Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
A couple of cocktail napkins went flying, and their impotent paths made Allhan think of birds shot out of the sky, that which should have soared nothing but deadweight in the air. Meanwhile, Shuli tried to get to the emergency exit next to their seating area. It took the male a good ten minutes to disentangle himself, and it was always like this. He was everybody’s social superior, richer, more charismatic, smarter—and, because he fought in the war, a hero.
He was also ahstrux nohtrum to the heir to the throne.
And that was some real clout right there.
“Tell L.W. we said hey,” somebody else piped up. “He should come out more.”
“Would you want him here?” Shuli peeked at his sleek gold watch. “Although it’s not like he’s got anything better to do.”
Okay, that was a lie, but Allhan kept his mouth shut. The only reason he knew what Shuli and L.W. were up to in the field was because of the things he himself had been doing behind the scenes. Two wrongs didn’t make a right, but they sure as hell locked you into place with any inside information you might have stumbled onto.
Meanwhile, the illicit fighting was taking a toll on Shuli. Underneath the swagger, there was real tension in those shoulders, and you had to wonder whether any of the others noticed or cared that the male was in obvious pain. Probably a no on both fronts. Members of the glymera, particularly slick partyers sowing their oats before they had to settle down in arranged matings, were not known for empathy and this was good news for Shuli. The male had plenty of reasons not to draw attention to whatever wounds he’d sustained, and just as he was no doubt glad nobody was asking questions, there was going to be no medical attention for him. Not unless there was a serious infection or something that refused to heal on its own.
Which again was the way it had to be when you’d been taken off the official fighting schedule, but were still going out into the field.
“See you, Allhan.”
Coming back to attention, he looked over his shoulder. The aristocrat gave him a nod, and then the hail-fellow-well-met stuff washed out of that strikingly handsome face. As Shuli turned away to the emergency fire door, his expression became grim as death itself.
After the steel panel clapped shut and the cold draft was eaten by all the body heat in the space, there was a tangible deflation in the energy of everyone who’d been left behind, the Perrier losing its proverbial fizz.
Allhan checked his phone and wondered why he’d bothered to come early. Except he knew the why. He just thought it was fucking pathetic.
“How about we go to Smokes?” somebody said.
God, he still didn’t know their names. Then again, he’d been adopted like a stray and he was way below their league socially. Not a lot of cause for proper introductions. They also all looked alike to him, the trim-cut suits, the open-collared shirts, the various shades of dark hair. He’d taken to IDing them to himself by the human women they hit on. One was into blondes, another redheads. Two of them liked to take women back together, as if they were critique partners for the sex and committed to real-time feedback.
He’d only paid attention to Shuli because of the L.W. connection.
And the grape-sized diamonds in those lobes.
As the six got to their feet and finished their drinks with a volley of chatter, the rush for the cigar place struck him as ungrounded enthusiasm. They were looking to change the vibe by a shift in location, but the trouble was, they were the luggage they carried, and without Shuli to set an example, they were a little lost. Still, it went without saying that he was invited to come along even though he was nothing more than a cushion warmer: Once Shuli had marked him as okay, he always had a seat at the table.
So he had to give them credit for that.
He glanced at his phone again. He had seventeen minutes.
Why the hell had he thought Lyric might come? Then again, a fool and his delusions were rarely parted when it came to infatuation.
The female had found her proper mate, so she wasn’t going out anymore, yet he’d managed to convince himself that maybe she’d swing by here to see her twin. Yeah, except Rhamp also wasn’t anywhere in sight, and besides, if she wanted that fighter’s company, he was her damn brother. She could just look at him across the table at First Meal. Or call him. Text.
IM, DM… Holiday Inn.
As the ancient hip-hop lyric came to him, he felt a wave of nausea crest and eyed the table that was scattered with empty cocktail glasses. What he needed was some ginger ale. He’d been living on the stuff since the change, and he was becoming quite convinced that he was never eating proper food again.