“Why?”
“Because I can’t open this door to your quarters, only you can do that,” he answers, kissing my forehead.
I frown in confusion. “This is my room?”
“Yes,” he smiles.
“It’s attached to your apartment,” I state the obvious.
“It is,” his smile gets broader. “I hope you don’t mind, but I gave you my personal liaison’s quarters. I want you close to me. ”
The thought that he wants me near chases away some of the chill I feel inside. “Kricket Hollowell,” I say in a strained voice. The door immediately opens for us. As we enter the other room, it looks almost exactly like the one we just left, only on a smaller scale. Turning toward a metal staircase, Trey carries me up to the loft above; it has a balcony overlooking the same view of the moon as the floor below. Laying me on the enormous bed, Trey snuggles up beside me, pulling my face against his chest and letting me cry my heart out to him.
**
Waking up in bed, I look over and see Trey asleep on the pillow next to mine. My heartbeat picks up as I memorize his perfect face looking so peaceful. I watch him for a long time. At the first blush of dawn, I lean forward, brushing my lips gently against his.
When he opens his eyes, he pulls me closer. He leans down to kiss me, and my heart pounds against the wall of my chest. His lips meet mine, teasing my lower lip with his. A soft gasp comes from me as his fingertips skim along the bare skin near the curve of my breast. Heat coils in my belly at his gentle caress.
“How come I’m naked and you have clothes on?” I murmur against his lips, smiling despite my disadvantage.
“Your dress looked uncomfortable, so I took it off of you.” Trey is completely unapologetic.
“How did you get it off without waking me up?” I gaze into his violet eyes. “There were, like, a hundred clasps on it.”
His large hand comes up to cup my cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “I noticed…so I cut it off of you,” he replies, his lips deepen our kiss.
“Was it hot?” I ask between kisses. “Cutting it off me?” I stroke his rough cheek with my hand, feeling the growth of the last few hours.
“Hot?” he asks, his brows drawing together like he’s confused. “I wouldn’t describe it like that…it was…hazardous and delicate…I’ve had easier times disarming explosives…” he trails off for a second, kissing me and causing thrilling heat to creep through my entire body. “All that lace and…skin…” he mutters against my neck, in a tortured groan.
“You don’t like the undergarments that I ordered?” My smile grows by the second. “You should know that trying to describe garters and stockings to someone is really difficult and bras are almost impossible…”
“Undergarments…is that what you call those polar little monsters?” He nibbles on my earlobe.
“Mmm,” I nod, more to cover my shiver of pleasure caused by his lips grazing my shoulder than to answer his question.
“They’re cruel, Kitten. They creep into their victim’s soul and make it almost impossible for him to get any rest…just remembering what they looked like on you will occupy whole rotations of my time.”
“Before you cut them off? Because they had hooks…”
“Yes…I studied them afterward…we should send for your other undergarments…for later and then you can demonstrate for me how they work,” Trey says thoughtfully, his finger tracing my collarbone.
“Instruction?”
“Practical application,” he replies, his smile growing.
“That sounds like dangerous work,” I nibble on his lower lip. “You might put in for hazard pay,” I smile.
“I might...Something for after our commitment ceremony…Baw-da-baw.”
A fembot voice from above startles me, causing me to flinch a little as she says, “Kricket Hollowell, your presence is requested by Skye in the High Council Arena.”
“What was that?” I ask Trey, my eyes narrowing as I look around the room for hidden cameras.
Trey groans and scrubs his face. “Say, ‘I will attend. Estimated time of arrival one part.’”
Repeating what Trey told me to say, I ask, “What did I just agree to?”
“I gave the council a partial report last night after you were asleep, but we have questions to answer before we can move forward.”
Wrapping the sheet around me, I ask, “What’s the plan?”
Frowning, Trey says, “We need to make sure that Skye allows you to join my unit because all of the different branches of the military are clamoring for your service.”
“So…I could get put in the Air Brigade or the Armada?”
A look of disgust crosses his lips before he says, “I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ll negotiate to get you assigned to me permanently.”
“And then we can be together?”
“That’s one way. I was able to explain to Skye the friendship and trust that exists between us. It’s the reason they allowed you to have quarters next to mine temporarily. They want me to help you get acclimated to this environment.”
“Do they know about us?”
“No,” Trey says with his eyebrows lowering. “I kept that part quiet. I don’t know what they’ll do with that information and I don’t want them to have a reason to keep us apart.”
“Do you think they’d do that?”
“Once you are emancipated, you have the right to choose a consort. No one can interfere with that decision.” He strokes my cheek.
“Fine. Who do I have to convince, then?” I ask, watching his lips twitch in a smile.
“That is the question, Kricket,” Trey sighs.
He rises from the bed and walks across the black marble floor to an automated panel. Touching it, a virtual hologram of clothing appears in front of him. As he flicks his hand, the clothing moves along, rapidly changing in color and style. Trey presses virtual buttons on the hologram screen. Soon a long, black jacket with black leggings appears in the virtual closet.
Pressing more buttons, a package drops from a chute near the automated panel. “Here,” Trey says, handing me the package. “These should fit you. Get dressed and meet me in my quarters.”
“Are you going to teach me how to use the instant mall?” I rise from the bed with the white sheet wrapped securely around me. “Do I need a credit card or—”
“It’s requisitioned and you’ll have access to whatever you want under my rank,” he replies, amused, before leaning down and kissing me softly.
“Ah, thanks, honey,” I murmur under my breath, watching him pull back and walk to the stairs.
Locating the lavare, I wash and dress quickly. The clothing Trey gave me is chic, in a very urban, military kind of way. The package comes complete with long black boots that give me more height.
Walking to the stairs, I take them down to the main level. I pass the window, glancing at the amazing view of the sun rising near the skyscrapers below. When I come to the adjoining door between my quarters and Trey’s, I say, “Kricket Hollowell.”
A fembot voice announces, “Kricket Hollowell requests admittance of Gennet Allairis.”
A moment later, the door opens and I see Trey with Jax and Wayra. “Kricket!” Wayra says when I enter the room. “A knife—a dinner knife?” he asks me, not waiting for me to come to him but meeting me half way and picking me up off my feet, swinging me around. “I’m going to tell that story to every new git that enlists in the Cavars. That kind of courage you have to be born with; it can’t be taught.”
“I didn’t kill him though,” I say, looking into Wayra’s grinning violet eyes.
“Next time,” Wayra says with the assurance that there will be a next time. “I’ll make sure you have a bigger knife. Ah, but you saved the Regent…at least most of him. He got tagged a few times by the forty-calibers and received burns from a poorly thrown sanctum amp. We won’t see him for a few specks while they regenerate him.”
After Wayra puts me on my feet, Jax p
icks me up. “You need an anatomy class. We’re different than humans,” he says, grinning at me and giving me a giant hug.
“You think?” I ask, smiling reluctantly. “Well, just add it to the growing list of things Trey will have to teach me. Swimming, climbing, weapons, anatomy…”
“I’ll teach you anatomy,” Jax sets me on my feet.
“At ease, Kesek,” Trey frowns at Jax.
“Kesek?” I ask Jax, my mouth dropping open. “You made Kesek?”
“Yeah,” Jax grins wider. “Working with you is like a fast track to good fortune. Even Wayra got promoted to Venteur—uh, that’s like Captain, and with his knack for insubordination we know it has to be our good luck charm that’s influencing the decision.”
“I’m hardly good luck, Jax.”
“You’re wrong,” Wayra interrupts. “You’re going to give us the edge we need to win this war the Alameeda are bringing to us. We routed them last night. We destroyed nearly all their ALVs because of you.”
“Not me…Trey,” I stutter, feeling anxious because they’re putting their faith in abilities that I can’t control. “I just made a mess.”
“If what you did last night was a mess, Kricket, then I want to be around when you get it right,” Trey replies with a slow smile.
“Here, here,” Jax agrees.
“It’s a whole different world when we know where they’ll be and when, like they do with us,” Wayra says with grim satisfaction. “It evens the field…well, it puts them at a disadvantage. Their troops are sloppy, because they’ve never needed much skill to take us when they have surprise on their side. It was like taking out gits last night.”
“It won’t always be like that, Wayra. They’ll adapt,” Jax says, his eyes on me.
“And Kyon knows me. He knows what I can do,” I say softly, with ice in my veins.
“They’ll have to put him back together first,” Trey replies in an even tone.
“How long will it take to do that?”
Trey frowns. “Half a floan.”
“Six months,” I say absently. “Then it’ll be on.”
“And we’ll be ready. Gentlemen, we have our navigator for our next mission. Let’s make sure she comes home safe.”
“Baw-da-baw,” Wayra and Jax say in unison.
“Home,” I murmur softly, before walking beside Trey to the door to face Skye together.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
God, all things are possible through You. Thank you for Your infinite blessings and for allowing me to do what I love: write.
To my readers and bloggers: thank you, thank you, thank you! The outpouring of love that I receive from all of you is mind blowing. Your generosity towards me is humbling. You make me want to write a thousand books.
Tom Bartol, you’re my best friend. I cannot imagine my world without you in it. I love you.
Max & Jack Bartol, I count myself as the most fortunate person in the world to have you both in my life. Thank you for knowing when to let me write, and when to rescue me from my computer.
Gloria Lutz, your unwavering support and unconditional love are a guiding light in my life. Thank you for using your wicked editing skills on this project. I love you and I’m very grateful.
Tamar Rydzinski, one of the best days of my life was when you agreed to be my agent. Your tireless work, incredible perspective and insights on this manuscript were integral to making it what it is. What you’ve already taught me about writing and publishing is invaluable. I’m truly grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I can’t wait to work with you on more projects.
Janet Cadsawan. You. Are. Brilliant. Thank you for introducing me to Tamar. Without your help, this book would not be what it is today. You’re a creative genius, and I look forward to seeing the heights to which your talent will take you.
Aaron Draper, when I first saw your photograph of the girl in the water, it gave me goose bumps. Your picture told a story. You captured something so delicately beautiful and undeniably vulnerable through your lens that I had to try to find you to at least tell you how much I loved it. Thank you for agreeing to allow a version of it to appear as the cover of Under Different Stars. I could not have found anything else this perfect to represent Kricket and the story.
Regina Wamba: Thank you for using your exceptional experience and artistic talent to create the cover of Under Different Stars. You married the genre of the manuscript with Aaron Draper’s photograph and created a perfect representation of the story. You’ve exceeded all of my expectations. You’re a rock star.
Cristina Suárez-Muñoz, I couldn’t have found a more generous and thoughtful friend if I scoured the world for her. Thank you for beta reading this story and giving me your opinion. Thank you, also, for all of your hard work and dedication to this project. Your skill with marketing has helped me tremendously. I’m grateful for all that you have done and continue to do to make this novel a success.
Trish Brinkley, you’re a very powerful person. I don’t think you realize it, yet. Over 2013, you’ve managed to carve out a very serious niche in a cutthroat market with the launch of your organization: The Occasionalist. I’m extremely grateful to you for what you have done for my career, beginning in Boston with help from the amazing Megan Ward O’Connell, and heading into the future. I can’t wait to see what you’ll do next.
Amber McLelland, your wicked wit and savage sense of humor keep me laughing every day. Thank you for being such a good friend to me and for beta reading Under Different Stars. I’m so lucky to have found you.
Janet Wallace, you’re amazing! Thank you for including me in your insanely creative world. Your generosity towards me knows no bounds. I marvel at what you have accomplished in such a short period of time. I’m eagerly awaiting your next jaw-dropping feat of awesomeness. See you in UtopYA.
To my lovely Hellcats: Georgia Cates, Shelly Crane, Samantha Young, Michelle Leighton, Rachel Higginson, Angeline Kace, Lila Felix, and Quinn Loftis. Thank you for allowing me to turn myself loose in our chat room every single day. It has not gone unnoticed by me that I often sound like a degenerate sugar addict set free in a candy factory, but I love you all for humoring me. Clearly, you’re the reasons why I’ve been able to maintain control and haven’t had to be soaked down with Mace on a daily basis. I love all of your guts. Always.
ALSO BY AMY A. BARTOL
INESCAPABLE: THE PREMONITION SERIES – VOLUME ONE
CHAPTER 1
MOVING DAY
As I drive past the placid façade of Crestwood College’s stately clock tower, I realize that this is the building they refer to as Central Hall. It’s the trademark of the school, and they stamp its image on everything they use to represent them. My acceptance letter had been embossed with its seal. The scent of autumn drifts through my open window along with the deep, echoing bell from the clock as it tolls out the hour. The loud, desolate sound sends a chill over my skin. It is funny to me how something as harmless as a clock tower can be winsome and sinister at the same time.
In the car behind me, my Uncle Jim gives me a couple of short honks of his horn. As I gaze at him in my rearview mirror, I see him gesturing for me to turn left at the next stop sign. His paranoia that I will miss the street to my dorm makes me smile, so I turn on my signal to relieve his anxiety. Crestwood’s campus has only a few streets; if I miss the turn, it won’t be fatal. If I manage to get lost here, then I don’t deserve the academic scholarship they gave me, I think to myself, using my mirror to refresh my lip-gloss.
I ride slowly under the tunneling oak trees that line the pavement. I had always thought that I would go to a larger school—one in a major city, like New York or Chicago, but when Crestwood offered me a full ride with no strings attached, I couldn’t pass up such an amazing opportunity. I mean, who needs a sprawling city if you’re totally broke all the time? And Crestwood is consistently ranked as one of the top private schools in the country for academics. Plus, this way I get to stay in Michigan so I can visit Uncle Jim more
often. He’ll only be a few hours away—and he needs me. I’m his only family, just as he is mine.
Unease creeps over me as my dormitory comes into view. I don’t know a single person at Yeats Hall, or even Crestwood for that matter. I had met a few coeds on my brief tour of the school last year, but I had been just a prospective student then, so none of us really bothered to make friends. A fresh wave of panic hits me, or maybe it’s remorse for all the familiar things I’m leaving behind. Don’t stress, I tell myself while taking a deep breath. This place will be the making of you. Everything will be fine.
I park in a spot under a shady elm tree and cut the engine, waiting for my uncle to slip into the spot next to mine. Pulling up next to me, he parks his truck and leaves it idling. With his stereo blaring Baba O’Reily, he is head-banging and playing air guitar to the raging bass.
Normally, something like this would horrify me, especially since he is drawing frowns from the other parents hauling boxes and desk lamps out of their cars, but not today. Today, I’m trying to take a mental snapshot of this moment because it’s so quintessential Uncle Jim.
We had basically raised each other, he and I. When my mom died soon after I was born, he stepped up and assumed guardianship of me. It couldn’t have been easy; he’d been a kid himself at the time, only twenty years old.
As my eyes rove over him, lip-syncing with his mouth curling in a rocker-like scowl, I smile, knowing he is doing it for me. He is trying to make me laugh so that I won’t be nervous.
As I climb out of my old Jeep, I pretend not to notice when small pieces of the rusted door flake off as I close it. “You rock a mean air guitar,” I say after he cuts his engine and grins at me through the truck’s open window.
“I know—missed my calling. I was born to rock,” he replies with hubris, climbing out and joining me.
“Undoubtedly,” I agree. He slips his arm around my shoulder, trapping my long, auburn hair beneath it as he gives me a quick squeeze before letting it drop.
“You ready to check in?” he asks me as he runs his hands through his dark-brown hair, which immediately falls back over his forehead again.
Under Different Stars Page 29
