Another sneak peek at the fantasy I’m working on.
You’ve met Arkana, the New Earth healer, and Alexander, Aleria’s King, in Touch. Now meet Treynor (Trey), Alexander’s eldest son and Crown Prince of Aleria.
This scene takes place in Arkana’s bedchambers.
She was gone.
Nothing of her remained, not a stitch of her linen clothing, not the sweet smell of her Borellean perfume. It was almost as if she’d never been there.
Trey turned in a slow circle and imagined her there–standing by the windows bathed in sunlight, sitting on the chaise at the foot of the bed, walking from the connected bathroom with little more than cotton wraparound on. He slammed his eyes shut but that particular image lingered, burned forever into his memory since the day it’d happened.
He’d run her to ground that day, chased her from one room to another based on information from the servants, his guests, and his family. Furious and frustrated that she eluded him by mere seconds, he stormed uninvited into her room, bellowing her name as the doors swung shut behind him.
She appeared from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wet and fragrant and glorious to behold. The dark purple wraparound clung to her every curve and stopped mid-thigh. He swallowed, struggled to remain standing when all he wanted was to throw himself at her feet and kiss every inch of her long, gorgeous legs. Instead, he snapped his gaze back to hers. Concern glittered in her dark eyes and lined her forehead.
Trey’s anger dissipated with that single word. He forgot why he was looking for her, forgot why he needed to speak with her. Desire flamed through his veins. He longed to take her in his arms, trace her warm flesh with his fingers, follow the path of that drop of water with his lips and tongue. There were no words to describe the goddess before him, not that he could have formed a single sentence to save his life. He was too aware of her effect on him to care about anything else.
Trey’s eyes snapped open and he looked down with a groan. Apparently he was still too aware of her effect on him.
But memories weren’t what he wanted. Not right now.
He wanted her.
But he couldn’t have her.
Lost in thought, Trey hadn’t heard the double doors to the room open. He gasped and spun. His father’s head servant Corlian stood in the doorway.
Irritation simmered in Trey’s chest, at what or at whom he didn’t know. Clearing his throat, he gestured for the old man to enter. “What is it?”
Corlian held out a transmission disc. Aleria’s symbol of arms, an upside-down V against a background of flames, decorated the curved surface. “She left it for you.”
Trey didn’t need him to clarify the “she.” They both knew who “she” was. “I see.”
He took the disc, turning it over to inspect the smooth bottom. “Thank you.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
The quiet snick of the door signaled Corlian’s exit. Trey shook his head at the man’s ability to come and go so quietly, then turned his attention to the disc in his hand. He flipped it over and pressed his fingertips to the symbol of arms. Instantly, her image appeared. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and traced the curve of her holographic cheek. His fingers passed through the flickering image. Loss enveloped him, stole his breath away.
Fates, he missed her.
Taking a deep breath, he focused on Arkana’s image. She stared at him, as if she could see him, her gaze so intense it made his skin crawl with anticipation. Would her message be good? Or bad?
Time slowed. His surroundings disappeared. Then, at last, she spoke.