The Pale Waters (#1 Reclaimed Souls) (4 page)

I look through the glass wall into the
bedroom, and all I want to do to fall between those crisp, clean
sheets and enter into a dreamless sleep. But I’m too excited about
tomorrow, too eager to unlock the mysteries surrounding Roland, and
it shows on my face as I wipe the bathroom mirror clean.

I slip into a warm bathrobe, exit the
bathroom, tie up my long hair, and explore the bedroom. More
specifically: the wardrobe. My feet pad over thick carpet.

I ignore my purse on the bed and the tablet
inside. I’ll wait a few minutes before logging into my personally
secured network that, before coming here, my mentor assured me
could not be compromised by Palace security. But six disciples came
before me and failed. I have to wonder if anything I was taught is
true.

Am I in a battle worth fighting for?

Is it worth my life?

Is it worth Roland’s life?

I open the wardrobe’s heavy wooden door, and
folds of fabric spill out as if they are dying to escape. I knew
I’d see fabriskins robes—it is the required city attire, including
the Palace—but not in such glorious fabrics. Silks. Satin. Wool.
Sheer. Raw metal. Molded glass. Even denim, which only half-humans
wear. Each are perfect for my height. Some are plain, thick, and
professional looking; others are sewn with gems, pearls, and
embroidered with exotic patterns from some far-off continent. I
pull those out for further inspection but, in a quiet, demure way,
I place them back into the wardrobe. I’ll never wear them. No need
to. In all of my training, my personal appearance was never
discussed. Perhaps it should have been.

In the wardrobe’s drawers, I find articles
of clothing one would expect to see. Undergarments. Stockings.
Nightwear. Wool trousers and utility shirts. I’m happy to know that
I won’t be walking about the Palace Skyscraper naked. I could never
be as bold as Cat with her lithe figure, exotic features, and a
dangerous dagger at her hip all on display in a sheer fabriskin
robes. It suits her.

Strangely, it didn’t feel sexual on Cat,
though, in truth,
I
felt a slight sexual
pull
toward
her. It makes me want to know more about her. Earlier, when she
glided through the Palace, she didn’t walk as if she were on the
prowl for a mate. Roland’s chief of staff personified confidence.
She could probably pick and choose her mate without much
effort.

As for Roland himself, well, I wasn’t sure
what he wore tonight. It wasn’t a robe at all, but trousers and a
utility shirt—or at least, that’s what I think he wore. I was too
busy with my own disrobing and discovering a
real
sexual
attraction to the man.

I don’t know what to make of the scars I
glimpsed. With time, which, unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury
of, I might discover the mystery.

With a full belly, clean clothes, and
knowing that I should stop thinking about Roland and Cat—I might go
all night thinking about them—I sit on the plush, high bed, open my
purse, and empty the contents.

I look down at everything I own in the
world.

A small, palm-size tablet. Identification
and immunization cards. Make-up satchel. A fifteen-year-old framed
photo of my family back home. This, I study for a moment longer
before I shove it back into the purse. I’m not ready for the dark
thoughts that accompany the photo.

I attempt to power cycle the tablet on, but
I didn’t need to make the effort. The backside is cracked clean
through. Its outer-shell softdrive integument must have fractured
during its two- or three-story fall. Now, the communicator to my
mentor is about as useful as a drink coaster. So the next time
Roland offers me a glass of wine, I’ll have a place to put it
on.

Until I hear from my mentor, and I know I
will, I’ll continue on with the mission, but there’s no harm in
discovering Roland’s secrets in the meantime.

I return everything back to my purse and put
it away. Then, with a longing look, I peel the blankets back, push
off the bathrobe, turn off the lights, and jump into the tall bed.
The sheets are cool against my naked skin, and it’s a luxury.

All I want to do is sleep. But it doesn’t
come easily. Just then, someone knocks on my bedroom door.

EIGHT

THERE ARE TWO POSSIBILITIES AS TO whom the
door knocker can be, and I know who I
hope
it is. If I know
what’s good for me, I shouldn’t open it.

But I’ve never been good at listening to
myself.

I put the bathrobe back on, pad to the door
in the dark—I hit only one wall—and open the door.

He stands in shadows, as there’s no light
coming from my room and the hallway seems even darker. But it is
Roland. Somehow, I know what he smells like, and it’s something I
want to run my tongue over in a very slow and savory manner.

“I came to ensure you found your room
alright,” he says in a low voice.

I smirk in the darkness.
Sure you
did.

“Yes, thank you. Good night.” I move to
close the door knowing he won’t let me. I don’t plan to make it
easy for him, not after our earlier meeting.

His hand stops the door from closing.

“That’s not the only reason I came by. I
wanted to apologize for the way I treated you. Obviously, I had too
much wine and you weren’t cowering to me. I found myself reacting
to you in an interesting manner.”

Interesting manner? Is that what that
was?

“So let me get this straight: do you order
everyone who doesn’t bow down to you to remove their clothing?”

“Not usually.” His voice is edgier. “I truly
thought you had a weapon.”

“Because I wasn’t cowering to you?”

“The entire event was a mistake.”

I don’t respond right away and an awkward
silence comes between us.

“Fine, I accept your apology,” I say through
my teeth.

I hear a relief-sounding sigh escape his
lips. But he throws me for a loop when he says, “You smell nice.
Like Orbi Flowers.”

“Thanks,” I say hesitantly.

“Can I come inside?” He asks in the barest
whisper. Is he afraid of being overheard? He owns the entire
Palace. He owns me now, too. Or he thinks he does.

“It’s late and I’m tired. Can this wait
until the morning?”

“No.”

I step back and allow him to enter. I keep
the lights off. It might make all of this too real. I might do
something stupid like take off my robe and sit in a chair in the
dark and hold a conversation with my new boss. I might ask to lick
him. Heated desire courses through me.

We move deeper into the apartment, and I’m
not sure where I lead him. Probably the living room, based on my
recollection of my new living quarters.

I stub my toe on the coffee table.
Definitely the living room.

“Sorry about that,” he says right behind
me.

“For what, barging in my room tonight?” I
sound more tired than pissed. As long as I don’t sound
aroused
, I’ll be fine.

“For the stubbed toe. I placed the coffee
table there, so the way I see things, it’s my fault entirely.”
There’s laughter in his voice, and I find myself smiling at him.
Not that he would notice. He seems more comfortable.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

“Why me?”

“As in,
why did I summon you
? I’m
somewhat of a planner and I’m careful of who I hire,” he says from
somewhere else in the room. He’s moving and I’m standing still like
the perfect target. I move behind a chair. “I know of your
biotechnical talents and I’m confident that you are capable of so
much more. In fact, I know you are. I summoned you a year ago, but
you never came. I’m glad you’re here now because time is running
short.”

“I never received—”

“I know you didn’t,” Roland says. “I’m not
exactly on good terms with the Old City’s leaders.”

“Funny, but I always thought it was the
other way around. The Old City isn’t on good terms with
you
.”

“I’ve hardly been around for anyone to be on
good or bad terms with me.”

“So it’s true that you’ve been in hiding?” I
ask.

“
Hiding?
No, I wouldn’t call it
that.”

“What do you call it, then?”

“Diplomatic excursions.” I hear a hint of
laughter in his voice.

“I see,” I say with a grin. “You said
something about time running short?”

“Have you always been this inquisitive?”

I think about that for a moment. “Yes, I
think so,” I say. “Why is time running short?”

“Because in three days I’ll be dead.”

I squint at him in the darkness. “I don’t
know how anyone can know the exact day they’ll die.”

“I do. I’ve known it for a long time. And
now you’re here, as expected, but the purpose you
think
you’re here to do and the one you’ll
actually
do are two
different things.”

“You act as if you know everything about
me,” I say.

“I only know what I need to know.”

“Do you normally talk this cryptically? I’d
like to turn the light on now.” My hand is on the lamp. One small
flick and I’d see his face. I’d see what I had to work with in the
morning.

“I’d very much prefer that you didn’t. Not
right now. I like your honesty. Once you see me…” He trails
off.

“I’ll be repulsed?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I can hear the
confusion and exasperation in his voice. Either he has never been
in this situation before or he’s playing me for the biggest fool
ever.

“I hate to break it to you, Roland, but I
saw part of your face tonight already.”

“And?” He barely breathes the question. His
voice is closer.

“I wasn’t repulsed. But why do you care what
I think?”

He hesitates, and I think I hear a sad sigh.
“Why do you think?”

“I think you should leave.”
I’m too
confused to think straight and if you don’t, I am so close to doing
something stupid.

He exhales. He’s close enough to me that I
could reach out and touch him. He smells like charcoal and
wine.

“What will it take to keep you from asking
me to leave?”

Sometimes, I don’t think things through.
Sometimes, I should do the exact opposite of what I want to do. But
not tonight. Not right now.

I find him and tug him into me. His
breathing is ragged as I grab his hair in my fist and pull his head
down to my level.

“Take off your clothes,” I say into his
ear.

NINE

I THREAD MY FINGERS THROUGH HIS hair much the
same way he did to me earlier. It is thick, curly, and falls to his
shoulders.

I don’t think for one second that he will
actually disrobe, and I’m not prepared to make him. I want to teach
him a lesson. I want to feel in control. But I hear a catch in his
voice. His breathing is unsteady and his body shakes underneath my
fingers.

“Alright,” he says quietly. But instead of
doing the deed himself, his fingers catch hold of mine and he uses
my
fingers to unbutton his shirt.

“I didn’t mean it,” I say. Now my own
breathing is uneasy.

“Yes, you did.”

“I didn’t think you would agree to it,” I
hiss.
Dear Goddess, I’m about to take off Roland Rexus’
clothes.

Button one. This is every girl’s dream.

Button two. And it is me. Rahda Plesti, a
peasant girl—a class zero—from the northwest quadrant.

Button three. But
the
Roland Rexus I
met isn’t the same handsome man today.

Button four slips easily through its eyelet.
I deftly conquer button five.

“You can’t back out now,” he growls
seductively as I undo button six. He must have felt that I
hesitated, and I did briefly because I ran out of buttons. His
shoulders roll back and the shirt is gone, and it makes a small
pillowy
poof
sound as it hits the carpet. Still holding my
hands, he guides my fingers to his pants and the button there. But
this time, I halt him.

“Not yet,” I plead. I’m conflicted and I
know he can hear it in my voice.

Part of me desperately wants to explore him,
get my fill of him; the quieter part of my brain advises me not to.
You are allowing lust to cloud your judgment.

“I’m powerless,” he declares into my
neck.

“That’s not true,” I say. “You are the most
powerful man on the continent.”

“You know what I mean.”

And I did. “Is this what normally happens
with your new hires?”

“No, never,” he says urgently, and I can’t
tell if he’s telling the truth or not. That whole
clouding my
judgment
thing is very true at the moment. I pull away from
him, but not enough to disengage our hands and fingers. So far, he
hasn’t tried to remove my bathrobe.

“Let me feel you, instead,” I say. I’ll be
calm. I’ll be clinical. I won’t get affected. I won’t!

“Okay.”

I walk around him and place both of my hands
on his lower back. It’s smooth as I trail a fingertip between the
back of his trousers and his skin. I feel him shudder. My other
hand splays against the right side—my thumb and fingers gently
caressing, feeling, exploring the tiny, thin, raised scars that run
all along his right flank. Whatever happened to him happened to
scar a good deal of his flesh.

My left hand moves up, kneading unblemished
skin, as the right moves higher. My fingertips register bigger,
thicker scars that quickly join into one raised deformity.

My first thought is fire.

My second thought is: who the hell did this
to him? Sadly, fire is a great equalizer and does not distinguish
between royalty or the poor.

A hiss escapes Roland’s lips as I rub that
area.

“Does it hurt?”

“It feels… wonderful,” he says. “No one’s
ever…
Goddess
.”

He jumps and moans as I kiss his back, the
scars, and my tongue licks along the smaller scar lines. The pebbly
marks are both rough and smooth against my tongue. It isn’t long
before his hands are behind him, trying to touch me, but all he can
find is the thick bathrobe. I am able to dodge his efforts by
pulling away for a few seconds. I feel his heat, and I’m drowning
in my own arousal. So much for not being affected.