by Lynn Best
Another shrug. She took that as a maybe.
Charis sat down in the chair closest to her, placing the linen napkin in her lap. He finally turned around, and then moved to sit across from her. He looked miserable, squeezing beneath the table, making the chair scrape loudly as he adjusted it, noticing the napkin, but making no move to put it on his lap or do anything other than look at his book.
Charis began to help herself—roast duck, mashed potatoes, steamed carrots. Once again, she wondered if what she was eating was actually food, but she’d long since stopped worrying about that. Han didn’t take any food until she offered him some, then he snatched meat off the platter and ate it like a starving man.
So much for table manners.
“What are you reading?”
His eyes darted to his book. “Poetry.”
“You were reading that before. To me. After I fell.” She remembered the gentle rumble of his voice, the feeling of his hand on her skin. It seemed like a dream. It had been so different than her other encounters with him. But she knew what she’d seen. What she’d felt.
His cheeks reddened slightly. Was he blushing? But he quickly took a big drink from the glass in front of him, obscuring his face. When he set the drink down, he finally spoke. “I like poetry.”
Articulate, too, huh?
“What kind of poetry?”
“All kinds.”
Great conversationalist.
“What book is that?” she asked.
“Dickinson.”
“As in Emily?”
He nodded.
“Can you read me some?” She popped a grape into her mouth. It exploded between her teeth in tiny bursts of flavor, and she moaned appreciatively.
His eyes flew to hers at the sound, but she just grinned sheepishly. “So good. You should have one.”
He ignored the suggestion, simply studying her for a moment, the fire crackling the only sound in the room. Finally, he opened the book and slid his finger down the page. “You left me, sweet, two legacies,—a legacy of love, a Heavenly Father would content, had He the offer of; you left me boundaries of pain, capacious as the sea, between eternity and time, your consciousness and me.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, and she meant it. “What does it mean?”
“The narrator is talking about someone who is dear to her who has gone.” His gaze seemed to land on everything but her.
“Did the person leave, or did he die?” She played with her fork, wondering why he avoided her.
“It is unclear from the poem. Some people think Reverend Charles Wadsworth is the subject of the poem, though there is no way of knowing that.”
He spoke with such conviction it was hard to remember he was an alien and not some university professor. “How can you know so much about American poetry? You’re not even an earthling.”
“I like knowing things,” he said. In the firelight, his features were soft. When he talked about poetry, the anger left his face. His shoulders dropped from his ears and his fists unclenched. It was like she could see him relaxing right in front of her. His shoulders settled against the chair, but when they touched the wood, he winced and pulled back.
Was he in pain?
She watched him carefully, seeing more telltale signs of pain. He reached out for his next bite of food carefully, the pain pinching his features until he blanked his expression. How could he have gotten injured? He’d only been inside this room and the simulator room, right?
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
He flinched. “No.”
“But your face, you seem to wince when you move.”
He drew into himself again, shaking his head and standing up. “I’m going to bed.”
She watched him, not trying to stop him, but something felt off. She could feel it. There was something wrong with Han, and he didn’t want her to know about it. But Charis couldn’t leave well enough alone when someone was in pain. It was why she was good at her job.
She rose, pushing back her chair to follow him. “Han.”
He stopped, book in hand.
“You can talk to me, you know. I haven’t been the best houseguest, but listening is what I do. It’s my job. On Earth.”
He seemed to consider her words. She held her breath, hopeful he’d open up. But he stiffened. “It’s best you don’t know.”
“But really, I—”
“It doesn’t concern you!” he roared.
She backed away carefully. The beast had awakened.
Puffing, he stormed off again. It seemed to be the ending to all their encounters. Charis returned to the table to finish her food. She wasn’t about to let a good meal go to waste when she had so little else that comforted her.
When she was full, she curled up in the chair beside the fire. From a stack on the end table, she chose a book of poetry. She read until her lids were heavy, wondering what it was about the lyrical lines that called to him. Her eyes finally drifted closed, and she slept. When she woke, not sure how much time had passed, she had the impression someone was in the room with her. Yawning, she pushed herself, seeing a shadow disappearing down the hall. Han?
When she scanned the area, she saw his Emily Dickinson book atop the one she’d fallen asleep reading. He’d been in the room. Watching her sleep?
It was all so strange.
Charis stayed awake for hours after that, waiting for him to return, but he never did.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In the morning, or what felt like it should be, Charis awoke stiff and sore in the chair where she’d slept. The fire had died, and someone had cleared away the food on the table. Now there was a spread of bacon, eggs, toast, and juice. The blonde, Brandy, was sitting in a chair, picking apart a scone.
“Hi! You’re up,” Brandy trilled. She was movie-star beautiful first thing in the morning. Of course she was. Charis was pretty sure she currently looked like she’d slept under an overpass.
“Hi,” Charis responded groggily. “What time is it?”
“Oh, who knows?” she said cheerily. “They ordered breakfast, but if you don’t see what you like, I can get it for you. All made however you like it. Best part about this place.” She put a bit of buttered scone in her mouth.
As if that girl ate whatever she wanted. Ha. She looked like she weighed one-twenty… if she had twenty pounds of brick in her pockets.
Charis rose, staggered to the table, and dropped into a chair. She picked up a piece of toast, taking a lackluster bite. Her stomach felt sick, as if she’d been riding on a boat. Or spaceship, she thought wryly. Aloud, she said, “You’re very chipper in the morning.
Brandy brightened. “I’m very chipper all the time. Some people find it annoying, but the men on this ship really like it. I guess that’s why they let me stay.”
Let her stay? “Don’t you miss Earth? Don’t you want to go home?”
Brandy shook her head. “Not much to miss. They took me from really terrible circumstances like I said before.”
Charis remembered this conversation, though it seemed like ages ago. This woman liked being a companion to the men onboard, like some sort of high-class alien escort. And Charis shouldn’t judge. She’d fooled around with Rahan and Kahn, and was currently trying to get Han to kiss her. So she stopped judging Brandy and tried to befriend her.
“So, Brandy, where are you from?”
“St. Louis. And before that, Chicago. Sorry we didn’t get better acquainted before, but you kinda ran off on me, so…”
“Sorry about that,” Charis said, blushing. “Still trying to get used to this whole abducted-by-aliens thing.” She scooped fluffy yellow eggs onto her plate, and then took a bite. They were as delicious as she’d expected.
Brandy smiled. “I see myself as the U.S. Ambassador to the Cartharians. Like a cool job where you can travel. Like, really travel.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Charis tried the bacon next. Perfection. She sure was doing a lot of eating on this trip. Like a c
ruise except the excursions were just holograms.
“What did you do before being a U.S. Ambassador to the Cartharians?” Charis took a drink of orange juice.
“I was a prostitute,” Brandy said nonchalantly.
Charis spit her juice across the table. “Sorry.” She tried to wipe her mouth on her shirt, embarrassed.
“It’s okay. The other girls all assumed I was one, so it’s nice it was a surprise to you.” Brandy smiled, revealing big white teeth. “I was a high-class escort if you want the technical term, but it was prostitution. I had a pimp, and I even got beat up a couple of times.”
“Wow, I’m really sorry. That’s terrible.”
Brandy nodded, her face betraying just the slightest hint of grief before she forced it away with a big smile. “But now I’m here, living the life I’ve always wanted. Everyone is nice to me, my room is huge, and I can have literally anything I want.”
“But it’s lonely sometimes,” Charis said, not being able to stop herself from emoting.
Brandy shrugged. “That’s why I was glad they picked you up. Some of the other girls didn’t like me. Too perky or something. But…” She picked at a sausage, not really eating it so much as tearing it into pieces. “I get why you don’t want to stay.”
“I have a mom, friends, and some extended cousins who don’t really talk to me but who would probably miss me if I never returned. I have a job. A cat.” Oh god, her cat. He’d been outside when she’d left for the party. Was he alive?
Brandy nodded. “I get it. Not everyone had nothing like I did.”
“Brandy, that’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” She smiled, batting her hand in the air. “Still, though, while you are here, I’d like us to be friends. Girlfriends who chat and gossip. Boy talk. All that stuff.” She leaned in close, her eyebrows arching. “Can we swap secrets?”
“And paint each other’s toenails?” Charis joked sarcastically, but Brandy nodded vigorously. The poor woman was lonely, and if being her friend helped, even if they had to part ways soon, what the hell?
“Sure. Let’s be friends.”
Brandy clapped her hands, her beautiful breasts jiggling. No wonder they picked her up. Damn. Charis wasn’t a lesbian, but Brandy was stunning. Why didn’t Han take her for a mate? Or maybe he’d already tried. She didn’t want to ask.
“Okay, great, so I asked permission from Bram to take you out, but he said no. Party pooper.”
Charis sighed. This room was already getting to her.
“But…” Brandy said, building the drama, “I went to Rahan, and he said yes! He’s going to personally escort us. And Bram can’t override Rahan.”
Brandy clapped some more, but Charis’s body was buzzing. Rahan. When she thought of the naughty things they had done, and in front of others no less, her skin began to tingle. She’d never been as turned on as she’d been in his hands. Seeing him again would likely turn on all those faucets. But then, she was trying to make headway with Han. Going with Rahan would only set her back with him.
“So what do you say?” Brandy asked. “Stay here and be super bored, or come with me and Rahan on a very exciting adventure?”
Charis glanced between her new friend and the dark hallway where Han sulked in his room. “I really shouldn’t. I’m supposed to spend time with Han.”
“Oh, Rahan said not to worry about that. That he would block Han’s empathic power again. So no worries.”
“Well, we tried that last time and it didn’t work out, so…”
Brandy clapped her hands. “He has a solution to that, too. Han has a meeting in a couple of hours, so he won’t miss you. And…” She leaned in close, whispering, “He said the two of you could talk about him getting you a pod back home.” She raised an eyebrow.
A pod back home. Then Charis wouldn’t have to force this thing with Han. It was likely her best shot right now after that horrible threat from Bram. She thought of the people in the dust, worn and broken.
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. Really, how bad of an idea could it be?
Brandy instantly got to work, dressing Charis and doing her hair. Her idea of sexy was different than Bram’s, more of a night-out look than an evening-formal one. Brandy produced a short black skirt, a plunging V-neck top in bright red, with heels to match, and a leather jacket. How each item fit her perfectly, she had no idea. Charis’s hair was curled, pinned, and sprayed until she had a flirty, messy up-do. Smokey eye makeup and lipstick finished the look.
When Brandy touched the wall and created the mirror effect on the surface, Charis had to admit she looked good.
“How do you do that with the wall?” Charis asked, touching it like Brandy had to no result.
Brandy just shook her head, adopting some kind of old-timey accent. “Stick with me, kid, and you’ll go far.”
Charis smiled. Brandy was a character.
But when she pulled Charis to the wall, apprehension grew. “What about Han?” Charis whispered.
Brandy put her hand to her mouth. “Han goes to see his mother every day at this time. And most of the time, he’s gone for hours.”
So that was where he went. He wasn’t just sulking in his room. He was having tea with dear old Mommy.
“But how does he get out?” Charis asked.
“She comes and gets him. She’s got lots of power. After all, she was the king’s first wife.”
“His brothers don’t share the same mother.”
Brandy agreed, touching up her lipstick one more time. She looked great in ripped jeans and a white bodysuit straight out of the eighties. It looked unbelievable, hugging all her curves. “All the boys are different. They take after their mothers. Which is why finding a mate for Han is so important. Which is where you come in.” Brandy booped her on the nose. Who did that? “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a bit of fun before you settle down.”
“A bit of fun? What exactly are you planning?” Charis stiffened.
Brandy grinned. “It’s not me planning, silly. It’s Rahan.” Then she took Charis’s hand and tugged.
If her goal was getting home, staying here with Han was the best plan of action. But she didn’t seem to be getting very far with that, and her time was running out. This was Rahan ship, and if he could override Bram’s order, he could send her home. She would need to press him to make it happen, and tonight was that opportunity.
Overwhelmed and nervous, Charis stumbled after Brandy, letting the blonde drag her out of the room and down the hall. She glanced at the tether on her ankle, and it seemed to start glowing an angry red.
“Brandy,” she said nervously.
They turned a corner, and there was Rahan.
As handsome as ever, he was leaning casually against the wall in an outfit that would make David Bowie jealous—tight pants and a frilly shirt open at the collar. His brown hair was mussed and styled, and she thought she saw makeup sparkling around his eyes. But good God, he looked gorgeous. Like a glamorous rock star. She was instantly drawn to him.
“Little doe, you made it,” he exclaimed, reaching out and brushing his knuckles down her cheek. “I’m so glad. We have something special planned.”
Her heart skipped a beat. What could he mean? She bit her lip. “I really shouldn’t be gone long.”
He continued, unfazed. “This won’t take long, but trust me…” He leaned in close until his lips brushed against her neck beside her ear. “You’re not going to want to miss this.”
Shivers spread over her, and the spot between her legs warmed. He turned her on like he was the key, and she was the ignition.
It was embarrassing.
“What about this?” Charis said, pointing down to the pulsing band around her ankle.
“Oh, that. Pesky Bram.” Rahan reached down and touched the band, making the angry pulsing stop. As he stood up, he let his finger slide along her calf before straightening.
Her heart beat faster.
Brandy swung their connected arms,
giggling. “This is going to be such fun.”
The two troublemakers pulled Charis down the hallway into a smoke-filled room.
The door shut behind them, throwing her into a world of light and sound. Club music pumped from the ceiling, a tune she recognized as one by The Culture Club playing around them. Lights glanced off dark walls, skidding across swaths of multicolored cloth that seemed to plunge from the high ceilings and drop to the floor, breaking the room up into colored lines that swayed as if in time with the music. Charis saw someone slip through the fabric. She had big, eighties-style hair and a Madonna-type black leather bustier.
“What is this?” Charis asked Brandy, who still held her hand and swayed happily to the music.
“Rahan loves theme parties!” Brandy shouted over the music. Suddenly, she screamed, dropped Charis’s hand, and ran to embrace someone. The fabric moved back, and Charis lost sight of Brandy. Bemused, she glanced at Rahan.
He gave her his patented bad-boy grin. She felt notes of extreme desire and real gut-wrenching concern flood over her. Rahan could probably get her to do whatever he wanted. But should she?
He took her hand, leading her through the cloth, dancing her around writhing bodies wrapped in fabric. A dance floor lit from underneath in a rainbow of alternating colors sat center stage. When the dancers saw it was him, they parted, leaving him space to bring Charis into the center and pull her into him for a dance.
The tempo of the music slowed. Rahan put his hands on her hips. She wrapped her arms around his neck. They swayed, not even an inch between their bodies.
“You look good enough to eat,” Rahan purred.
What a choice of words. That was always how she felt with Rahan, like she was teetering on the edge of pleasure and pain. Maybe that was what she liked about him. It was definitely what she feared. “Thanks,” she managed.
“It was nice of Brandy to suggest you come. I’m glad to have you here.”
“Oh, Brandy suggested it? I thought she said you asked for me.”
He made a confused face, shaking his head. “But if it’s a repeat of last time you are after,” he smiled dangerously, “that can be arranged.”
