Sea of Stars (17 page)

I nod my head expressionlessly, acknowledging his words. It takes a second for relief to flood me and with it, the unbearable need to weep. I hold it back.

“Are you thirsty?” Jax asks me, pulling a canteen from his pack. He offers it to me. I nod silently, taking the canteen and putting it to my lips. Swallowing big gulps helps to ease the rawness of my throat.

“Here,” Jax says, taking the canteen from me and shoving a protein bar into my hand.

My stomach rebels against the thought of putting it in my mouth. “I can’t eat—”

Ignoring my protest, Jax nudges my arm up, urging me to eat it. “It’s not the same kind as the ones we ate in the Forest of O. Those were especially made to ward off parasites—this one is just nutritious. You need to eat it—your stomach is completely empty—you’re
literally
starving. Do you want to be the weakest link on our team?”

He knows me too well. I sniff the protein bar tentatively. It smells like peanut butter. I take a bite and find it tastes good. I chew it slowly, worried that my stomach will reject it.

Jax glances at Trey; they both visibly relax a little. Jax’s eyes return to me again. “Lean back against the pillows, Kricket,” Jax says while unrolling a canvas medical pack full of vials that are each secured by an elastic band. I try to move to follow his request, but I’m achy. I wince.

Trey moves beside me onto the bed, gently pulling me back with his arm around my shoulders. He leaves his arm there, bracing me against himself. Jax lifts up my ankle, examining the bottom of my foot. He selects an aerosol-like can from among the vials. Pointing it at my foot, he sprays it generously over the area. It instantly numbs the bottom of my foot. He presses on that area with his finger. “Do you feel this?” Jax asks, while probing the cuts I suffered while running over broken glass.

“I feel pressure, but I wouldn’t call it pain,” I reply. I feel far away, like none of this is real.

“Good. Keep eating,” he grunts. He uses a tweezerslike implement to extract a piece of glass embedded there. Blood drips off my heel, teardrops of red on the lavender-colored blanket. Jax’s brow furls as he concentrates on his task. Finally, he drops a jagged, bloody shard of glass onto the coverlet, unconcerned that it will probably stain the beautiful silk. He probes for more glass, but finding none, he rests the tweezers on the bed next to the glass.

Wrapping a cloth around my foot, Jax applies pressure to it. Selecting a silver tube from his pack, he unwraps my foot and smears ointment inside and around the lacerated area. Taking out a clean bandage, he diligently covers my wound before letting my foot return to the bed. He quickly lifts my other foot off the bed and performs the same action. When he rests my other foot against the cover once more, they’re both wrapped in bandages.

All my thoughts are far away when Jax looks up at me again. “I’m sorry that hurt you. Here,” he says softly, extending a clean bandage for me to take.

I look at it in confusion. My breath hitches as I say, “You didn’t hurt me.” I realize then that I’m crying. Tears are running over my cheeks, dripping off my jaw.

Trey takes the bandage from him and wipes my face with it. He rises from the bed to gather the blanket he was sitting on, pulling it over me. He returns to my side, snuggling up next to me and spooning me with his large frame while I cry big, racking sobs that I can’t control. Jax packs up his gear; he turns to leave but pauses instead.

Coming back to the bed, Jax squats down so that we’re eye level. “You saved our lives, Kricket. We would’ve died in our cells if you hadn’t gotten us help. Thank you. Get some rest. I’ll check on you again soon. ” He kisses my hair tenderly. I sniffle in response.

When Jax is gone, I hear Trey say behind me, “The Alameeda won today. They pulled us out of the sky, but that won’t defeat Rafe, just as it won’t defeat us. We’re together again. What were two is now one.” His warmth seeps into me and I find it hard to keep my eyes from closing.

Soft male voices flow around me, moving me toward the surface. My heavy eyelids open reluctantly. I recognize Jax and Wayra seated in the plush, high-backed chairs that they’ve turned and pulled nearer to the bed. Trey is sitting next to me on the mattress, facing them. Between the three, they have a 3-D map of the city blocks. Trey is pointing to a highlighted section that seems to be beneath the streets. Trying to focus on what they’re saying gives me a headache. My eyes lift to the window wall beyond them; it’s still opaque—I can’t see anything outside.
How long have I been asleep?

I lift my head, but my neck is really stiff, so I don’t attempt to turn it. Groaning, I lie back onto the pillow. They all look up from what they’re doing to stare at me. Trey’s hand touches my hip. “How do you feel?” He strokes me lightly.

“Tired,” I murmur. I don’t recognize my voice as being mine. I sound ancient.

Wayra and Jax both get to their feet. Wayra lifts the Alameeda gun; I recognize it as the one I stole from Keenan after I tranquilized him. He comes to my side, bending down to look in my eyes. “You hungry?” he asks me with a concerned expression. “I found some venish—I’ll share it with you.”

I frown, my eyes closing involuntarily as I say, “You’re gonna share your venish with me? I must be dying.”

A surprised laugh comes from Jax at my comment. “Don’t scare her like that, you knob knocker.” His voice is soothing as he adds, “You’ll be okay, Kricket. You just need to rest.”

I want to say something else, but I’m so tired that I just listen to their soft voices as they go back to discussing our position in relation to our enemy.

C
HAPTER 10

E
AST OF EDEN

I
t’s
dark in the room when I wake. Rolling over, I find Trey asleep next to me in one of the plush chairs that he pulled up close to the bed. He has his hand near the barrel of a Kaiser Gat that is leaning against the side of the chair. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in a while. Not wanting to wake him, I slide over the mattress slowly and move toward the opposite side of the large bed. My joints are stiff when I get to my feet. I pause, realizing that the bandages that wrapped them are gone now. I don’t know when they were removed, but as I take a few steps, I can tell that the wounds I had are nearly healed. Jax and his horabus plant ointment are miracle workers.

When I near a large bureau on my way back to bed from the Commodus, I pause. Movement from within a gilded frame catches my eye. A video is playing within the frame, which is arranged in a place of prominence among a few others in the middle of the beautiful wood surface. I recognize two of the figures in it immediately as being those of Trey and Victus, Trey’s twin. They’re on either side of a very beautiful young woman. Each brother has his arm wrapped around her shoulder. There’s no sound as Trey mouths the word
One
, the girl next to him mouths the word
Two
, and just after her, Victus mouths the word
Three
. Trey and Victus turn and kiss the girl on the cheek at the same time. Laugh lines form around her eyes as she closes them, giggling, exposing a very attractive set of dimples. Then, Trey and Victus both lift their lips from her at the same time, running away from the frame as she opens her eyes with a stunning grin. The picture resets again and it replays the same scene over and over as I stare at it.

I glance back to the chair. Trey still sleeps, hardly making any noise at all. Numbly, I change direction, walking to the lavare attached to the bedroom. I close the door to it when I’m over the threshold. Leaning against the door frame, I notice that the entire wall ahead of me is mirrored, the reflection interrupted only by a glass vanity countertop.

My image stares back at me, but I hardly recognize her. She’s so pale and haunted—something wild and savage, but not unbeautiful—no—she may be even more so because of the lack of civility to be found there. But she looks nothing like the girl in the frame. They don’t even seem like they belong on the same planet.

I go to the mirror, wondering what it is that Trey can possibly see in me if that girl in the picture is actually Charisma, his ex-fiancée. Deep down, I know that she is.
She looks like the sweetest thing ever to walk Ethar, and I broke them up.
That thought doesn’t make me feel good.

I gather my hair back from my face, trying to comb it with my fingers. It does no good, so I give up and touch the countertop with my hand instead. With my finger on the glass surface, I draw a square. The movement activates a recessed compartment in the vanity. A medicine cabinet rises from the surface of the glass. I’m not at all disappointed by the treasure trove of feminine products lining the glass ledges. I do, however, have a Goldilocks moment when I think about the fact that this all belongs to someone else.

I try not to dwell on it as I choose a vial that contains something akin to mouthwash. Tipping the pink liquid to my lips, I swish some of it around in my mouth. As I touch my hand against the glass countertop again, I use my three fingers to draw squiggly lines over the surface, the symbol for water. The countertop opens up, revealing a small sink. I spit out the mouthwash and watch it swirl down the drain.

Next, I select an aerosol can from the many colorful scents and bottles aligned in the compartment. Lifting my arms, I spray the aerosol on my armpits one at a time. The small hairs melt away instantly, leaving my skin smooth to the touch. I pull up each pant leg and apply the spray liberally to my legs. It leaves them hairless and shiny, like they’re coated in a moisturizing aloe.

After straightening my pant legs, I replace the aerosol can on the shelf. I realize that it’ll take more than dry shampoo to tame my hair, so I clean the countertop, putting everything back into the compartment. Drawing a square in the reverse direction allows the compartment to be absorbed once more by the countertop.

Avoiding the posh porcelain spa tub, with its complex buttons and controls, I turn on the water in the luxurious shower. Steam rolls up, clouding the shower doors. Fans click on, whisking the hot air away so that the rest of the room doesn’t get overly steamy.

In front of the mirror once again, I attempt to peel off my dingy shirt that was once white, but now has several different smudges of brown, dull red, and gray. I grasp the hem to pull it over my head, making my ribs ache just enough so that I wince and pause. Weakly, I drop my arms, breathing heavily.

The water to the shower turns off. Behind me, Trey moves away from the glass partition. He’s looking at the floor, at the sticky, ointment footprints I’ve left on the pristine white tile. Without a word he walks to the gigantic spa tub and activates it. It’s not like a normal one, taking several minutes to fill from a spout. No, not at all like that. Water comes up from the floor of the tub, filling it to capacity in a matter of moments. Steam curls up invitingly. From his pocket, he produces a small vial. He unstops it and pours the liquid into the water.

I must look confused, because he says, “Jax gave me this. It’s for your skin—to help heal any of the cuts you may still have. He also gave me this.” He holds up another vial. “It’s for pain.”

“I don’t need that one,” I murmur, nodding my head toward the additional vial. I need to stay lucid; dropping my guard now is ludicrous. We’re hidden in plain sight here. We can’t count on this position to harbor any real shelter—not for much longer, anyway.

“You’re in pain. You can hardly lift your arm up,” Trey observes.

“It’s not that bad—really—I’m just a little stiff is all.”

“How am I to know that when you minimize everything that happens to you?”

“I don’t do that—”

“You do,” he counters in a quiet way. He believes it. He must be upset about what I asked Jax when we arrived—about whether or not I’d been raped. I look away from the mirror for a moment. Right now, I don’t want to talk about the interrogation or anything that has gone on in the last few days. I want to pretend like none of this is happening—like we’re not at war. The thought of Kyon is enough to make my stomach ache. He’s probably out there hunting for me, and there’s nothing I can do about it except hide from him.

I try to reel in my thoughts and change the subject. “How long have I been asleep?” I look at my wringing hands.

“Almost two rotations.”

I glace back to the mirror to see his expression. It hasn’t changed from his look of concern. “Should we have moved from here by now?” I ask with an uneasy grimace.

“We couldn’t—”

“Because of me?” I ask worriedly.

He shakes his head. “No. The enemy has occupied the city just east of here and they have positions north and south. There’s resistance fighting just outside the city limits—Rafe troops are mobilizing there.”

“Oh,” I say. I should want to know more, but I don’t. I’m afraid to know more.

Trey waits for me to ask questions. When I don’t, he grows more concerned. His voice is softly soothing as he says, “We’re safe for now, and that’s not likely to change soon. We’ll know before it does, and then we’ll leave.”

“You promise?” I fiddle with the countertop, closing the sink with a wave of my fingers on the glass.

“I promise,” he vows.

“Do you have a plan just in case?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding.

“Is it a good plan?”

“The best of plans.”

“Is it better than crossing fields at night occupied by saers with only a recurve?”

“Much better than that plan,” he says with a reluctant smile. “And we have much better food this time.”

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Okay then.”

“Why didn’t you wake me when you got up? I could’ve helped you,” Trey asks.

I wave my hand dismissively. “You looked exhausted. Have you slept more than a few parts since we’ve been here?”

“I’ve gotten rest here and there.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

In the mirror, he grows larger as he moves nearer until he towers over me. He stops just a breadth away, but I feel him as if we’re touching. His closeness is a physical thing, pulling me to him. Warmth radiates from him, enveloping me. I lean back against his broad chest. He bends his neck so the new growth from his beard tickles my throat, sending a shiver crashing through me. My cheeks flush, adding color to them as he reaches for the hem of my shirt.

“Your ribs are still healing—let me help you with this.” He begins to lift the fabric up when I cover his hands with mine. It’s so intimate, letting him undress me, I don’t know if I can handle it. I struggle to meet his eyes in the mirror.

When I do, he says, “It’s just me, Kricket. Lift your arms.” The earnestness of his request wars with my senses. Before I met him, I never let anyone help me do anything.

Slowly, I obey, raising my arms up. He ratchets the hem of my dingy shirt. I wince again, sucking in my breath when the stiff lining in it scraps against my bruised flesh. Trey’s large hand covers my fragile ribs, holding them firmly beneath my bared breast. The pressure is just enough to relieve the ache from them as he pulls my shirt over my head with his other hand. His thumb brushes the lower edge of my breast when I drop my arms. His forearm covers my nipples while he pulls me against him once more. I close my eyes as my skin reacts to his against my bare flesh. When I open them, he’s watching me in the mirror, his eyes dark and unreadable.

He sweeps my hair off my neck, directing it over one shoulder. I watch him in the mirror as he leans down and brushes his lips over my back. He kisses my bruises, like he’d take them from me if he could.

“It’s okay, they don’t hurt—”

He pauses but doesn’t look at me when he says harshly, “It’s not okay. I will never be okay with this.”

Trey turns me around to face him. His hand reaches up to entwine in my hair; it tilts my face up to his. He kisses me softly, afraid that he’ll hurt me. When I kiss him back, my tongue stroking his, the need within him becomes increasingly apparent. His kisses become bolder, unrestrained, as if he’ll extract some kind of retribution for the time that was stolen from us.

His touch fills me with yearning; I ache to wrap myself around him—to hang on tight. My heart flutters with desire and fear at the all-consuming feel of it.
You can’t need him this much
, my paper heart warns me.
If it doesn’t last, and it can’t last—you know that—how will you survive the loss of him?

I ignore those feverish thoughts. My bare skin presses to him, rubbing against the soft fabric of his shirt. This isn’t simple infatuation that I can just ignore, hold my breath, and hope to have pass. It’s something that I can no longer protect myself against.
If something happens to him now, it happens to me as well.
The thought scares me to death.
I’ve always been better off alone—always.
That thought comes with a squeezing of my heart that is hard to ignore.
I don’t want to be alone anymore, not when I can be with him.

My arms come up to wrap around the back of his neck. Trey reaches down, lifting me off the floor, his arm under the backs of my knees. The thick bones of his forearm and the muscles of his bicep press me gently against his chest; I feel the power he controls beneath his skin. My fingers play over his strong shoulders, the breadth of which seems to go on forever. His assault on my lips continues; they’re more cathartic than if I were to slink into the corner alone to cry. Trey’s hand moves from the nape of my neck to stroke a path over my back. He turns away from the mirror, taking me to the sunken tub.

My pink-painted toes lower to the soft white carpet when he sets me on my feet again. The spell is broken for a moment while our lips part; I want to stay in his arms to keep any fear from creeping back in. His hands slip down my sides, and with them a shiver washes an intense wave over me, making me aware of nothing but him.

His fingers glide beneath the waistband of my black pants, sliding them off as his fingers move over me. I make a soft noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. At the sound, Trey’s eyes darken. His hand cups my bottom, squeezing me and pressing me against him. Something within the core of me clenches exquisitely tight. My hand clutches his chest, gathering the material of his shirt to steady me.

I move my legs to step out of my pants, letting them pool under my feet. When I do, I’m aware of my nakedness. Biting my lip, I meet Trey’s gaze. He looks me over; his stare makes me feel bold and shy at the same time. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, I pull it up to expose his abdomen. He accommodates me by yanking the material off over his head, dropping it by my clothes. My fingertips float over the deep vee of muscles that leads to the waistband of his pants. His hand covers mine as he takes one and brings it to his lips, kissing it.

“Kricket.” He breathes my name like he’s blowing on tinder to start a fire. Lifting me up in his arms again, he eases me into the spa tub. With his hand under my arm, he steadies me. I submerge in water that reaches to my shoulders. There’s a bench lining the perimeter of the bath, I stand next to it with the heat of the water turning my skin from pale to a soft pink.

Leaning my head back, I soak my hair, dampening it. Trey strips off his trousers and enters the spa behind me. He sits on the bench and draws my back to his chest, so I’m on his lap. I gaze up at the high ceiling, my head resting against his neck. The scent of him makes the blood run faster in my veins.

Trey touches a few buttons on the panel beside us; a compartment lined with glass bottles emerges from a recessed portion of the tile. The bottles look like potions from some long-ago apothecary in different shapes and colors. He selects one of the stout, red bottles, unstopping it and pouring a small portion of it into the palm of his hand. After rubbing his palms together, he gently touches them to my hair, lathering it and working cinnamon-scented soap into each strand. When he’s finished, I twist so that I face him. I rinse my hair by leaning my head back into the water once more.