Tomas nodded to her as she marched out. He pushed the door closed softly and turned the lock. Ten feet away he could sense Rene’s heartbeat begin to gallop. He knew the feeling. His own pounded but for much different reasons. Mistreating the Kott was its own world of trouble.
He joined her on the overstuffed couch, smiling at the furious blush on her cheeks.
“I’m Rene. I’m happy to serve you today.” She was breathing so shallowly she could hardly spit out the rehearsed lines. “Where would you like me to sit?”
Tomas took her left hand between both of his. It was tiny and the pulse in her wrist beat hard enough to be visible. He traced his fingers along her forearm to the crook of her elbow. The Kott’del tattoo there was dark and vivid against her freckled skin. He flicked his fingertip over the blue ink and could feel the skin was smooth.
“Is this your first time, Rene?”
“Yes,” she nodded, several long strands of ringlets breaking free from her hair band and tumbling around her young face. “But I’m ready. I mean I’m prepared. I know what to do. If you’ll just tell me how you want me to sit. Or lie. Or stand. I mean, however you want to do it.”
He placed a finger on her lips. “May I let down your hair?”
He slid his hand along her neck and gently tugged on the elastic, coaxing her hair loose. He never broke eye contact with Rene and could see the effect his nearness was having on her. Her lips grew rosy and full, her eyelids began to lower and a mottled flush rose along her throat.
He leaned in closer to her, his breath a whisper over her open mouth. Where his wrist brushed the side of her throat, he could feel her blood pounding beneath her skin. He had almost forgotten the delightful ease of seducing a common woman.
Cradling her head, he leaned her back against the arm of the couch. With his other hand, he unbuttoned her cardigan, letting his fingers flick against her skin. He pushed the fabric back and traced the edges of her pink bra. When his fingertips slipped underneath the lace edges, Rene moaned softly, his thoughts of desire transporting her to a realm of sensual delight.
He slid her pants off and smiled when he saw that what she wore underneath was the same pink as her bra. It had been a long time since he’d seen lingerie. Stell refused to wear underwear of any kind. Rene sighed, arching her back, her mind taking her some place wonderful.
He ran his fingers along the side of her face and he could feel the power he wielded over her. It wasn’t the same seduction he had used on the road with Louis. His mind was stronger now, his intentions clear. He realized he could take Rene far away in her mind and bring her back to the present with ease. He brought her attention fully to him, fully into the moment.
Even when fully consensual and not feeding-related, intimacy between Nahan and Kott was frowned upon. Sexual intimacy while feeding from the Kott’del was forbidden. A Storyteller coercing a Kott’del without her permission? Outrageous.
That’s what Tomas needed, that’s what the bees had made clear. Tomas needed to create outrage to achieve his goal. And he pursued a noble goal—helping Nahan, seeking out a possible injustice, sacrificing his own reputation regardless of the repercussions to discover a truth.
Noble. Admirable. Maybe even brave.
So why did it feel so shitty?
Rene didn’t feel shitty. She felt luscious and delicious and the baser side of Tomas argued that he was overdue for some sexual satisfaction. He could ensure her pleasure as well. Her body already responded willingly.
But not really though. Not truly willingly.
Rene loved a boy named Trent—a boy with a scraggly beard, a lot of sweaters, and a ukulele. She loved Trent and she really loved that ukulele. Tomas could feel it all over her. But because of Tomas, because of his coercion, she wasn’t thinking of Trent. She wanted only Tomas. She wanted only to please him.
She didn’t deserve this. He needed the outrage; he needed the truth, but Rene didn’t deserve to be treated like this.
Tomas didn’t want to be the person who would do this.
Protocol aside. Hess, Storytellers, outrage aside.
Tomas would not be that man.
With a sigh of regret he pulled his hand from Rene’s full breast, his fingertip slipping over the pink lace longingly. They would see that he hadn’t completely stepped over the line, that he neither bedded her nor fed from her. He had gone too far, no doubt about it, and he hoped it provoked enough outrage for his plan. But he wouldn’t go any further.
The bees would just have to understand.
“Thank you.” He kissed her on the cheek. “That was wonderful.” Rene made no move to dress so he piled her clothes on the couch next to her and winked.
“You might need these. Before Mrs. Studdard comes back.” The mention of her supervisor snapped Rene out of her trance and she scrambled to straighten out her clothes. Not waiting to see if she was decent, Tomas strolled out of the room, leaving the door ajar.
It had to be enough.
He counted his steps as he headed back to the meditation room. On the nineteenth step he heard Mrs. Studdard’s voice; at twenty-six he heard a door slam and heavy footsteps following him. He turned the corner and slipped into Meditation Room Two. Folding his legs underneath him, Tomas relaxed and waited. He resisted the urge to go over his plan again lest he begin to second-guess himself. It would either work or it wouldn’t. When he heard Mrs. Studdard’s raised voice down the hallway, he smiled. So far, so good. He knew the door would swing open seconds before it did and didn’t bother to open his eyes at Vartan’s angry tone.
“What the hell is going on Desara? Answer me.”
“What are you doing?” Sylva charged in to block the Coordinator from the door. “You can’t barge into a meditation room when a Storyteller is meditating.”
“The hell I can’t! I can when he rapes one of our Kott’del. I am personally responsible for their safety. Desara, you know very well what the rules are and purposely betrayed the trust placed in us by the—”
“Are you speaking to me?” Tomas opened his eyes and turned his head to the enraged crowd waiting for him. Sylva used her small body to fill the doorway as Vartan and a red-faced Mrs. Studdard leaned in. “It’s okay, Mentor Sylva. I’ll get up now.”
“You’re damn right you’ll get up. You’ll get your ass out here and explain to me who the hell you think you are taking advantage of the girls in the Kott’del that are entrusted to my care.”
Tomas stretched and yawned, pushing through the trio at the door. He padded down the hallway, turning only when Mrs. Studdard complained.
“He’s not even listening to you, Mr. Vartan. Tell him to stop.”
Tomas remembered that he had once found the old woman intimidating. She held a very high rank among her kind. Oh well, too late now. He pointed at Mrs. Studdard.
“You are Kott. You do not belong in this end of the complex. Please leave.”
Mrs. Studdard paled under his gaze even as Vartan defended her.
“She’s here with me. She’s lodged a complaint about you taking advantage of one of her people.”
“She has a complaint about me?” Tomas stepped very close to Vartan’s face, feeling as if he were stepping to the edge of a cliff. “And she came to you? How cute.” Tomas turned to go but Vartan grabbed his arm.
“Don’t turn your back on me.”
“Why not?”
“You work for me.”
It was exactly what Tomas was waiting for. Time to step off that cliff.
He spoke loudly enough to be heard by the small crowd that had gathered in nearby doorways to eavesdrop. “I believe you have that backward. I am the Storyteller. You are a bureaucrat. If memory serves me correctly, you work for me. At least, that’s what the Council says.” He turned his back on Vartan and headed for the Storytelling room, half expecting to feel the blast as the Coordinator exploded in rage.
The silence in the hall created a vacuum that sucked every nerve in the building into it. Out of sight, To
mas collapsed against the closed door and let out a nervous breath. Vartan had turned purple at Tomas’s rebuke and that had not been an intuitive vision. The veins in his forehead had nearly ruptured as Tomas had brought up the sorest of Vartan’s sore spots, a public reminder that the Council had backed a Storyteller over him. Given time, he would find a way to counter Tomas, to put him in his place but right now Tomas was counting on the element of surprise. He was also counting on Aricelli showing up on time. A voice spoke outside the door.
“Mr. Vartan? I’m sorry to bother you but there’s a Miss Capp to see you?”
They were getting closer.
Aricelli acted as if she didn’t notice the blistering tension in the group before her. Paul Vartan’s eyes were red-rimmed as he strained to control his temper and the people around him looked one loud noise away from fainting. Sticking to her script, Aricelli flashed her best smile.
“Mr. Vartan? You probably don’t even remember me.”
Vartan shifted gears with difficulty. Marcus Capp carried a lot of weight in the Council. As his daughter, Aricelli knew she would not be dismissed. Instead, Vartan turned away from Mrs. Studdard with muttered promises to look into the incident.
“Of course I remember you. How could I forget?” He took Aricelli by the elbow and led her past the Storytelling room. She caught the look of heat he threw at the closed door. “Let’s not talk here in the hall, Miss Capp. Let’s go to my office.”
“Please, call me Aricelli.”
Tomas heard her name and forced himself to count three slow beats. Certain they had had enough time to make it down the hall but not enough to get into Vartan’s office, Tomas threw open the door and tumbled into the hallway.
“Aricelli? Is that you?” He made a show of trying to smooth his hair and straighten out his wrinkled clothes. Vartan spun on him with a look that could have stopped a cat’s heart but Aricelli smiled vacantly.
“Oh, Tomas. Tomas Desara. Hi.” She looked to Vartan for help.
Tomas leaned against the doorframe. “I work here now. I’m a Storyteller.”
The look of shock on Aricelli’s face was so perfect, Tomas almost believed he’d surprised her. “Really? You? I mean, you made it? Wow, that’s really something.”
“Yeah, you know”—Tomas smirked at Vartan—“it’s a lot of work but it’s cool.”
“I bet.” She eyed him up and down, the shock not entirely wiped from her face. “Well I’d better get on with my meeting. It was really great seeing you again.”
“Call me sometime.”
With an apologetic laugh, Aricelli allowed Vartan to lead her into his office.
When the door had closed, she whispered to herself, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“You seem surprised.”
Aricelli let conflict show on her face for a moment and then replaced it with an insincere smile and a honeyed voice. “It’s exciting to meet a Storyteller.”
“Excitement isn’t exactly the word I would have used to describe your reaction.”
“Well, you know.” She fumbled for the right words. “I didn’t really know Tomas very well. He was . . . I just . . . that he would make it as a Storyteller is, well . . .”
“Exciting?” She laughed, letting Vartan know she knew she had been found out. “Miss Capp, you’ll find here in the day-to-day life of the Council that the glamour of the Storytellers wears a little thin.”
“I can see why. Just between you and me, he was a total nerd. And if what I heard was true, I think he was even a bed wetter until he was about twenty.” She blushed as she laughed. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m sitting with the Coordinator of the Council making fun of a Storyteller. You won’t report me, will you? What am I saying? People report to you.”
Tomas had explained his plan. If the Storytellers had a secret operation, only someone with Vartan’s clout could begin to unearth it. But even the Coordinator of the Central Council wouldn’t launch an investigation like that lightly. Especially Vartan. Especially after the smackdown he had received.
Unless they used that humiliation to set him on the path.
Tomas had told her he would prime Vartan, rip open that old wound. A young Storyteller putting him in his place would outrage Vartan. Then they would need someone else to come in and let him know about Westin, let him know the Storytellers had even more going on behind his back. They could find out what, if anything, the Coordinator knew about the facility and somehow convince him to share that information.
Aricelli assured Tomas she would handle that. She knew what she looked like to the Coordinator—beautiful, pampered, silly. Just another Council darling counting on Daddy to keep her world perfect. Marcus Capp was an incredibly powerful man among the money people. Even though the Coordinator technically outranked him, Aricelli knew Vartan was ambitious. She bet he’d do just about anything to please the tu Bith’s darling daughter.
She slid her jacket off her shoulders. The sweater she wore beneath the blazer was sleeveless, high in the front with a low, scooping backline. Knowing he watched her, she swept her thick black hair up in a clip, revealing a long expanse of smooth white skin. There weren’t many Nahan men who would look away from a sight like that.
Vartan was smiling. “So what is it, Miss Capp, that has brought you into the city?”
“Well for one thing, I would have made the trip just to get you to stop calling me Miss Capp. Or are you sending me back to Heritage School?”
“Forgive me, Aricelli. I’m happy to help you in any way I can, if you call me Paul.”
“Okay, Paul.” She reached into her purse for her notebook and pen. “I’m here to ask you to help. I’m trying to get in with Henri Besson.” She unfolded a piece of cream stationery with the distinctive Besson letterhead. She knew Vartan would recognize the personal stationery of another of the most powerful families in the Council and, just in case, Louis had duplicated his father’s writing across the page.
“Henri has given me a list of secure facilities he would like me to visit. I’ve been to several Kott vaults, the printing center, which was filthy by the way. If you can avoid it, I would.” She tried to sound bored as she scanned the list. “There’s an identity maintenance facility I’m supposed to see, among other things.”
“It sounds like quite an adventure,” he said. “I assume we’re also on your list?”
“You are. This facility is considered state of the art, a fortress of silence and safety in a dangerous world. Those were Henri’s words, not mine.” She could see the effect saying Mr. Besson’s first name was having on Vartan. No doubt, in this office, Henri Besson was referred to as Mr. Besson. “I must admit I’m impressed at the size and scope of the facility. It’s not easy to get in here with the fingerprint scanners and guards.”
“And yet you just seemed to stroll in.”
Aricelli laughed and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “It would be disingenuous of me to pretend that my name doesn’t open doors. Or, I should say, my father’s name.”
“Which leads me to my next question. Why exactly is Marcus Capp’s daughter having to jump through hoops for a job? Even with Henri Besson?”
She bit her lip, visibly weighing her words as she considered him. “It’s not exactly a job I’m looking for.”
His eyes moved over her body. In your dreams, Vartan, she thought. I’m not that ambitious. None of her thoughts showed on her face.
“There have been some situations. The tu Bith are not entirely thrilled right now.”
“I haven’t heard anything.”
“My father told me about you and your difficulties with the Storyteller, about your plans for the Council.”
Vartan’s face reddened. “Ah yes, my own moment of infamy. No doubt your father enjoys regaling his guests with that little anecdote.”
“Things have changed.” They watched each other. “I’m not in the inner circle of the money people, but I hear things and there seems to be a groundswell of concern.”
>
“About the Storytellers? I find that hard to believe. After all, what’s good for the Storytellers is good for the Nahan, correct?”
“That’s what I’ve always been told.” She flipped her pen across her fingers, broadcasting her anxiety to Vartan. “Can I be honest with you? I mean, you’re not going to report me to Bobby the Bed Wetter down the hall?”
“I promise you, anything you tell me will remain in the strictest of confidence.” By the flicker of his smile, Aricelli had no doubt he would retain that nickname for future use.
“Certain people are questioning our dependence on the Storytellers. Our blind obedience to a class of people who appoint themselves and make the important decisions for our people with no accountability.”
Vartan blew out a long breath. “Those are dangerous words, Miss Capp. You’re talking about the principal decision-making body of our people.”
Aricelli didn’t need to fake her anxiety now. With her next sentence, she could bring a storm of trouble down on the Council. Or she could look like a fool.
“The tu Bith are very interested in Westin.”
She had seen statues with more animated expressions than Vartan’s at that moment.
“Westin? I’m not familiar with that name.”
And then she saw it, the nervous ripple of his left eyelid. A tic. Aricelli didn’t know how the Storytellers did what they did but she knew how to read men.
Vartan was lying.
She dropped her pen and notebook back into her purse. “Well then, I guess I’ve wasted your time. I apologize. I know you’re a busy man.” She could feel him study her.
“I’m sorry you wasted the trip.”
“Oh, you know how it is.” She pasted on an obviously forced smile, trying a different tactic. “Maybe Daddy just sent me on a snipe hunt, something to put me in my place. Maybe they’re all having a good laugh at my expense, getting ahead of myself with my ambition.”
Aricelli gathered her things to leave, wondering what Tomas would make of Vartan’s lie. He knew about Westin, she was sure of it. Was he covering for the Storytellers? Would he tell them about her questions? Would it come back on Tomas? Regardless, Tomas had overestimated Vartan’s vulnerability.
Ourselves Page 27
