Total pages in book: 175
Estimated words: 166095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 830(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 166095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 830(@200wpm)___ 664(@250wpm)___ 554(@300wpm)
After the praxiian is stashed in his room, we find another elevator and head up a few more floors, hunting for the suites. They’re not on the top floor, nor the floor underneath. I glance over at Jamef as we ride the elevator down another floor. “You want to wait here while I search?”
He glares at me. “No. I’m fine.”
“Oh, clearly,” I say sarcastically. “You’re not limping at all.”
Jamef’s eyes narrow and I wonder if it has to do with some sort of foolish masculine pride that he won’t admit that he’s hurting. I don’t understand the need to keep silent over it. If I have so much as a blister, I scream it for the universe to know. I don’t get remaining quiet.
“You’re going to be in so much trouble when we get back,” I tell him. “Dora is going to let you have it. You think I’m being fussy, wait until she unloads those tears on you.”
He scowls and when the doors to the elevator open, steps through. “We don’t have to tell her anything.”
“Oh yes we do! There’s no secrets in our triad, remember?”
“Except for the one about the bounty on cloned humans? Since we agreed that’s for the best? Maybe this one is for the best, too.” He hauls himself down the hall, doing his best not to limp, but I notice the hitch in his gait.
And I’m silent at his words, because he’s right. We swore we wouldn’t keep secrets and then the moment something came up, we decided to keep it from Dora. We really are shitty mates. When we get back, we have to tell her everything. Keeping it from her isn’t right.
“This is the floor,” Jamef says before I can comment.
I’m immediately focused back on our job again, my hand sliding to my belt and searching for a non-existent blaster. Kef, this stupid dress. I scan the hall, but it looks the same as the other ones, with nothing to tell it apart from any other floor of rooms. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been scanning for DNA traces on every floor. He’s got a higher concentration of particle residue here. Probably skin flakes or strands of hair left from frequently coming back and forth.” Jamef moves down the hall, and I hear the faint whirr of his red eye processing as he takes everything in.
I follow after him. “That eye of yours is pretty handy. I should get one.”
“No.”
“No? Not even up for discussion?”
He glances back at me. “No, because I like your eyes.”
Well, damn. He sure makes it hard to stay mad at him. I want to preen under the compliment. All my jokes about us having a matching set go out the door, all because he likes my eyes. I’m such a soft touch.
Jamef pauses in front of a door in the middle of the hall. He scans it for a long moment and then turns to me, nodding. “This is the one.”
I frown, because it doesn’t look like a suite. I would have thought they’d have double doors or some fancy plants in the hall or something. “Don’t tell me our Lord Nerit is slumming it with a regular room after all? I thought he was staying in a suite.”
“Maybe he changed recently.” Jamef shrugs. “If you’re wanting to hide out, would you take a suite?”
I suppose that’s a good point. “You’re sure this is the one?”
“I am. How do you want to handle this?” He looks over at me, waiting.
How do I want to handle this? The obvious way, of course. I reach out and knock on the door.
Jamef gives me an angry look.
“Did you have a better idea?” I ask, beaming at him.
The door opens, and a mesakkah soldier takes a step forward, putting a blaster to the center of my brow, right between my horns.
One Hundred Fourteen
JAMEF
Anger roars through me at the sight of the male holding a blaster to Bethiah’s brow. The need to protect her makes me desperate to surge forward, but I don’t dare. If I trigger him, he’ll kill her. Quickly, I search through my installed programs, looking for something to assist in the situation. I’m better at hacking than disabling a blaster, but I have to do something.
“Who are you?” the male snarls, pressing the weapon against her skin.
A growl of fury lodges in my throat. I scan the room for security feeds—
“Trigger happy much?” Bethiah drawls, pushing the barrel of the blaster away from her brow as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. “I’m the escort Lord Nerit il’Aiven requested.”
That makes the male pause, and he lowers his weapon, which means I can breathe again. I twitch with the urge to move to Bethiah’s side and step in front of her protectively, but I know she’ll murder me in my sleep if I try anything. It’s hard to let her do as she likes, but Bethiah isn’t like Dora. She doesn’t need protecting, no matter how much I might want to.