It’s like you’re waiting for him.”
“I’m not waiting for him. The Cavars have been infecting your drones so you freaks can’t use them to kill civilians. Why has it taken you so long to find me?” I bait her.