After he’d gone, Venus took the liberty of looking around. Trophy after first place trophy lined a tall, glass case directly across from the bed. His name etched in all of them.
So, this is his room. She worked to ignore a bubbly, giddiness building in her chest.
Blue ribbons hung from most of the trophies. To the left of the case stood a large window with a white desk underneath. A laptop sat on top and to its left were a bunch of books, perfectly organized from tallest to shortest and in alphabetical order.
Billowy, light green curtains adorned the window, flowing all the way to the floor. On either side of the bed were white nightstands. Matching navy, green and white stripes stretched horizontally over the lampshades. One sat on each stand.
War and Peace rested on the nightstand to her right. Its pages were worn, like an old friend. It called to her. Venus picked it up, casually turning the pages. She could smell him—glazed pears—in every turn. She closed her eyes and flipped the pages again, rapidly, like a fan, allowing his smell to float into the air.
“Is that how your kind read?” he asked.
“Yeow, you scared me.” She opened her eyes and dropped the book. “No, I was fanning myself.”
“Ah.” It didn’t look like he bought it, but he sat on the bed and started organizing his supplies. “First, we’re doing hot.” He placed a warmed cloth over the wound.
She sucked in at the pain, but didn’t say anything. He left his hand on the wet cloth. “We should leave this on for fifteen minutes before moving on to the cold.” As if to explain himself, he held up an ice pack.
“Fabu.” She clenched her teeth.
“So where are you from exactly?” he asked, his first finger gently making circles over her wound. His head was down, so she couldn’t read his expression. But, she could feel his touch, even through the cloth. So soft. Tender. A tingling stirred, starting at the center of the wound, and spreading throughout her body. His fingers stoking the fire on her skin, melting her. Venus watched her skin flame red as her face burned hot, her breathing getting faster and faster.
“Please,” she begged, finally. “Stop.”
He looked up. “Venus, what’s wrong?” He moved on the bed, claiming her face in both of his strong hands, making everything worse. His touch, his airy, summer smell. Warmth.
He’s killing me.
“Look at me, you’re burning up.”
Apprehensively, she peered at him and knew, by the look on his face, he’d seen her desires. She’d never experienced these emotions. They were overwhelming. “Ice. Please.” He held her captive a moment longer. Venus watched his face change. He didn’t understand what was happening anymore than she did. Yet he still didn’t let go. Searching. Her face locked in his hands and her eyes held captive his.
She decided, in that moment, that if she died on Earth, it’d be worth it, as long as he kissed her for real.
He let go, stood, and said, “Of course.”
When he wasn’t touching her any more, her skin started to cool and her alien heart beat slower. She needed to get control of herself. He’d been carrying her for twenty minutes off and on.
Why was this happening now?
He removed the wet cloth and placed the ice pack over her wound. “Venus. I’m so sorry.” He put his hand on her forehead. At his touch, she felt his quickened pulse.
Maybe that’s why she felt different. Venus was responding to his emotions, or she was exciting him. It felt like both. Her face started to flush again, her breathing faster. His breathing came faster, too.
She had to wonder if he reacted of his own free will. Once a female kelarian received immortality, if she wanted a male, her body produced a scent. Beyond that, they could bend a male’s will, to an extent. There had to be a mutual understanding first. Yes, she’d been given the immortal gift, but her journey hadn’t been fulfilled.
She searched his face again. Desire radiated off him as did another emotion, but she couldn’t decipher it. She ached with physical need and pain. Michael leaned in, his warm breath mingling with hers. For a moment, she breathed easier. Venus watched his eyes widen, surprised, when he sensed the difference. She could’ve explained that the carbon dioxide he breathed out allowed her to breathe easier. He already believed she was different. Again, his memories entered her mind. The Angel of Death. Did he still think she would kill him? She realized his kiss might destroy her.
“Venus,” he whispered her name, feather soft.
“Yes?” She hadn’t meant for her response to come out like a sigh, but her name on his lips . . . She’d never really liked her name. Her parents had named her after a planet within Earth’s solar system and a goddess created by humans. A goddess of love, no less.
When Michael said her name, though, for the first time, she didn’t mind it so much. Thought she might cry. Again, Venus was stunned that this was the same boy who so recently despised her.
Venus closed her eyes. Her body commanded him closer, urged him to kiss her, but her mind begged him to stop. He had to fall in love with Cheverly. Her life depended on it.
Kiss me. She lifted a hand to his face, finding the long, thin scar. Her fingers brushed against it, as though she’d felt it many times before.
He shivered.
Leaning in, his lips brushed hers and for the briefest moment it was as if time, space and eternity stood still. Tenderness. Perfectly soft lips. His strong hands stroking her neck.
“Well, isn’t this sweet.” Sarcasm spread through the room so thick it separated her and Michael, a sharpened knife slicing butter.
“Mother, what are you doing home?” Michael jumped off the bed, placing himself between her and his mother.
“Nothing as fun as you.” She pushed her way past him and dropped a white shirt she’d been holding on the nightstand. “Hello, dear. Oh my, you won’t last long. You aren’t his type. Hawke men go for women with a bit more on top. Trust me.”
She looked different than she had in Michael’s memories. At the moment, she was dressed in a pale pink cashmere sweater and dark gray pants with matching suede heels. Her hair looked clean, bouncy and she had on make-up. She held a glass of wine and a cigarette in one hand. That was the same.
“Hello, Catherine,” Venus said, unable to help herself.
“You told her my name. That’s new. Well, my dear, at least you have manners even if you’re a tramp.” She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Mother!”
“Shut it. I’m going to have a conversation with the . . . girl.” She assessed Venus as though checking out meat in the grocery story.
Cigarette smoke and a strong perfume entered Venus’s nose. She held her breath, refusing to cough.
“Get out of my room.” Menace tore through the air. It frightened Venus, yet she also saw the strength in him. And felt a power, which she didn’t think Michael knew he possessed. In that moment, he reminded her of a Formytian. Chiseled biceps. Authority radiating from every pore. The way he stood tall despite everything he’d been through.
It occurred to her that the Gods, Ith and Aetha, had somehow known the potential in Michael. They were aware of him and had chosen him for a purpose. But why would they care? The reason had to be important. She’d have to mull over the possibilities later.
Catherine said, “Oh Michael, control yourself. You’re a man whore, just like your father. This girl is using you and you’re using her, I’m sure.” She turned to Venus, patted her thigh and said, “You don’t really care, do you, dear?”
Venus felt abruptly better. How dare she? Her anger and adrenaline rose making the pain in her leg subside. No one talked to her that way and got away with it. She swiveled her body, flinging her legs to the floor, barely missing Catherine’s smelly cigarette. Standing, she gave Michael a look, a swift apology, before she glared at his mother. “Catherine, I’m sorry your husband treated you the way he did. But, more than that I’m angry.” Venus stopped,
forcing in some poisonous air and then continued. “Furious, in fact, that you talk to your son the way you do. Beyond irate that you don’t love him the way you should. But, truthfully, that’s between the two of you. Michael has chosen to stay and take what you give. I don’t blame him, not really.”
Catherine tried to stand. Her mouth making sputtering sounds, like a defunct car. Disbelief plastered over her face. She appeared shocked that a so-called child would speak to her in such a way. Venus leaned in, pushing her back down onto the bed.
“Stay where you are. Where I’m from, they bow before me or die. You should feel lucky to be alive. But if you ever speak to me in such a way again, I’ll make sure you’ll wish you were dead. Understand?” Venus bent, so they were face to face.
Catherine sat there, stunned. Her mouth remained in a circled O.
Venus asked again, vicious, “Do you understand?”
“Yes, I suppose—”
Venus noticed Catherine’s cigarette had burned all the way to the filter, a long line of ash dangling. Any second it’d fall all over her or the floor.
“Yes is all I require.”
She grabbed her clothes and boots from the foot of Michael’s bed.
“Venus, wait.” He gently touched her arm.
Unable to meet his gaze, she pressed past, ran down the stairs, and out the front door. She had no idea what Michael must be thinking. A part of her wanted him to stop her, or follow. But he didn’t. She couldn’t blame him. Venus understood family loyalties.
Outside, she stopped and ripped off the macaroni visitor necklace (no way in helker she would set foot back inside that school) and threw it into the grass. Then she stripped out of the rancid gym clothes, leaving them where they fell on the porch. Tawny wasn’t going to be getting her gym clothes back, at least not from her. If Michael wanted to return them, so be it. Tawny’s words mocked her. “You’re a lover not a fighter,” she’d said.
Venus let out a huff as her anger grew. Different scenarios in which she could make Tawny suffer, or Catherine or those who’d framed her . . . Hot tears stung her eyes and leaked onto her cheeks.
What did I do to deserve this? Why is everyone picking on me?
She dressed and then stood up straight. Tall. The way her mother had taught her to behave in difficult situations. Pushing down her sadness, she let out a breath. “Ggggrrrr!”
When her boots were buckled into place, she stepped onto the grass and made herself two promises. She’d never remove her Kelvieri Boots again, except to change or bathe and regardless of the situation, she’d never let anyone—humans and any other species she encountered—take advantage of her again.
“Humans,” she muttered.
A glossy black truck sped around the corner and came to a stop in front of Michael’s house. Dervinias rolled down the window. “Hey doof, get your alien assets in this truck. Now!”
In a manner much calmer than she felt, Venus sauntered toward the truck and got in. “Where have you two been?”
Chapter 27
You Might Think
Exiled Page 27