Venus City 1 (43 page)

“I
am
lucky,” he murmured, leaning lower. “That rampage I went on...I took on eight guys at once! I can't thank you enough for these boosters.”

“Even though they don't look like they're going away?” She asked, her eyes falling down to his collar bone once more.

He shrugged. “It doesn't bother me so much.”

“Not even the color? Isn't it a little girly?”

He laughed, swooping down and catching her off guard with a swift kiss to the lips. He hooked his arm around her waist and led her toward the path where their shoes were.

“Come on, I have to return you to your fiancé,” he said as they slipped into their sandals.

“You know, I found out who those two were meant to be,” Braya said, indicating the fountain statue.

“Camille and Tristant,” Asher nodded.

“What?” She whined. “How did you know that?”

“How many times should I tell you to stop being so surprised when I know something you don't know? Because that's nine times out of ten,” he smirked, wrapping his arm around her waist once more and leading her through the corridor leading up to the manor.

“Ugh, shut up,” she grumbled.

“Kiss me, and I'll shut up,” he said in a tone so soft that she thought she might have imagined it. But her body had responded to that
order
, and she was twisting up in his embrace and placing a deep, heart-thrumming kiss on his lips. His hands roamed across her lower back and up over her shoulder blades to tickle the mark stamped over the tender skin of his neck. His fingers grazed the link, and a tremor overtook her entire body. She melted into his arms and allowed him the liberty to take it into another round before she'd finally managed to regain a sliver of her good sense.

“Asher,” she murmured against his swollen lips.

“Yes, darling?”

“You know we shouldn't be doing this.”

“We can do whatever we please, actually.”

And then he kissed her again.

This was all right, wasn't it? She didn't want to admit her feelings to him, and so far Asher hadn't forced her to, so why should she deny herself the physical perks of her attraction to him? Braya
 
couldn't see the harm in it as long as Asher didn't start nitpicking for a confession.

****

After Braya had managed to convince him that they really should stop kissing in the middle of the corridor where anyone could happen upon them, they slowly made their way back up to the manor, their hands playing with each other's behind their backs as they approached the great doors.

Inside the manor, Latham was waiting for them in the Entrance Hall. He looked anxious, pacing back and forth. His eyes were magenta again, and Braya wasn't lost to the fact that Asher's had shifted back into his magenta covers the instant they stepped foot into the manor.

“Jeeze, Latham, anxious much? I think I brought her back before curfew,” Asher teased. “Nearly missed it.”

Latham didn't appreciate the joke. Braya noticed he was holding an envelope in his hands, and his handsome face was creased with anxiety. There was still something about him that made her feel good, feel a pull toward him, but it was different than what Asher did to her. It was like comparing apples—with her new-found like for them—to oranges. They were just different. And did it help that apples tasted better these days?

“Braya,” he exhaled sharply. He moved to greet her with a kiss to the
 
cheek. “I was worried.”

“Why? I only saw you an hour ago,” she said, frowning. “What's wrong?”

“This.” He thrust the envelope into her hand. “It's a Court Summoning.”

“What?”

Braya hastily opened the letter, Asher and Latham hovering over her shoulder as she read. It was brief and succinct.

Miss Braya Vace,

On the count of multiple charges, you are hereby summoned to the Fair Lady's Court on December the fourth. To review your charges, please log into our website through your tech pad.

Regards,

Hera Sens

Asher tore the letter from her hand and crumpled it in his fist. “This is bull. What could they be charging you for?”

Braya stared at the ball of paper in Asher's hand. Something nagged her about the conduct of that letter—especially the sender. Curse that crow-woman. She probably got a kick out of writing it, too. “I don't know...but I'm sure I won't be able to go on with a quiet life anymore. Whether it's foreigners or my own city, I've been pulled into this war whether I like it or not.”

“Come on Brays, do you really think this is serious enough to call it war?”

Braya grit her teeth. “I was being metaphorical, jeeze.”

“We need to work on your metaphors, then,” Asher smirked.

“My metaphors are just fine,” she huffed.

“Prove it.”

“I don’t have anything to prove to you.”

“Ah, so I guess I win this time? I’m always right.”

He had been right too many times for her taste, that was certain.

“Fine. I’ll only give you this one,” she conceded begrudgingly. “Ever since my Interview, I kept comparing myself to a rotten apple, but I actually feel more like a frail tree branch that’s been broken from its original place on the tree.”

“Hmm,” Asher contemplated. “The whole family tree reference is a little overwrought. Don’t you think Latham?”

“I think all of Braya’s metaphors are excellent,” he replied dutifully.

“Kiss up,” Asher groused. “But if you insist on going with the tree branch thing, at least ease up on yourself a little.”

She gave him a look. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe you’re not so much a frail branch, but rather one blossoming with beautiful flowers.”

Braya snorted. “And
mine
was overwrought?”

Asher shrugged, playfully wrapping an arm around her. He seemed to only do it in hopes of irritating Latham. “It doesn’t matter, Bray. Whatever kind of lost branch you are, you’re always welcome on my tree.”

###

Don’t miss the next book in the series, Ephraim City! Coming soon in March 2012. Below is a sample of chapter one from Ephraim City.

###

Braya Vacelind, as she preferred to be called now, stood crouched over the shallow grave. Its dimensions were sized appropriately for a casket to be laid inside, but its depth left a lot to be considered. There was no way it was deep enough for anything that had to do with a burial. Perhaps a person could fit inside, just barely, but that was it. The peculiarity of it drove Braya nuts.

“So you seriously have no clue what these graves are meant to do?” She asked her companion.

“Brays, I told you a hundred times over,” Asher replied, seemingly losing his patience, “I don’t know what the graves are for, nor do I know what the tree is meant to do.”

Hmm. Very peculiar. Why would Channing plant this tree and have the twins dig all these graves without sharing his reasoning with his Locers? That man was one mystery after another, and Braya hated having to admit that he was rather good at making it difficult for her to figure out his next move. Heck, he’d even managed to stay under her radar the entire time he’d been stringing her along like a puppet to do his dirty de-hazing for him all last month.

“Well this thing has gotta have a purpose,” Braya mused, stretching back up to her full height. Asher was standing just on the other side of the grave she’d just been inspecting, his pretty blue eyes glowing in an eerie compliment to the shade of the tree’s bark. His cheekbones looked especially pronounced in the lighting of the white, tangled tree growth, and his hair was its usual dark disarray.

“You know we shouldn’t be wasting all this time worrying about this tree,” Asher commented, smashing the heel of his left boot into the soft dirt, his eyes watching what he did with his foot. “Channing got away over a week ago. It’s been too long already.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she answered bitterly, moving onto the next grave. It was pointless, but she couldn’t help but feel like they were missing something. “You’ve told me that already. I don’t know what you expect us to do, though. Sniff him down with our enhanced noses like a couple of dogs?”

“Come on,” Asher said amusedly. “What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

“You really don’t want me to answer that.”

“Brays, all you have to do is get a few boosters and—”

“Asher,” she glowered, “I think we’ve had this discussion every single day since Channing’s disappearance.”

He shrugged, now hunched down next to her beside another one of the graves. He no longer smelt like flowers and soil, and she was loath to admit that she actually missed that wretched scent of his. It had been calming. Sweet. Familiar. “It’s always good to give you a reminder.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten,” she replied tartly.

Braya gingerly ran her fingers over the dirt at the bottom of the grave. It felt ordinary. She didn’t know what she hoped to find, but she couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that something was off about this place. Horribly off.

Asher made a disgruntled noise.

“You can go after him alone, if you’d like,” Braya said somewhat spitefully. She really didn’t feel like that. She didn’t want him to leave, but he’d been fighting with her over the same issue everyday, and like a candle that had been burned too long, her wax was rapidly melting away. It was wearing her down. “I have to stay here for my court date, and my wedding, you know.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “Don’t remind me of that.”

“I assume you mean the wedding,” she said coolly, standing up once more. She was at a loss. They’d come to the graveyard three times in the past week, upturning no results in the process. Braya moved over to the thick, gnarled blue trunk and leaned against it, her eyes trained on Asher as he followed her from where he’d been loitering near the grave. Braya could only imagine he’d gotten lost in some daydream of slicing Latham’s head off and running away with her into the night. He’d told her of a similar dream a few days ago.

“Of course the wedding,” Asher replied, his cool blue eyes accessing her in a way that brought a flush to her skin. “You’re letting yourself be controlled just as you did when Charlotte was your mother and you were working for the Locers.”

Braya shrugged, not in the mood to indulge in this argument again. “Then force me not to marry him.”

He hated it when she said those things, and she knew it.

As expected, Asher took her words in a less-than-graceful manner. He pushed up against her, a guttural sound building up in his throat, his face crowding hers. Her back was pressed painfully into the tree trunk, but Braya didn’t notice it as much as she noticed the heat growing and twisting like a braid in her lower stomach. She’d been careful to avoid such a close proximity with him over the past week for this very reason. The master-slave link still connected them and Braya’s attraction for Asher hadn’t dwindled in the slightest, meaning the link would continue to enhance their experience whenever they engaged in anything that brought them within breaths-reach of each other.

It wasn’t proper for a girl who was about to marry another, even if she wanted it more than she wanted anything else.

“Braya,” he said on a sweet exhale. His breath rushed over her skin, and Braya sagged into his arms, which snaked up to wrap around her just at the right moment. “Make the choice you want most.”

“That’s the problem,” she murmured, her earthy brown eyes seeking his cold blue ones. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Don’t lie,” he said with the tiniest hint of a smile. His thumb stroked her cheekbone.

Braya shuddered, tearing her gaze from his. “Asher…what I want is more complicated than it should be.”

“You want me, don’t you? Brays,” he scolded playfully, letting his hand that had been hovering over her cheek dive into her hair just behind her neck, “there’s no need to play coy with me. I’m a nice guy. If you just ask—”

“Ugh,” she shoved against his chest, but he was far too strong to stumble back. “Not you, you stupid Mud. I’m talking about my mother. Her coma…it doesn’t seem like anyone has the abilities to help her.”

Asher tilted his head. “You said you hadn’t heard anything on that front, you know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She wanted to be irritated with him. It made it easier to talk to him. But when he had that velvety tone of concern sewn over his handsome expression Braya found herself muted, calmed.

“I just heard today.”

“So that’s why you wanted to come here, wasn’t it? You hoped to find something—”