by Lea Kirk
Kai studied the other male. “You do not entirely approve of his choices.”
Rol shot him a narrow-eyed glare. “He does what he believes is best for our clan, and for Bezchi.”
“But he is breaking with tradition.”
“He has the clan’s approval.” The raptor looked back down at the table. “And mine.”
“Of course.” He opened himself up to sense Rol’s feelings.
Duty struggled against a tide of discord. The clan’s approval or not, Rol was a traditionalist in conflict. His reluctance to talk about it made it clear he was torn between supporting his monarch and his own personal beliefs. The monarch’s prime advisor could be the key to ending the match before it was too late, and that would please Uri to the upper atmosphere and beyond.
As long as Monarch Kyzel was absent, it would be easy to stir Rol’s doubts until he was primed for subtle suggestion and took action. There was, after all, no hiding emotions from an empath. Something Rol should know well.
Kai folded his arms atop the table and leaned casually against them. “Once a monarch breaks with tradition, then others will follow.”
Rol raised his head and locked gazes with him. “Perhaps the elder would like a refreshing glass of lemonade?”
Raptorclaw practically flew off his perch and headed for another wide arched doorway behind Kai. Oh, yes, a nerve had been struck. A little more agitation should work to get the prime advisor to take action.
The sound of glassware tinking together came from the room Rol had entered. Kai folded his hands atop the table. Patience was easy for someone as long-lived as him. Everything happened in due time, in his experience.
A few moments later, the prime advisor plunked down a glass of pale-yellow liquid in front of him. “Lemonade.”
“Thank you.” He raised the glass to his lips and took a cautious sip. The tart-sweet flavor flowed over his tongue like a beverage from the Great Aerie itself. How could such deliciousness have been created by a race of ground-bound beings?
He swallowed, lowered the glass, and smacked his lips a couple of times. “That is quite…refreshing, as you said.”
Rol shrugged, sipping from his own glass. Not the talkative sort, that much was clear. No matter.
Kai took another larger gulp, then set his glass on the table. “You are aware that you are in the position to save our culture from such a devastating collapse.”
A hint of doubt slipped through Rol’s agitation, a sure indicator that Kai’s words were getting through.
Rol curled his lip in a silent snarl and jutted his chin in the direction of a different archway, this one set in the back wall. “The bedrooms are through there. You may use the second one on the left.”
He stood abruptly, and stomped away down the same hallway, presumably to his own quarters.
Ah, the seeds of doubt had been planted. Give him time, and Rol could be an effective means of bringing the rogue monarch to heel.
A quiver of unease churned through his stomach, and he frowned at the glass between his palms. He had done the right thing, certainly. Must just be the lemonade not settling well.
Chapter 3
Another Monday, and still Nixy’s problem hadn’t disappeared in a puff of magic over the weekend. She draped her sweater over a hanger and place it on the closet rod.
Wishes won’t wash dishes.
She closed the closet door and turned to face her office. Mornings were the best time of day, with sunlight pouring through the row of windows of her second-story office. She slipped into her chair behind the wooden antique desk, opened a little white paper sack, and drew out the yummy butter croissant within.
Despite her more eclectic cottage-clutter decorating style at home, the minimalist look worked better for her here. The desk—a wedding gift from Efrem—dominated this end of the room. Four client chairs of different designs—because not all her off world clients could sit in human chairs—were arranged in front of the desk. And a row of low cabinets lined the inside wall.
She broke off a flakey piece of the croissant and popped it into her mouth. That spark of joy this place brought her was as strong as ever. How lucky she’d been to land a job with Silverstar Agency, and to have had the chance to work her way up to being a placement agent.
A soft knock drew her attention to the sliding double doors set into the office’s inner wall. “Come in.”
The door slid open far enough to admit her assistant, Adam before it slid closed again. “Kyzel Raptorclaw is here to see you, if you’re free.”
The winged monarch of Bezchi had finally returned from his weekend with Robyn Martin Donahue. Ooh, this had to be a good sign. “Send him in, please, Adam.”
“He has a guest.”
“Um, is it Ms. Donahue, by chance?” She allowed herself a little smile of satisfaction. Those two were as good as married. Or mated. Whatever the Bezchians called it.
“No. It’s the Bezchian elder I told you about, who arrived on Saturday.”
That sensation at the base of her skull tingled back to life, and she drew in a quick breath. If she were the full-blown superstitious type, she’d suspect something big or important was about to happen to her. Like her life was about to change, which was ridiculous. She was too old and too set in her ways, and completely happy about it.
And besides, she was only slightly superstitious. “Okay. Go ahead and send them in.”
“Sure thing. Be right back.” Adam slipped back out, leaving her alone again—for a moment at least.
The young man was the best assistant she’d ever had. Like a son. And, the kid hadn’t called her ma’am since the first day he’d been hired and she’d oh-so-gently reamed him a new one.
She gave her head a shake and refocused her thoughts. So, Kyzel was here, accompanied not by his prime advisor or his bodyguard, but an elder? Sounded important. Could be a new potential client, in which case it was first-impression time. She made a quick visual inventory of her desk. Computer monitor off, pens in place, croissant crumbs—she smoothed her hand over the cool glass surface that protected the wood—swept into her palm and into the trash. Okay, now she was ready to make a good first impression on this mysterious Bezchian elder.
The door swooshed open, all the way this time, and Adam walked in, followed closely by nearly seven feet of grinning royalty. That was what she liked to see—happy clients. Meant she was doing her job right, and that counted for something. Everything, actually.
She opened her mouth to greet him, but her gaze was snagged by the shorter, older—yet still impressive—Bezchian entering in the monarch’s wake. He was golden-skinned and gorgeous, with elongated eyes and pupils so dark they could be as black as his loose leggings. The red of his flying leathers would’ve matched his wings and headfeathers if the latter didn’t sport a silvery sheen, like a dusting of frost. Her fingers twitched in response to her completely inappropriate desire to explore those glorious wings.
A wave of heat washed over her, and it was all she could do to not hand-fan her face. What a lousy time to be hit with a hot flash.
Good God. She was losing all professionalism, but who could blame her? He might not have the stature of Kyzel or the two members of Kyzel’s royal entourage, Rol and Fyad, but he was still over six feet tall—and easily the best looking of the bunch.
Also the oldest, a solid fifteen years older than her, give or take a year or two.
Geez, woman, you’re getting all hot and bothered by a guy technically old enough to be your father. Throttle it back.
She cleared her throat and made to stand up, only she wasn’t seated anymore. How had that happened? When had that happened? Why didn’t she remember getting out of her chair?
“Good morning, Ms. Vogel.” Kyzel’s warm greeting was a welcome anchor point.
“Monarch Kyzel, how are you today? How are things going with Ms. Donahue?” Please introduce me to your friend.
It didn’t seem p
ossible, but the guy’s smile got wider. “Very, very well. We will be spending the upcoming weekend together. Robyn calls it a weekend getaway.”
“That’s wonderful.” Come to think of it, she’d never made a client match for off-worlder royalty before. Kind of cool if it all worked out, and there didn’t seem to be a reason it wouldn’t.
Kyzel nodded his head toward the handsome Bezchian now standing beside him. Finally. “This is Elder Kai Firewing. He arrived over the weekend and asked to meet with you.”
“Me?” She shifted her gaze to Kai, and caught a faint whiff of cinnamon.
Kai straightened and raised his chin slightly as if trying to look down his nose at her. “I am an elder of Bezchi, and I make mate matches among my people.”
Oh good, something they had in common. She gave him a smile. “Sounds a lot like what I do.”
“Not exactly.” He enunciated every syllable.
Huh. Someone seemed full of himself. Strike one.
“Mind your tone, Elder Kai,” Kyzel said, then turned his attention back to her. “He is hoping to talk to you to evaluate the similarities and differences between your respective roles and duties—if you have the time, of course.”
There was a pleading look in the monarch’s eyes, as if he found himself saddled with a relative visiting unannounced. Well, she could appreciate that.
“Sure. I can spare about fifteen minutes.”
Kai looked up at Kyzel. “Is that long?”
Kyzel said something too low for her to catch, and the elder nodded. “Aye, this is acceptable.”
The “aye” was kind of cute, but the attitude had to go. “All right. Adam could you get us some refreshments, please? Have you ever tried iced-tea, Elder Kai?”
Kai turned his head, giving her a hopeful look. “Is that like lemonade?”
“Uh, no. But you can have a wedge of lemon in it, if you’d like.”
“I believe I would like.”
“Great. Monarch, will you join us?”
Kyzel shook his head. “I have things to see to. Even in my absence, I still have duties to my clan. I will send Fyad to retrieve Elder Kai at the end of your session.”
Which meant she would be entertaining Kai alone. This could be a good thing.
Kai watched Adam lead Monarch Kyzel out of the room, heard him promise to return shortly with the iced tea, but it all seemed distant. As if Kai was a spectator viewing the scene from afar.
It had been that way since he had entered Nixy Vogel’s spacious office, met her brown-eyed gaze, and a hot flame burst to life in his chest and curled around his heart. Was this some new symptom of impending rebirth? And if so, why had it happened the moment he walked into her presence?
“Won’t you have a seat, Mr. Firewing.”
“Elder Kai.” The correction seemed juvenile, even to him.
“Sorry.” She brushed a strand of her straight, reddish-purple head-silk—or hair, in her language—back behind her ear, and an unfamiliar, yet pleasant, floral scent wafted past him. “Elder Kai.”
For a female of such short stature, she had a vibrant presence. The silky fabric of her white blouse draped over the soft mounds of her ample breasts. A bold red fabric flower was pinned high on her top, which dared to distract him. He lowered his gaze down to where her hand was propped at the waist of her hip-hugging straight black skirt. The desk blocked the rest of his view, but this female was in charge, and knew it. And that appealed to him in a way he did not wish to examine too closely.
He forced his gaze away from her and straddled the Bezchian-style perch. Her office was a comfortable room, built to easily accommodate even a Bezchian as large as Kyzel. Wide, with very little furniture aside from a well-proportioned wooden desk, a long cabinet that ran the length of the inner wall from the door to the corner, and four perches of varying sizes and styles. Wise choices when providing a service to the different body types her clients must have. Almost reminiscent of Uri’s main room.
Plenty of natural light flowed in through the windows lining the outer wall. All in all, an efficient and cheerful work environment.
“Well, now.” She sat down. “Do you want to start with questions?”
He had plenty of questions, like, why was her hair the color of a desert sunset? Why did she wear a red flower? Did she live nearby? Where were her other personal effects, besides the small picture frame atop her desk? The one turned away from him. Did she have a family? Was she mated?
No!
He did not need or want to know the answer to that question. Or any of them, for that matter. He was here for a reason, and if he did not stay focused on that reason, the most esteemed elder would bind his wings until his rebirth.
“Tell me your process of matching beings together.” There, that was a good opening statement. Clear, to the point, and not easily avoided.
She raised her thin eyebrows at him. “Well, I can tell you that the process is thorough.”
She dared be evasive? “Do you ever have failed matches?”
“Of course we do. But only a tiny fraction, compared to regular dating agencies.” She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against her folded arms. “You must have failed matches too, from time to time.”
“Rarely.” The sour taste of the lie rose at the back of his mouth.
Failed matches were part of the reason he had come: to vindicate himself. To prove he could succeed at an assignment—any assignment, not just matching. To be respected again as a vital contributor to clan and colony.
She grinned. “Obviously, we are both good at our jobs.”
Oh, yes, he had been good, at one time. And if she loved her job half as much as he loved his, she would do anything to protect it—just as he would his.
A pang of guilt poked at his belly. He needed information from her, anything to help complete his mission to stop the royal match and discredit the company for which she worked. But she seemed unwilling to give it to him.
Perhaps Rol was resolving the problem even now. The prime advisor had departed the travelers’ nest moments after Kyzel returned this morning from his two-night romp with that human. Although, there was no guarantee of the prime advisor’s intentions. It was probably better to charm Ms. Vogel, get her to feel more comfortable in his company, until she revealed the secrets of Silverstar. Not as equals, of course…that could never happen. But certainly as colleagues—to a degree.
He gave her what he hoped would be perceived as a disarming smile. “I cannot imagine doing anything else.”
“Really?” Her expression was as warm as the midday sun, and her breasts still rested over her arms, enticing his gaze—but he must remain focused. “Me too. How long have you been matching, erm, mates?”
Was that a question he could answer? Should answer? The average mortal lifespan on most planets was one hundred sun migrations, or years in her language. But not so for the Firewing clan. There was no way to know how she would react to that revelation. How much danger would it be to the clan if he told her the truth about his almost infinite lifespan?
It was not worth the risk. “I have been joining mated pairs all my life.”
“Wow. All your life? When did you figure out that’s what you wanted to do? I didn’t figure it out until I was in my mid-forties, after….” Was that a flash of pain in her brown eyes? “After I, um, grew up.”
What was this? Was there more than one secret she was keeping? And why did the idea of discovering her secrets intrigue him so?
He tilted his head to one side. “After a big event in your life, Nixy Vogel?”
She stared at him, as if weighing her response. Oh, yes, something had happened to bring her to Silverstar.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah, you could say that. Anyway, how about you? Twenties? Thirties?”
“All my life.” A little candor could not hurt. It might lull her into revealing more. “Members of the Firewing clan begin training from infancy.”
>
Her mouth opened with the slightest pop, a sound that stirred the most pleasant shiver down his arms and through his wings. “Your parents allowed that?”
Focus on her words, fool.
He cleared his throat. “I do not know my life-givers.”
“How could you not know—ohh.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think that through. You were adopted?”
“In a manner of speaking. We do not normally speak of this to outsiders.” And for good reason. In this case, however, he had no compunctions about dangling that morsel in front of her.
“Sorry. I’ll shut up now.”
No, please do not. He must keep her talking, if for no other reason than to hear the gentle notes of her voice. “So, you entered the field recently?”
“Yes.” She looked down at her hands. “Over eight years ago now.”
“It is good you found an occupation that makes you happy. It does make you happy, correct?”
Why would he even care? But, for some reason, her happiness was important. It made no sense.
She met his gaze again, and a fresh wave of heat coursed through his veins. “Very happy.”
“What did you do before this?” What was it about her that intrigued him so?
“I was an accountant.” A bubble of laughter came from her, strangely bittersweet. “I put big numbers in little boxes for a finance company. Balancing the books every month was rewarding, but not as exciting compared to this.”
What an odd job: putting numbers in boxes. “Connecting mates is exciting. The feeling that fills me the moment I match a pair is unlike anything else.”
Only the joining of a phoenix with their soul mate pairing was better—or so he had been told. But that meant mortality and, eventually, final death. Despite Fia’s eagerness to join with her soul mate, the mere thought of permanent death disturbed to him. At least he was still far too young to have to worry about that happening to him. Most phoenixes were a thousand sun migrations or older before they met their soul mate.
