Saven Disclosure (The Saven Series Book 2) (2 page)

Although I don’t spend my entire day pining over his absence, and I’ve more than my fair share to keep me occupied, my thoughts always turn to Logan the minute I’ve any downtime, any free headspace.

He has stuck religiously to his commitment to contact me every night. Sometimes we get to talk for hours, but more often than not, he can only manage to snatch a few minutes. His official duties are eating up all of his time. While I adore our nighttime chats, it’s no substitute for the real deal, and I crave his arms like I crave cappuccino.

Pretty much all the time.

He has managed to squeeze a few sneaky teleport visits into his schedule, but it’s been fleeting. Barely time to hug before he needs to return lest his father realize what he has done. Haydn was the one to explain that all teleport travel is rigorously monitored and subject to prior approval. In extreme cases—like emergency situations—Saven can teleport without permission, but they must account for their actions afterward. Logan, Haydn, and Neve have special dispensation given their Royal status, but they still need to abide by the rules.

Besides, it’s warranted. Teleporting can take a toll on their human bodies, so they need to keep it within recommended limits. Only for that, I would have demanded Logan visit me every night instead of being resigned to brief phone communications.

I often wonder how I survived pre-Logan; in those bleak, dark, depressing days when I never had anyone to call my own and my heart was only a life-sustaining organ in my chest. It’s good to remind myself of those forsaken times. It helps to put my current situation into perspective. While I hate our forced separation, I still wouldn’t swap this life for my previous one.

I slide down an inch and water sloshes over the edge of the tub onto the floor. My nostrils twitch as the smell of cinnamon and apple wafts under the door, tempting me from my watery hidey-hole. Haydn has been taking a leaf out of Logan’s book lately, and I can scarcely keep him out of the kitchen. Bored stiff during the day while I’m at work, he scours the portal searching for new recipes to try out on his unsuspecting victims. Namely, me and Neve and Alex—her preferred earthen— whenever they decide to grace us with their presence.

“Muffins are ready!” Haydn calls from behind the door, startling me.

I lose my footing and slip farther under the water, swallowing a few fragrant mouthfuls. “Be right out!” I blurt out when my head resurfaces.

After dressing, I pad into the kitchen and hoist myself up onto a stool at the counter. Haydn slides two muffins and a homemade smoothie to me. “You trying to fatten me up?” I inquire.

“You need to eat more when you’re training.”

“I’m sure I read somewhere that you should eat more
protein
when in training. I doubt you’re supposed to be indulging in calorie-laden treats.”

“Watch your mouth!” Haydn swats me with a dishtowel. “Those muffins are made with bran, yogurt, honey, and fruit. All natural. And totally healthy. Now shut up and eat.”

“Ooh, get you! All right!” I hold my hands up in defeat. “But I doubt I’ll manage two.”

“You can give one to Jarod in work,” he suggests.

I snort. “As if he’d eat anything you prepared! I’d have to lie and tell him I baked it myself.”

Jarod isn’t over his aversion to aliens. And that’s putting it mildly. He absolutely refuses to go anywhere with me outside of work if any of my Saven friends are involved, and he hasn’t ever stepped foot in this apartment. It’s a constant source of tension between us. The cause of more than a few arguments. I understand he’s pissed over the whole memory-erase situation, and the fact that enemy alien ships still hover in our skies doesn’t do much to ease any human’s apprehension, but I’ve tried explaining time and time again that we have nothing to fear from Logan and company, but he won’t hear a word of it.

While I’m grateful Jarod managed to make it out of Thalassic City safely, and I’m thrilled to be working in the same building as him, sometimes I could happily bash his head against the wall.

Haydn wordlessly packages the muffin and places it in my book bag. I slip off the stool. “I’d like to walk today.” Ordinarily Haydn drives me. Occasionally he teleports me. But today I really want to walk.

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“I desperately need the fresh air. Hopefully it will help me stay awake. The VP has a full schedule today, and I need to be on top of my game.”

Hayden arches a brow. “What about the vultures?”

“They can kiss my ass.” I smirk and try to inject some much-needed confidence into that statement.

Twenty minutes later and we’re ready to get this show on the road.

I draw a brave gulp of air as I thrust through the glass entrance doors of the apartment block out onto the sidewalk. The large crowd sways forward, baying for my blood. Haydn places his arm protectively around my back, positioning himself between the ever-expanding posse and me.

My eyes surreptitiously scan the mob. The usual group of reporters throws a barrage of questions at me as I walk by, desperate to learn my side of the story. Next to them are your run-of-the-mill alien haters. I think they despise me more than they despise Logan, because I have willingly chosen to date the enemy and I’ve made no apology.

Unfortunately, the government’s Thalassic City TV show had broadcast details of our romance, so by the time we arrived back on solid ground, my relationship status was common knowledge.

Though I’m heckled most everywhere I go these days, I refuse to demonstrate an ounce of shame or remorse. Why should I feel bad about falling in love? And so what if the boy isn’t human? What happened to diversity? And freedom of choice?

The skin on the back of my neck prickles with fear as we pass the final group. It’s this last crew that turns the blood in my veins to ice. This bunch is the most terrifying of all. Logan’s lurkers, that’s what I’ve come to call them. A bunch of hysterical, overly zealous groupies-slash-stalkers who would sooner kill me than see me date their precious crown prince.

And I’m not solely talking about swooning teenage girls. Oh no. I swear half the female population has gone gaga. Women of all ages glower at me as I pass. Someone throws an egg, which I narrowly avoid. Now I’m really starting to get annoyed. Haydn curses under his breath as he propels me forward at a quicker pace. I shelter my ears from the routine insults.

The world has indeed gone to hell in a hand basket overnight. Like flicking a switch, the reaction to the Saven has gone from suspicious, angry protests to rousing applause wherever the roadshow hits. Up and down the Sovereign Northern States of America, the tide is turning. Fear has given way to adulation. Now, instead of being our greatest worry, the Saven have become our greatest ally, our most precious savior.

The president parades King Adjani, Logan, and his deplorable brother, Dante, like his personal pride and joy. Neighboring countries are beating down our door, clamoring for an introduction, hopeful that the Saven will save us from the enemy alien threat crowding our airspace.

My head lifts and I survey the underbelly of the vast fleet hovering under the clouds, darkening more than just the sunlight. A shiver crawls over my spine. Logan and his father are in the midst of heightened negotiations with the Amaretti, one of the Saven race’s oldest enemies. They haven’t as much as shown their faces—let alone put a foot on Earth—but the menacing threat lingers constantly in the background.

Always watching. Waiting. Biding their time.

One look at the sky, at the ghastly Amaretti presence, and my whole body shudders with potent fear.

Every single time.

I lower my head and look away, shivering profusely under my clothes. I can appreciate the president’s genius now, and it was a real smart move on his part. The minute the Amaretti appeared on the scene, the protestors dispersed. Nothing like a strong alien threat to send the crowd running back into the less-than-nurturing arms of the administration. President Bane played it to his advantage, wasting no time in moving the roadshow out, eager to publicly demonstrate that the Saven are our friends. Our only hope of negating the real enemy threat.

I glance at the overhead Commi-Reel as it holographically projects the latest headlines into the sky.
“Saven-Amaretti negotiations progressing well. Saven propose withdrawal. No imminent danger.”

I shake my head. Logan relays a slightly different version in private. According to him, the Amaretti are one of the most-stubborn alien races and they are throwing out more unreasonable demands by the day. While he believes they don’t intend on taking immediate action, if agreement can’t be reached, he firmly expects them to invade.

The longer this goes on, the longer our separation, so I’ve a vested interest in seeing the negotiations succeed. Logan splits his time between the roadshow-campaign trail and holed up in the Amaretti mother ship, locked in heated debate with the enemy. It doesn’t sound like a picnic. I wish he were here so I could help ease the pressure. I know he’s stressed although he tries to hide it. But it has a way of creeping into his voice, and I know him well enough to tell when he’s deflecting my concern.

Worries for Logan add to my worries for our world in general.

Now that the Saven have acquired virtual saintly status, the government has the populace toeing the line again. That’s not to suggest that everything is fine and dandy. Hell no. Tension permeates the air, and most people tend to avoid going out unless it’s absolutely necessary.

Unless you’re a die-hard alien lover.

Or a reporter.

Wheeling the king out on his lonesome would not have had quite the same effect. Add two, young, hot alien princes to the mix, and the world becomes putty in their hands. Logan is by far the more popular, but Dante has his fair share of admirers-slash-stalkers too.

I guess there’s no accounting for taste.

“Slut!” someone shouts and kick starts a new round of insults.

Typical.

I receive non-stop harassment and abuse while Logan is revered like some adored Rock-Star God. It would be laughable if the risk weren’t so serious. Death threats pour in the door at a steady pace. Haydn ensures I never read any of them, but I can’t overlook the mound of mail heaped at our front door every morning.

Haydn shoves me around the corner, onto the next block, and his body slightly relaxes beside me. “At least the egg missed you this time.”

“Oh, yes. What a joyful experience that was,” I deadpan, rubbing my temples in a circular motion.

“You’re the one who wanted to walk,” he reminds me.

“I clearly need my head examined.”

He pulls me into his side and kisses the top of my head. “It’s ridiculous that you can’t walk to work in peace.”

I shrug. While I agree with the sentiment, there’s not much point in whining. It won’t change a damn thing.

Jarod is waiting outside the entrance to Government Buildings, as usual. Spotting us, he smiles at me and scowls at Haydn.

As usual.

Yanking me into a hug, he messes up my carefully styled hair. I roll my eyes. Haydn extracts me from his embrace, shooting daggers at Jarod, as he smooths my hair back off my face. I smack his hands away. Seriously, what is it with these dudes and their grabby hands? “I’m pretty sure grooming isn’t in your job description either,” I mutter low on my breath.

“Only trying to help.” Haydn rocks back on his heels, expression unreadable.

“Thanks for walking me. Have a good day. I’ll see you at five?”

“I’ll be here.” He does that funny half-bow motion and walks away. Hunched over, he looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world.

“Haydn?” I call after him. He spins around. “Don’t forget we’re going out for dinner. So, no need to cook up a storm today.”

“Neve already reminded me. I’ll pick you up later. Bye, Sadie.” He waggles his fingers and I wave back.

Jarod holds the door open for me, and I walk into the large, impressive tiled lobby. Three massive crystal chandeliers dangle from the ceiling as my high heels tap noisily off the polished marble floors. I smooth my hands over my black skirt suit and tuck in the errant hem of my crisp, white shirt. The VP likes me to look professional, and he even shelled out for an entire new corporate wardrobe. I have to admit to an upsurge in confidence when I’m dressed the part.

No one was more shocked than I was when Horace Tonnard, our esteemed vice president, handpicked me as his new personal assistant. While I’d love to believe I secured the role on well-earned merit, I can’t help thinking it has more to do with who I’m going out with. I almost turned it down, except for reassurances from the VP that I was hired on ability alone. Still wary, I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt for now.

G, the rebel leader, is apparently over the moon at my prestigious appointment, or so I’ve been told. Each day, I’ve been nervously waiting to meet him, but so far, I’ve had no involvement with the rebels, and the only intel I have received has been via Jarod. I wish they’d bring me into their confidence sooner rather than later, as it’s a constant source of underlying anxiety.