Carden’s face remains even, no smile or implication of the jolliness he usually displays. That is, until his mother is gone.
I snort. “Are you really happy here?”
Nodding, he says, “I have that answer. I am!” Blond eyebrows lift high over his eyes, and his entire face lifts as he smiles bigger. “Do I not look happy?”
I look away from him, to the winding sidewalk that leads further through the garden. “You do.” Small humming birds buzz and fly about, shaking pollen from their wings. “What’d Highrum do with the bees?” We have bees back home that take up this duty, so what’s with the birds? Not to mention, it’s nighttime.
“Oh,” Carden chirps, “the bees. I have this answer as well. Many are allergic to bees in Highrum, but they are a dire necessity to the longevity of the land. My mother also hates the things. So we genetically engineered these birds to take on the task. They only come out at night, and they are quite interesting to watch.” He leans in and whispers, “People also don’t swat them.”
They’ve always played the Maker, first with humans, now with the animals. “So what is a consort? Why is it yours?”
Carden’s eyes light up, and his shoulders sag as he breathes. “I was nervous about your questions, but I seem to have all the answers so far,” he cheers to himself, pumping his balled fist in the air. “Although I have this answer, it was not supposed to be addressed until you decided if you will leave your life as a Creation to live here.”
“What is it?” I push.
“A companion. You may be more familiar with the term husband and wife. Or spouse.”
I fumble over my words and babble, “No,” with a slight shake to my head.
“No? If you consider it, Just Kylie. Why not?”
“Well, for starters,” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, “I don’t know you.”
Interlocking his fingers as he folds his hands, Carden cheers. “This is great news!”
I sneer. “How?”
“You have considered coming to stay. If being my consort is the only thing you’d like to contest, that is something we can work on at a later time. I can work with that. After you’re here, we can go on dates to get to know each other better. This is something they do with Breeders and Dyads that—”
“I know what a date is.” I cut him off.
“Perfect! Then the idea of one shouldn’t make you uncomfortable. We will spend time together. You will spend time with my family. I will make sure you are comfortable before I propose.” He nods quickly, and his words rush from him as he lays out his plan. “You will say yes,” he states matter-of-factly. “I will see to it that you are happy. My only ask is that you understand my position as Leader of the Guidance. My time will never be split. The America must come first, and then I will see to your needs.”
Once he stops talking, the pinch tightening in the back of my neck eases. How many different variations of stupid does this guy take me for? If Luke were here, he’d punch him in the throat without thinking about the consequences. What person plans out another’s life to this extent? Maybe I should punch him in the throat…
“I am sensing your discomfort, Just Kylie.” He grabs my hand. “Hmm,” his brows knit. “You have oddly soft hands. Have you been fighting all your life?”
“I like to use lotion,” I say, leering at him from the corner of my eyes, skeptical of what he’s going to do with my hand.
“Me too! I love the stuff. It comes in a million scents. Now, tell me, how does my hand feel to you?”
I shrug and look to my left, pause, then look back at him. “Like a hand.”
“Is it soft, rough, odd?”
“Definitely odd.” It’s far too soft, skinny, and tiny. Its weight is equal to mine and the same size. “I don’t exceptionally like its texture or that it’s touching me.”
Carden frowns for a split second before his smile returns. His well-chiseled jawline and perfectly structured nose makes him look like something off a billboard, and he’s far more attractive when he’s not smiling, though not enough for me to be attracted. There’s also something in the way he looks at me. Like his mother, maybe aspiration. But it’s not affection, sexual or even attraction. It’s like the way I ogle at a new weapon when I’m interested in seeing what it can do or how it will feel in my hands.
Carden rubs his thumb over my knuckles, asking, “How would you prefer for my hand to feel, Kylie?”
I turn his hand over in mine and glide my fingers from the bottom of his palm to his fingertips. Turning down the corners of my mouth, I say, “I’d like for your fingertips to be smooth, for the edges of your palms to be rough, calloused, and for the very center of your palm…” I press my finger to the center of his palm where no embellishments change the texture of his skin. “Here, as is, smooth, soft. Palm lines translucent even.” I try not to close my eyes as the memory of the only hold capable of being perfect in my hand surfs through my mind.
In that person’s palm, I’d dance in circles in the middle of it like one of those mesmerizing performers would slowly spin with their arms arched over their heads. And when he’s finished watching me, he could ball me in his fist and tuck me away for later. I pinch my smile in the twist of my lips. Lifting my gaze, the eyes I meet aren’t the purple I expect, and I drop his hand and retract a step.
Carden, smiling ear to ear, asks, “How can I accomplish this?”
Clearing my throat, I swallow the discomfort I brought on myself. “You’d have to be a Creation.” I head for the door.
Carden, too lightly, grabs my hand back. “I think I see where you are going with this. Please, have a seat.” His smile fades, and relief washes over me. “Marcain the Creation.”
“What about him?” I scoff, curling my upper lip at the mention of his name. Or rather to give off the reaction I know I should be feeling toward him.
“Are his palms rough and fingers tips soft?”
I shrug and flick my gaze to the starless sky. “I wouldn’t know.”
Carden sighs. “Okay. Then are you now upset because I don’t? Because I am not like you?”
“I…I just don’t know you all that well,” I lie.
“Can you get to know me?”
The glass doors swing open. Marc and Sean enter the garden, their gazes landing on Carden holding my hand.
I perk up, smiling as I agree with a nod. “Of course. Would it be okay if we finished this conversation later?”
“Of course, Just Kylie. I can give you all the time you need. Seek me out should you have other questions. I will do my best to answer them.”
I laugh once. “Kylie. Not Kylie the Creation or Just Kylie. I can’t be your, uh cortes, um, contact. What is it?”
“Consort,” Marc answers irritably.
“Yes,” I say with a smile and a point. “Thank you. Carden, I cannot be your consort if you cannot properly address me.”
“Yes, Ky-lie,” he enunciates. I would like you to be comfortable. At least consider everything as you sleep tonight. Don’t leave for home without talking to me first.” His smile returns. “You will also be free of this vest.” He frowns and plucks a loose string from the left shoulder strap. “Is hugging inappropriate? I would like to hug you and kiss your cheek.”
I hide my cringe, dreading the contact. But the figures in my periphery witnessing the action make it worth the temporary discomfort, and I don’t want to reveal my discontent to the three of them. I lean forward and lightly press my lips to Carden’s hairless cheek. His face smells of peppermint and cranberries. It’s far too soft and smooth, just like his hands. “Have a good night, Carden,” I say as I draw back.
He blushes, smiling even brighter than his original beam. “Good night, dear Kylie.” He brings my hand to his lips. “I shall impatiently await our meeting again tomorrow.” Finally, he releases my hand, and I drag the back of my hand over my pant leg when he turns to our visitors. “Marcain the Creation,” he says with a greeting nod. “And his twin. Good
night to you two.” Carden throws his hand up to the corner of his mouth, blocking the two from overhearing, and mumbles to me, “This Creation isn’t as bright as you are. He can’t get my name right to save his life.” Carden trots pasts Marc and Sean leaving enough space between them to ensure they don’t touch.
Ew! I wipe the back of my hand over my pant leg again. Carden’s presence is sticky. He can be fun, like I learned when we were visiting for the Premier’s celebration, but today I can feel him around me, and I didn’t notice it until he left.
It may be something I’ll have to grow used to though. Should I stay here, I’ll be around him more often.
“I will leave you to it, Marc. I can watch the door.” Sean goes back inside.
I had planned on leaving, but the more the thought settles to return to the room, the more tired I become, and I can’t imagine sleeping. I’d tear the room in two.
Marc and I are left in the night, crowded by the intimate setting of the lights in the ground that shine up through the pillar-like bushes. The engrossing floral aroma of the blooming pink flowers and the fresh breeze only adds to the most engrossing atmosphere.
I take the winding sidewalk, heading deeper into the garden, quickly finding myself lost in a maze. The bushes are so tall it’s impossible to see over them. I’ve hit three dead ends so far and the small, white flowers tickle my nose. I turn left to go back the way I came. The flowers planted on this path are red and pink without a scent. They remind me of Fein for some reason.
I’m still shocked by how Arletta was so easily convinced Fein was mixed and wanted her dead. If the pink Vojin’s information has any merit, and the Guidance is working alongside the Vojin to potentially eliminate Creations, there’s something greater going on here that I won’t be able to work out back in Desert Hills. That letter put a level of responsibility in my hands, and I want to—I need to—deliver.
I’ll have to be here to fix this, maybe change their minds. But I don’t feel comfortable being a consort. Back home, I may not be as useful as a Creations though. Maybe it’s time for a change.
“You no longer want me to stay, Ky?” Marc’s voice comes from somewhere near me. I whip around, left then right. Surrounded by these bushes, I can’t see him. But he doesn’t speak loudly, so he must be close.
“You should leave,” I tell him, continuing through the path to an opening.
“Stop this, Ky,” he says from somewhere behind me.
The path opens to a balcony that looks over a pond on a lower level. In the middle of the pond, a large fountain spouts water from a sea animal statue that’s a large fish or dolphin. The moon adds to the soft lights shining from the floor of the pond. I rest my elbows on the cement railing and prop my chin up on my fists.
There’s a sigh. “Ky. You have to be tired,” Marc says, inches behind me, entering my personal space.
Tired is an understatement. Worn out is more like it. My head still hurts, and it’s been too long since I’ve had a good sleep. I’m at the point I’m willing to get knocked out just to get a couple minutes of rest.
Marc’s arms wrap around my waist as his beard scrapes my neck then cheek. His closeness makes my legs shake. I don’t tremble because I’m nervous or angry but because I’m fighting the relief. With my hands wrapped around the stone railing, I grip it tighter to hold on to my draining confidence and suppress the internal plea to be submissive to Marc’s silent request.
He whispers, “You would kiss him in front of me?”
I clear my throat, but when I go to speak, nothing comes out. So I grumble and shuffle out of his hold, tearing myself apart for doing so. I fight it because we need the distance. There’s a lot on my plate, and he doesn’t need to be involved in this.
“You have made your point, Kylie. I get it,” Marc says, taking my diversion as an act of anger. “I’ve said I’m sorry. I’ve told you I’d never turn on you and have proven this ten times over. You are to me what I am to you, remember?” He catches me by my wrist and tugs me back to him. I avoid his eyes, but hear him far too clearly as he tells me, “I am sorry, Ky. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. They threatened my brother, and so much shit was coming at me at once. I went in with one plan, and everything was going the way it was supposed to. All of us were getting out of there until we didn’t. So I get you have to blame someone, and I’m okay with that someone being me. But blame me for hitting you, for allowing you to get locked up. Don’t blame me for Luke. As much as I wouldn’t want my twin taken away from me, I love you too much to have allowed yours to be taken from you. If I had known, I would’ve done everything to stop it.”
I push my arms around his neck and say, “Okay.” I don’t know if I hug him for me or for him. For us both, maybe?
“Okay?” he asks with an edge of uncertainty in his tone. “So we’re okay?”
“Yes.”
He holds me in his arms and whispers, “Good,” as he sighs. “But one more thing.”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t kiss another guy in front of me or consider being his wife.”
Wife…consort. I hate both words. I retract my steps, arms falling to my sides—his are hesitant to do the same. The railing is at my back and the distance between us is enough that I don’t get too distracted by his lure. “I…um. I’m considering staying here.”
Marc’s face goes blank, but his stare burns. He takes three steps back. “Stop it, Kylie,” he says slowly. He saunters to my left and leans over on the railing. “You aren’t,” he says low. “You can’t.”
I run my hand over my face and swallow hard. The conversation causes squirms in my stomach, and my palms sweat. “It doesn’t sound all that bad.”
Marc straightens from being leaned over the railing. He keeps it clutched tightly in his balling fists. He sighs. “Okay, Ky.” It’s not okay, but Marc doesn’t argue. He’s made sure to remind me of that on multiple occasions.
I wait for him to add something else, and when he doesn’t, I say, “I think it’s a good opportunity. There’s really nothing for me back home.”
“Huh?” He jerks upward and steps into my sight. A flash of anger steals his face, but he quickly consumes it as he says, “Nothing,” the word carries so much emphasis as he gestures to himself, “for you back home.”
I rub my watering eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m a Normal now, Marc. I’ve periodically contemplated life outside of Separation and without Luke. The world is a new place back there. Could you imagine fighting without Sean?”
Marc throws his hands on top of his head and clasps them, saying, “No. But Creations have done it, they still do it every day. You wouldn’t be alone, Ky. Ever.”
I turn away from Marc back to the pond. The fountain has stopped spraying, and the water gently waves from the wind brushing its surface. I don’t know what Luke would want me to do. I can hear him telling me not to stay with Marc because my feelings are too strong. Or he could tell me to consider that I may be walking into a trap. But how else will I obtain the answers we need?
I miss Luke’s help. I miss his toughness and cajoling. If he were still here, everything would be different. The more I think about him, the more my head hurts, and a knot forms in my throat. I want my brother back.
“Well,” I say, sniffing. “The only thing working through my mind is trying to see myself going off to war without my lifeline, and trying to hold on to the memory of his fading smile or his angry expression when I’d say something he disagreed with.” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “And don’t try to relate to me with your sympathetic words, or comfortable hugs, or even try to make me feel better. Because you know what…” I lean over, placing my forehead to the cool stone of the railing, and I breathe through the need to mourn my brother’s unfair death.
Marc taps my side. “You’ve not eaten in days, Ky. Come on. Let’s grab a burger.”
He’s on to something. I’m starving and sleepy, but eating will make me more tired. I shake my head. “I’
ll be okay.”
Marc slips his finger through my hair and gracefully rubs my pounding head. A sigh rips from my throat as a tear drops from my eye. He squats down beside me and looks up to meet my eyes. “It’s on me. Eat. I’ll keep you awake all night by not leaving you alone.”
Chapter Thirteen
*Marc*
Kylie and I sit at the bar on the first floor of the Inn, and I order a beef burger with a side of fries. When the bartender returns with my order, I push the food in front of Kylie, and she scarfs it down like it is her first and last meal. Sean and I grabbed a pizza earlier, after Kylie kicked me out.
Sean likes Ky as a person, but not as my person. He hates that my concern for her has grown so strong. And it’s confusing for the both of us.
Ky definitely has me confused.
First, she’s trying to kill me—fight me—and now she’s forgiving. Peacefully sitting beside me like all is well between us now. I’m not complaining, I want it this way, but when it’s too easy, I question it.
Her movements grow slow, sluggish. The skin around her eyes has darkened, and her lips are red like the ketchup hanging on to the corner of her mouth. Her hair’s messy, loose strands falling onto her plate, and I would swipe them out of the way, but she may bite my hand off for getting too close to her food.
I gesture for the bartender to bring a water. He quickly drops it off, and I pass Kylie the straw. She downs it instantly.
“Can I take you back to your room?” I ask when she’s finished eating.
She belches and wipes her mouth with the napkin she snatches from the countertop. “I’m tired.” She gets up and heads for the elevator.
I follow behind her. If she didn’t want me to, she would’ve stayed sitting on the barstool, playing with the fork or the ice cubes in her glass. Anything to avoid sleeping in my arms.
The Separation Trilogy Box Set: Books 1 -3 Page 69
