Sea of Stars(2)

 My stomach clenches with fear as I listen to the hum of the aircraft. The sound resembles that of the Alameeda warships that swarmed the palace last night; my hand trembles on the glass. I focus on the clouds beyond the edge of the city to calm myself. They’re so thick that if I knew how to swim I might attempt it within their depths.

 As Trey paces near me, his image in the glass becomes sharper. I turn and lean my back against the window, crossing my arms over my chest. He moves in front of a white-cushioned, horseshoe-shaped divan. It’s built into the sunken, recessed level of his impressive apartment. This area, divided from the main floor by a few black marble steps, is a gathering area for entertaining. Above our heads is a glass balcony that overlooks this common area from his bedroom. It has an amazing view of the wall of glass behind me.

 When Trey pauses in his pacing for a moment, the shadows from the violence of yesterday are visible in his eyes—a new world-weary look that I haven’t seen from him until now. The blind faith in his mission that was there when I first met him is absent. I’ve been the catalyst for that change. When he found me in Chicago, he was so certain that he was doing the right thing by remanding me back to Ethar, the planet and culture from which my parents hid me. He was a soldier then, one who just wanted to accomplish his mission and move on to the next thrill. Now he has doubts—I’ve caused him to worry—I’ve caused him to change.

 Trey’s frown deepens as he listens to the communicator pressed to his ear. Whatever Wayra is telling him is not something he wants to hear. The frustration is clear in his tense shoulders as he resumes pacing back and forth. He’s been like this ever since my scheduled meeting with Skye Council this morning was abruptly canceled without explanation. Not long after that, Trey had received a message on his communicator. He wouldn’t show it to me, but it had him sending Jax and Wayra, my other military bodyguards, away to facilitate a meeting with Head Defense Minister Vallen, Trey’s boss. Now Wayra must have some information to report, since he’s been briefing Trey for several minutes.

 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.