Exiled (12 page)

After he’d gone, Venus took the liberty of looking around. Trophy after first place trophy lined a tall, glass case directly across from the bed. His name etched in all of them.

So, this is his room.
She worked to ignore a bubbly, giddiness building in her chest.

Blue ribbons hung from most of the trophies. To the left of the case stood a large window with a white desk underneath. A laptop sat on top and to its left were a bunch of books, perfectly organized from tallest to shortest and in alphabetical order.

Billowy, light green curtains adorned the window, flowing all the way to the floor. On either side of the bed were white nightstands. Matching navy, green and white stripes stretched horizontally over the lampshades. One sat on each stand.

War and Peace
rested on the nightstand to her right. Its pages were worn, like an old friend. It called to her. Venus picked it up, casually turning the pages. She could smell him—glazed pears—in every turn. She closed her eyes and flipped the pages again, rapidly, like a fan, allowing his smell to float into the air.

“Is that how your kind read?” he asked.

“Yeow, you scared me.” She opened her eyes and dropped the book. “No, I was fanning myself.”

“Ah.” It didn’t look like he bought it, but he sat on the bed and started organizing his supplies. “First, we’re doing hot.” He placed a warmed cloth over the wound.

She sucked in at the pain, but didn’t say anything. He left his hand on the wet cloth. “We should leave this on for fifteen minutes before moving on to the cold.” As if to explain himself, he held up an ice pack.

“Fabu.” She clenched her teeth.

“So where are you from exactly?” he asked, his first finger gently making circles over her wound. His head was down, so she couldn’t read his expression. But, she could feel his touch, even through the cloth. So soft. Tender. A tingling stirred, starting at the center of the wound, and spreading throughout her body. His fingers stoking the fire on her skin, melting her. Venus watched her skin flame red as her face burned hot, her breathing getting faster and faster.

“Please,” she begged, finally. “Stop.”

He looked up. “Venus, what’s wrong?” He moved on the bed, claiming her face in both of his strong hands, making everything worse. His touch, his airy, summer smell. Warmth.

“Look at me, you’re burning up.”

Apprehensively, she peered at him and knew, by the look on his face, he’d seen her desires. She’d never experienced these emotions. They were overwhelming. “Ice. Please.” He held her captive a moment longer. Venus watched his face change. He didn’t understand what was happening anymore than she did. Yet he still didn’t let go. Searching. Her face locked in his hands and her eyes held captive his.

She decided, in that moment, that if she died on Earth, it’d be worth it, as long as he kissed her for real.

He let go, stood, and said, “Of course.”

When he wasn’t touching her any more, her skin started to cool and her alien heart beat slower. She needed to get control of herself. He’d been carrying her for twenty minutes off and on.

He removed the wet cloth and placed the ice pack over her wound. “Venus. I’m so sorry.” He put his hand on her forehead. At his touch, she felt his quickened pulse.

Maybe that’s why she felt different. Venus was responding to his emotions, or she was exciting him.
It felt like both
. Her face started to flush again, her breathing faster. His breathing came faster, too.

She had to wonder if he reacted of his own free will. Once a female kelarian received immortality, if she wanted a male, her body produced a scent. Beyond that, they could bend a male’s will, to an extent. There had to be a mutual understanding first. Yes, she’d been given the immortal gift, but her journey hadn’t been fulfilled.

She searched his face again. Desire radiated off him as did another emotion, but she couldn’t decipher it. She ached with physical need and pain. Michael leaned in, his warm breath mingling with hers. For a moment, she breathed easier. Venus watched his eyes widen, surprised, when he sensed the difference. She could’ve explained that the carbon dioxide he breathed out allowed her to breathe easier. He already believed she was different. Again, his memories entered her mind.
The Angel of Death
. Did he still think she would kill him? She realized his kiss might destroy her.

“Venus,” he whispered her name, feather soft.

“Yes?” She hadn’t meant for her response to come out like a sigh, but her name on his lips . . . She’d never really liked her name. Her parents had named her after a planet within Earth’s solar system and a goddess created by humans. A goddess of love, no less.

When Michael said her name, though, for the first time, she didn’t mind it so much. Thought she might cry. Again, Venus was stunned that this was the same boy who so recently despised her.

Venus closed her eyes. Her body commanded him closer, urged him to kiss her, but her mind begged him to stop. He had to fall
in
love with Cheverly. Her life depended on it.

Kiss me.
She lifted a hand to his face, finding the long, thin scar. Her fingers brushed against it, as though she’d felt it many times before.

He shivered.

Leaning in, his lips brushed hers and for the briefest moment it was as if time, space and eternity stood still. Tenderness. Perfectly soft lips. His strong hands stroking her neck.

“Well, isn’t this sweet.” Sarcasm spread through the room so thick it separated her and Michael, a sharpened knife slicing butter.

“Mother, what are you doing home?” Michael jumped off the bed, placing himself between her and his mother.

“Nothing as fun as you.” She pushed her way past him and dropped a white shirt she’d been holding on the nightstand. “Hello, dear. Oh my, you won’t last long. You aren’t his type. Hawke men go for women with a bit more on top. Trust me.”

She looked different than she had in Michael’s memories. At the moment, she was dressed in a pale pink cashmere sweater and dark gray pants with matching suede heels. Her hair looked clean, bouncy and she had on make-up. She held a glass of wine and a cigarette in one hand. That was the same.

“Hello, Catherine,” Venus said, unable to help herself.

“You told her my name. That’s new. Well, my dear, at least you have manners even if you’re a tramp.” She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Mother!”

“Shut it. I’m going to have a conversation with the . . . girl.” She assessed Venus as though checking out meat in the grocery story.

Cigarette smoke and a strong perfume entered Venus’s nose. She held her breath, refusing to cough.

“Get out of my room.” Menace tore through the air. It frightened Venus, yet she also saw the strength in him. And felt a power, which she didn’t think Michael knew he possessed. In that moment, he reminded her of a Formytian. Chiseled biceps. Authority radiating from every pore. The way he stood tall despite everything he’d been through.

It occurred to her that the Gods, Ith and Aetha, had somehow known the potential in Michael. They were aware of him and had chosen him for a purpose. But why would they care? The reason had to be important. She’d have to mull over the possibilities later.

Catherine said, “Oh Michael, control yourself. You’re a man whore, just like your father. This girl is using you and you’re using her, I’m sure.” She turned to Venus, patted her thigh and said, “You don’t really care, do you, dear?”

Venus felt abruptly better.
How dare she?
Her anger and adrenaline rose making the pain in her leg subside. No one talked to her that way and got away with it. She swiveled her body, flinging her legs to the floor, barely missing Catherine’s smelly cigarette. Standing, she gave Michael a look, a swift apology, before she glared at his mother. “Catherine, I’m sorry your husband treated you the way he did. But, more than that I’m angry.” Venus stopped, forcing in some poisonous air and then continued. “Furious, in fact, that you talk to your son the way you do. Beyond irate that you don’t love him the way you should. But, truthfully, that’s between the two of you. Michael has chosen to stay and take what you give. I don’t blame him, not really.”

Catherine tried to stand. Her mouth making sputtering sounds, like a defunct car. Disbelief plastered over her face. She appeared shocked that a so-called child would speak to her in such a way. Venus leaned in, pushing her back down onto the bed.

“Stay where you are. Where I’m from, they bow before me or die. You should feel lucky to be alive. But if you ever speak to me in such a way again, I’ll make sure you’ll wish you were dead. Understand?” Venus bent, so they were face to face.

Catherine sat there, stunned. Her mouth remained in a circled O.

Venus asked again, vicious, “Do you understand?”

“Yes, I suppose—”

Venus noticed Catherine’s cigarette had burned all the way to the filter, a long line of ash dangling. Any second it’d fall all over her or the floor.

“Yes is all I require.”

She grabbed her clothes and boots from the foot of Michael’s bed.

“Venus, wait.” He gently touched her arm.

Unable to meet his gaze, she pressed past, ran down the stairs, and out the front door. She had no idea what Michael must be thinking. A part of her wanted him to stop her, or follow. But he didn’t. She couldn’t blame him. Venus understood family loyalties.

Outside, she stopped and ripped off the macaroni visitor necklace (no way in helker she would set foot back inside that school) and threw it into the grass. Then she stripped out of the rancid gym clothes, leaving them where they fell on the porch. Tawny wasn’t going to be getting her gym clothes back, at least not from her. If Michael wanted to return them, so be it. Tawny’s words mocked her. “You’re a lover not a fighter,” she’d said.

Venus let out a huff as her anger grew. Different scenarios in which she could make Tawny suffer, or Catherine or those who’d framed her . . . Hot tears stung her eyes and leaked onto her cheeks.

She dressed and then stood up straight. Tall. The way her mother had taught her to behave in difficult situations. Pushing down her sadness, she let out a breath. “Ggggrrrr!”

When her boots were buckled into place, she stepped onto the grass and made herself two promises. She’d never remove her Kelvieri Boots again, except to change or bathe and regardless of the situation, she’d never let anyone—humans and any other species she encountered—take advantage of her again.

“Humans,” she muttered.

A glossy black truck sped around the corner and came to a stop in front of Michael’s house. Dervinias rolled down the window. “Hey doof, get your alien assets in this truck. Now!”

In a manner much calmer than she felt, Venus sauntered toward the truck and got in. “Where have you two been?”

Catherine glared at her son. How dare he bring that girl into her house? She’d known immediately what Venus was. One of
them
. A single look at the girl’s leg revealed all of her secrets. That she’d almost kissed her son scared the hell out of her. The way Venus spoke, with such arrogance . . . She knew from experience that meant Venus came from royalty. Even worse. Michael had no idea what he’d become entangled in.

“Michael, don’t ever bring that girl into my house again. Got it?” she hissed quietly, standing next to him.

“What’s your problem?” Michael asked.

“Well, for one thing, what happened to your shirt? I found it on the floor.” Catherine grabbed it from the nightstand and stuck a finger in the singed hole.

Michael grabbed it away from her. “None of your business.”

“It is my business! Look, there’s something you should know. About that girl. About your father—“

“I don’t care about my father.” He stomped out of his room.

“Michael!”
Happy birthday, kid
.
I’m so sorry
.

Catherine sat back on Michael’s bed, noticed her cigarette had burned out. Ashes rested on the toe of a shoe.
Today of all days.
She madeevery effort not to think about what the bullet hole meant. She sighed, closed her eyes. “Perhaps today’s the day to tell you who your real father is.”

Venus heard the knock at the door and for the briefest moment thought she’d returned home. Stiff muscles, which constricted her body, reminded her otherwise. Her shin, where Tawny had kicked her, was still sore. The bed was
not
comfortable, especially when she couldn’t move about as she usually did. If she’d been on her journey, she would’ve slept on the ground or the back of Sadraden and still been more comfortable than she was right now, on this horrible, lumpy bed. With a sharp laugh, which wasn’t happy at all, she realized her journey would’ve been over by now, had she gone as planned.

Three. Two. One.
“What is it?” Venus growled.

“Phone’s for you.” Dervinias hollered from the hallway, way too chipper. “Cheverly wants to know if you want to hang out.” He opened the door. Venus hastily pulled the covers up to her chin.

“Dervinias. Leave!”

Ignoring her, he strolled in and sat on the edge of her bed with a bounce. “Really she wants to know how you feel about Michael. If you’re trying to put the moves on her guy. She hopes not because she likes you, but she’s willing to kick serious . . . butt—”

Venus raised her eyebrows at his distinct choice of word.

He chuckled. “I’m quoting her thoughts, V.”

She glared, trying to kick at him through the covers.

He shrugged and continued, “. . . if you put your scrawny paws on her man.” He watched Venus intently. She gave him her best crustie until he stuck out his tongue.

“Helker,” she swore, which lifted her spirits some. “You’re impossible. Give me that thing—cellular telephone.” She scrunched her face, unable to stop herself from cracking a tiny grin. “And stop calling me V.”

“It’s a cell or a phone. Don’t call it a cellular telephone. Makes you sound like you’re eighty-five.” He chuckled.

“Fine, give me
the phone
.”

“Oh, and you’d better be nice to Chev . . . V. She’s starting to get impatient. Beginning to wonder if you think you’re all that.” He pulled the phone from his pocket, pushed a button, and handed the phone to her with a smirk.

“Seriously?” She reached out and grabbed the phone from his hand, putting it to her ear at the same time.

“Retaliation,” he mouthed.

“Seriously what? Is this V?” Cheverly asked with a tone which sounded confused.

Holy Cret, what is the deal with V? Ugh!
Into the phone, she said, “Yes, this is Venus. Sorry about that. I was talking to the crazy alie—
Vinny
. He’s such a—he’s weird.” She waved him out of her room, but he wouldn’t leave, and the doof had a big ol’ grin on his face. Probably still reading whatever Cheverly was thinking. “Hang on a sec, Chev.” Venus put her hand over the phone and said to Dervinias, “Get out of my room. I mean it and stay out of—other places as well.” He finally left, closing the door behind him. “Hey, I’m back. So what’s up?”

“Vinny told me you like to ride. I have lots of horses and wondered if you wanted to join me?”

Venus’s heart lurched at the idea. She’d never ridden a horse before. Kelari had animals which were similar, four-legged. Of course nothing could compare to flying with an irrihunter, but it’d be nice.

“Cheese, V.” Cheverly sounded edgy. She heard a tap-tapping in the background.

Was she stomping her foot?
She secretly laughed at that, and the
cheese
comment. “Um, yeah, that sounds like fun. I’d love to.”

“Awesome. I thought we’d invite your brother and Vinny to come too. Is that cool?” She seemed hopeful. Venus wouldn’t mind having Zaren join them, but it wouldn’t be good to have Cheverly flirting with him. Obviously she had a little crush. Venus had a task to accomplish. Help Michael and Chev fall in love. Now was the time. Chev didn’t need further distractions, namely Zaren.

“Sounds great.” Venus paused a moment, gathering her courage. “Hey, what about inviting Michael?” She tried to sound casual, but knew it’d come out forced. Venus was beginning to understand why Zaren had been so worried that day on the mountain.

Focus, Princess
, she shouted internally, repeating Zaren’s words to herself.

Then she put a smile on her face figuring that would help. “Don’t you two have a thing going?”

“Um, sort of.” Venus heard Cheverly take a huge breath and blow it out. “I’ll give him a call. Great idea.”

“Fabu! When do you want to get together?” Venus tucked the phone against her ear and shoulder and started to braid a portion of her hair. Organize and reorganize. Braid and unbraid, anything to keep her fingers busy.

“Fabu? L.O.L., V. What? Were you born in like, 1968?”

Venus let out a nervous chuckle. She’d seen humans use the word. It hadn’t been that long ago, a few years. Lots of young kels had picked up on the word and used it often. “Nooooo,” she laughed.

“K, well anyway, can you be ready around one?”

“I can, but I’m not too sure about the pretty
boys
. I’ll force them to hurry.” Her neck started to kink, so she stopped braiding and held the phone, pulling all her hair away from her shoulders.

Cheverly giggled.

A grunt came from the other side of the door.
Dervinias.

“Yeah, tell them they’d better.”

“I will.”

“Rockin. I mean, fabu!” She giggled again.

Before Chev hung up, she gave Venus directions. She didn’t worry about writing them down since Venus figured at least one other alien listened in on their conversation. Bolting off the bed, she ran to the door. Dervinias was on the other side, waiting.

“How do you turn this thing off?”

He grabbed it from her. “Push the button with E.N.D. on it.” He shook his head in exasperation.

“Well, what’re you doing? Snoop.” Venus punched him in the arm.

“Do you have any idea what
you’re
doing?” Dervinias asked.

She was about to give him an arrogant retort when she realized he wasn’t joking. For the first time Venus really thought about it.

Formytians were trained with longswords and broadswords. She suddenly felt as though one of each had been shoved into her gut and twisted slowly, painfully and with fervor.

“Maybe you—”

“Where’s Zaren?” A nervous hiccup escaped. Venus wanted to cry, sob, sulk—be utterly sad. And she needed her Formytian. Where was he? “Zaren,” she yelled. “Zaren.”

Venus started running down the hall, but her foot caught on a ripped portion of the carpet. She ended up face planted. “Zaren,” she whispered. Fear. A word she’d heard, but hadn’t ever, before now, experienced. It gripped at her. Tore away all confidence and made her feel like a child—not a woman at all. Her body shook, incapable of pushing herself off the floor.

This wasn’t possible. None of it. She’d never find out who’d done this to her. Never see her parents or her sister. She’d never see her home again. Some treacherous kelarian had sent her to this world. The Gods had given her a task so basic and yet completely impossible to accomplish. In that moment, she knew she’d fail. And in the next she wanted to kill the kelarian who’d done this to her—to those she loved. Hate consumed her, burned her insides. How she longed to find those who’d framed her and make them pay.

“Venus. Princess, I’m here.” Zaren lifted her into his arms, firm skin pressed against hers. With the touch of his body, her hate subsided.

“I can’t do this. It’s too much. I won’t succeed. Whoever did this to me, they’ve won.”

Tears poured from her eyes, down her cheeks. Even if she wanted to be embarrassed it would’ve been no use. The defeat, crushing. All she could do was sob. Venus didn’t want to try anymore.

Maybe I should give up and let myself die.
Despair filled every ounce and crevice of her being.

Zaren carried her into the bedroom he and Dervinias shared, then turned and kicked the door closed with one of his bare feet. His usually benevolent eyes bore into hers. Venus noticed his jaw clenched.

“Are you finished?” He walked over to his bed and dropped her . . . like a sack of potatoes.

Venus scrambled into a sitting position, gazed at his face, searching for answers. “Zaren?” His name was all she could think to say while she waited. Venus blinked away her tears, incredulous. She wasn’t accustomed to his displeasure being directed at her—so forceful.

“I’ve been trying to stay out of your mind, be respectful, but I can’t take any more of this wallowing. You want to give up and die?! Ridiculous. The past couple of days I’ve watched you move from one bad decision to another, waiting for you to come and talk to me, wondering when you’d ask me for direction. I’ve been your Formytian nearly all your life. I’ve kept you safe. Yet I’ve felt honor bound to wait and watch in silence. No more.”

He ground his teeth as though he were holding back more. The whole time he paced in front of her in only a pair of green and white striped pajama pants.

As he walked he’d squeeze and then stretch out his hands, causing his sleek biceps, triceps and peck muscles to flex. Venus couldn’t help but be captivated by him. Magnificent. He was right though. She hadn’t gone to him. She’d done what she wanted, when she felt like it.

“I’m s—”

He came over to the bed and sat next to her, placing a finger to her lips. Fresh lemons and honey—the fragrance on his fingers. Venus imagined tasting those flavors on his lips. He loved tea, like an old man. How old was he in kelarian years? One hundred? Maybe not that old.

He chortled. “I’m seventy-eight. Hardly an old man.”

His intense green eyes locked on hers. Once again a stirring tugged at her. Zaren was hers!
All mine!
Her body sang with the physical desires of a human. She’d never understood, before coming to Earth, what humans went through. Now, with all of the physical needs she experienced, she’d begun to appreciate, to some degree, why they did the crazy things they did. Problem was, she knew most of the time it wasn’t love, though obviously humans used that as an excuse. Everything she’d felt in the past two days appeared to be purely physical.

What is true love?
Venus had no idea. Perhaps she should find out. See what it looked like. At least read up on it.

Zaren shook his head.

“Were you following that?” She laughed, nervous, hoping he’d read her mind this time.

He nodded. “Yes. Sorry, I’ll try harder not too.”

Venus shook her head. It didn’t matter.

“I want to show you something that I think—hope—will help. May I?” He appeared to be anxious, but determined to demonstrate.

Venus kept her eyes on his face. “Yes.” The word came out a throaty whisper. She had on only a light blue cotton tank and matching boy shorts, but she wasn’t cold. Quite the contrary, she felt warm.

“Lie down and close your eyes.” Venus did as he commanded. Excitement raced through her veins.

The bed squeaked with the pressure of his body. He drew near causing her heart to beat hard, fast—it drowned out everything else . . . until his lips touched her wrist.

It was as though he’d struck a match. Zaren placed a hand under her arm and moved his lips, gently grazing his teeth against her skin. Slowly, he moved up her inner arm until he reached the crease at her elbow. Her body shuddered. As he moved, with each touch, like kindling, the fire in her body grew stronger with need. Venus wanted to sit up and touch him, but he had his other arm across her body, holding her in place, stroking her face, her hair. Finally she couldn’t take it anymore, thought she’d burst with pleasure.

“Zaren.”

He stopped, his eyes raking hers.

Venus sat up, grasping his shoulders and then moved her hands down his arms.

“Princess.” The word came out ragged with hunger, need.

Venus shifted to her knees so her face was above his, her long hair a curtain surrounding them. His eyes kept shifting back and forth, searching hers, looking for what, she wasn’t sure. All she could think about was his lips on hers, her body touching his and his arms around her.

She stroked his full lips with her fingers, felt his breath against them. Venus lowered her mouth over his . . . and he slid away.

“Zaren,” she whispered, feeling her heart wrench in pain. He held her at arm’s length, as though she were poisonous. Her heart wrenched again.

“Why?”

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to toy with you. I . . . need you to understand the difference between physical attraction and emotional connection.” He rubbed a hand over his face. When he moved it away, he appeared calmer.

She sank back onto the bed, her body still throbbing. Aching. But she was also annoyed. “I see. So what you’re saying is that any guy can make me feel this way given the right circumstances? And, that I don’t feel anything but physically attracted to you?”

He gazed at her, steady. Strong. A reminder of the Formytian she’d come to rely upon over the years. Unwavering. It angered her further. Slapping his perfect face crossed her mind.
How’s that for strong?
Before she could, he turned and picked up a t-shirt from the floor and put it on. The shamrock green shirt appeared worn and was probably dirty. Venus stared openmouthed. That was so not Zaren.

“Are you feeling okay?”

He turned back to her. The shirt he’d put on said Lucky across the chest. She resisted the temptation to snicker and searched his face, waiting.

His features softened. “I’ve been better.” He gave her a half grin, which she found irresistible and continued, “To answer your questions, I don’t think any guy could make you feel that way. Take, for instance, Dervinias. Would he be able to come in here and do what I did to you and have the same results?”