“I can’t take this,” I say, afraid of such a gift as this. It’s a family heirloom and I don’t even know if his family will accept me. “You can’t give me this.”
“I already gave it to you. You can’t give it back,” he counters, setting the starcross back on top of the bracelet. He touches the middle of the star-shaped metal; it slides back inside its home within the bracelet, concealed by the crest once more.
My fingertips pass over the etched crest on top of the bracelet reverently; it’s the Allairis crest. I’ve seen it on a ring that Victus wears. “But you saved me on the skywalk and at the palace. You’ve saved my life more times than I’ve saved yours.” I try to take the bracelet off so I can hand it back to him.
He won’t help me remove it. Instead, his hand covers mine on the silver bracelet. “It’s my job to protect you—not only as a Cavar, but as your intended consort.”
That’s stupid machismo thinking. “And I’m not supposed to protect you in return?” I ask.
He blinks. “Well . . . no.”
“I’ll never understand you people,” I murmur in frustration.
“Yes, you do,” he replies, taking my hand in his. “You live by a code. So do we.”
“You know my code?” I ask him.
“I’m getting to know it.”
“Really?”
“From an early age, you’ve learned never to trust anyone but yourself. You let almost no one help you, but the ones you do allow into your life have special significance to you: you love them, even when sometimes you wish that you didn’t. Because when you love someone, Kricket, it means you’re completely loyal to that person, you’ll sacrifice anything for him—even your life. How am I doing so far?”
I shrug, noncommittal. “So you fancy yourself a code hacker?”
“On occasion,” he replies.
“I used to have a simpler code.”
“Let me guess: I’m an island.”
“Something like that. It wasn’t working out for me as well as I would’ve liked.”
“If it’s any consolation, I’m shipwrecked on your island. To use your words: deal with it.”
We’re interrupted then by music streaming in from the amazing sound system within the walls. Drex approaches me by the side of my chair. “I pulled the watch shift with Hollis. We’d like our dance now.”
Drex pulls me into an area next to the dining room. Thanks to my private tutor, Tofer, I’m well acquainted with all of their popular formal dances, as well as some of the informal ones. Drex chooses an informal dance called the Hop Step, which is literally a really fast hop-step-clap kind of dance. I’m quickly passed around from dance partner to dance partner, until my cheeks are rosy and I’m out of breath.
The tempo of the music slows and I find myself in Trey’s arms. The Cavars have all suspiciously cleared out and left us alone in the elegant room. I don’t think that what we’re doing now can be called dancing by the standards of either Ethar or Earth. Trey’s hand strokes my hair as I rest my head on his solid chest; we sway to the rhythm as the music plays.
It’s late when Trey gets into bed. Stretching out beneath the blankets, he pulls me against him, burying his nose in my hair. His skin is cold, like he’s been outside and he smells of night air. I turn toward him and smile sleepily. “Hi,” I whisper.
“I love that word,” he says. “It used to make me look up for something high, did you know that?”
I giggle and shake my head. “I didn’t,” I admit.
“Now I know that it’s your way of greeting people, but you say it differently to me,” he says, smiling.
“I do?”
“Yes. You say it breathlessly to me,” he explains.
“Well that’s because I haven’t really been saying ‘hi’ to you; I’ve been saying: ‘I love you.’”
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.”