Authors: Sheri Fredricks
Aleksander moved to gather Ella under his arm and started for the front door. “We’re out of here. Have a nice evening, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure he minds his CO.” Queen Savella stepped from kitchen, an apron tied to her slim waist, blonde bangs twisted back with a clip. She looked young and fresh, color bloomed in her cheeks. In each hand, she held a glass of wine—the same wine Ella found—and handed one to Nubbs.
Saints of Elysium
,
what are Nubbs and Savella up to?
Alek pulled open the outer door, pausing to first scan the area with his senses. He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Have a nice evening, Your Majesty.”
The queen returned his smile and added a royal wink. “Not a word, Aleksander,” she warned.
Eighteen
U
nder the fatally toxic branches of Pennsylvania’s state flower, the evergreen mountain laurel, Al bent a foreleg to retrieve her purse and notebook he’d buried under a pile of dead leaves.
Ella curled her lip in disgust. Concealment was necessary, but did there have to be bugs?
“Is there anything vital you need from home?” He handed over her things and picked his clothes bundle up from the ground.
Vital?
“No, I guess not. Clean clothes would be nice.” Ella squinted, confused. “Where are we going?”
A chill hovered in the night air, raising goose bumps on Ella’s arms.
Al appeared warm in his Centaur hide, lucky him.
“I want you to come with me to the palace. Don’t worry about clothes, I’ll find something for you to wear.”
She leveled him with a look, pulling her lips to one side and crossed her arms.
Al laughed, and added, “And they’ll fit, I promise.”
Other than encountering a few mythics going about their evening business, and a team of soldiers who saluted, they arrived at the palace in record time. Instead of entering through the commonly used public entrance, Al led her along a bush-strewn, rock hill to an obscure side entrance. Ever vigilant, he scanned the dense shadowed forest around them, then ushered her inside a dogleg opening.
The passageway quickly opened to a large rectangular room; low ceiling, plenty of blue grass, scattered tables. Centaur mares with children in both two and four-legged bodies, spoke in groups while their foals had one last gallop before tucking them in for the night. A few turned to wave at Al. Most were curious, openly assessing their new guest.
Ella smoothed her wild hair and brushed a hand over her filthy shirt. Placed on public display and garnering attention stretched her rattled nerves. She felt each pair of eyes judge, rip her apart, and condemn her Troll nationality.
“You look fine.” Al looped her arm through his, and together, they strolled through the throng of onlookers; him pretending as if they did this daily, Ella with her stomach in her throat. “They’re all just jealous.”
The insane thought made her smile.
May the gods bless Al.
She decided to play along, more to bolster her courage than for humor. “I wonder if it’s my filthy clothes or pointed ears?”
Near a picnic table filled with screaming kids and tired mares, Al stopped his four hooves and turned her to face him. Warm brown eyes smiled down into hers, his dark goatee stretched over his perfect white teeth. Infinitely tender, he cupped her face in his palms and lightly brushed his lips across hers, moving them sensually back and forth.
“Let’s go.” Instead of linking hands, this time he snaked an arm around her waist, tucking her in close beside him.
The females, whether mated or not, gazed at Ella with astonished expressions.
Was it so hard to believe he’d kiss a Troll?
Come on people, she thought sagely. There were plenty of whispered stories about Centaur and Minotaur couplings. Now if
that
wasn’t a disgusting mental image….
Through an arched doorway inlaid with chiseled marble, the grass floor turned to grey stone. Here the décor switched from the park-like setting of festive family to military drab. Colors leeched away, leaving bare rock walls and a row of sandy-brown doors.
Military personnel conducted themselves in a no-nonsense manner, briskly walking to their destination, saluting as they passed. Al chose the second door on the right and turned the knob. Painted across the front in bold black letters were the words
Kempor Aleksander, HRM Head Guard
.
Ella swallowed audibly. More than just handsome, the door plaque signified the male’s importance. She combed her bangs behind an ear, suddenly feeling very small and self-conscious.
A handsome young officer in true form passed by, and nodded in their direction.
“Bastian.” Al addressed the male. “Would you find Bomani and Hippy and ask them to meet me in my office, please?” He opened his office door and gestured for Ella to step inside.
“Yes, sir.” Snapping a fist to chest salute and bowing, Bastian trotted off. But not before she saw the way his eyes passed over her, brows pinched low.
Inside the office, there wasn’t much to differentiate his work place from that of his stallroom. It was the same, yet not. A part of him she didn’t know, with rolled maps, leather-bound books, and what looked to be an antique collection of arrows scattered over cabinets and bookcases.
Strategically placed in the dominant position facing out, an oak desk took up most of the room. Paperwork in neat stacks dotted the top. An unfinished cup of coffee sat in the corner. To the right of the desk, a long cabinet stood attached to the wall. Adjacent sat what looked like a cold box.
Two decorations graced the walls of the Head Centaur Guard’s office. Behind his desk hung a framed picture of a two-legged grinning Al standing next to a huge, true form Centaur with angry black eyes. Curled into him, a beautiful laughing Wood Nymph held two fingers above the unsmiling male’s head.
The other piece of wall décor was a nasty looking, rusty old sword that’d seen better days.
“Have a seat. This shouldn’t take long.” Al rolled his chair to the side for her. “Would you like something to drink? I have energy drinks and…” Opening the cold box, he glanced inside. “One soda.”
Ella’s ears twitched and she couldn’t stop her grin from spreading. “I’ll take the soda. I haven’t had one in
years
.”
He popped the tab on the cola and handed it over. “Knock yourself out.”
Cool and bubbly, the lip smacking fizz tickled from her tongue to her tummy.
Ahhh...
About then, a four-foot tall whirlwind rushed into the office and stood at attention on two straight legs. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“At ease.” Al flicked his tail out of the way and sat his rump on the floor behind the desk. “Prisoner report, Bomani.”
The smallish Centaur opened his mouth to speak.
Then, Al added, “Make it the condensed version.”
Ella smiled at Bomani, recognizing him instantly as the brave warrior who helped rescue her.
His cheeks pinkened, but otherwise, he kept his lineal stare to his commanding officer. “Under guard, I transported the human to the lower grotto and placed him in a holding cell as you ordered, sir.”
“I take it he’s recovered sufficiently?” Al reached for the open soda and borrowed a sip, winking at Ella.
The thought of his mouth covering the same spot hers touched made her lips tingle.
Footsteps sounded outside the office and a moment later, a tall, unsmiling female dressed in fatigues walked into the office. Two long silver swords hung from one hip, three sheathed knives on the other. A belt of assorted weapons crisscrossed her torso and others lay tucked into the waist of her pants.
Ella remembered her as the woman sitting with Al the night of the speed-date.
A night that felt like years ago.
Her precision shaped arms were the same, but now the lady soldier wore her hair pulled back and braided.
“The human lives,” the female Centaur said. “But he won’t for long, if he doesn’t cease his screeching.” Her arms folded across the weapons and she planted her feet apart.
“What’s he complaining about?” Al asked, handing the soda can back to Ella. “He should be grateful we didn’t terminate him right there.”
“He’s demanding to be released and wants to see the
man
in charge. Alek, if you don’t do something about your prisoner—and quick—I swear I’ll give him a Minotaur necktie.”
Al grinned and used his finger to gesture to her menagerie of weapons. “Were you trying to persuade him into silence through visual stimulation?”
“I’ll quiet him for you,” Bomani offered, petting the long knife strapped to his belt.
Al drummed his fingers on top of the desk, then went to stroking his soft goatee.
Ella knew it was silky under her fingers…and he was velvety in other places, too. The leftover tingle from her lips slid lower, like a lover, over her breasts.
So inappropriate.
As if the warrior-woman suddenly noticed Ella sipping her soda, she locked her piercing green eyes on her and pointed with her chin. “You’re the speed-date Troll, aren’t you?”
“Kempor Hippolyte, meet Ella. Our yodeling human hunter thought it’d be fun to abduct and sell her to the highest bidder.” Al’s introduction pretty much summed it up. “Ella, Hippy is our Inner Sanctum Guard, and personal bodyguard to Her Majesty.”
“Hi.” Ella smiled and nodded, relieved there wasn’t a more personal relationship between Al and the Amazon. “I remember seeing you the other night, too.” She turned to face Bomani. “Thank you for coming when you did. You were so brave.”
“You’re welcome.” Bomani gave her a tight smile, his face flushing further. The poor Centaur appeared distressed under her praise.
“Okay.” Al slapped his hands, and then rubbed them together. “Next on the agenda—Ella.”
*~*~*
“Hippy, I’ll need your ass and elbows for a bit.”
Kempor Hippolyte rolled her eyes in Alek’s direction, his reference to hard work nonthreatening. “As long as it doesn’t take me away from Savella much longer. I have about forty-five minutes before her meeting with Khristos ends.”
Like Hippy, Alek didn’t hold a warm spot for Templar Khristos, the Centaur High Priest. The man of religion had lived through the reign of two monarchs and one long-assed war. In the end, it left him a bitter, racist Centaur. Hippy would want to whisk Savella away from the crotchety old grump as fast as her royal legs would carry her.
“This won’t take long. Ella will be a guest of the palace for the next several days, and I’ll need temporary housing for her. Would you—?”
Hippolyte held up her hand. “Why not call for Benjamin? He’s the steward and knows which guestrooms are open, not me.”
Alek sighed. “She also needs a change of clothes. I doubt Ben can help with that.”
The old palace steward wouldn’t know what to do with a female Troll, let alone dress one. However, the thought had merit and brought a little smile to his lips.
Hippy lifted a single brow. She volleyed her glance between him and the Troll who tapped the last few drops of her upturned soda into her open mouth. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”
“Sweet-thing, go with Kempor Hippolyte. I’ll finish here and then find you.”
Ella stood and tossed the empty can into the round-file near his desk. “Thanks, Al. See you in a bit.”
He returned her easy smile, then watched her shapely ass follow Hippy out of the office. The rounded cheeks beneath her form fitting jeans lifted up and down, up and down.
Meatwrench
tingled, signaling he’d like to continue the motion.
“Sir, now that we’re alone, I have some developing intel.” Bomani pushed the door closed, then moved to stand in front of Alek’s desk. “There’s been talk of an upcoming rebel movement.”
Sexual thoughts of Ella washed away and the pressing order of business moved in. The weight of palace security settled once more on his shoulders. “What are the deets?”
On the other side of his wide desk, Bomani shifted his feet. His hand rubbed the back of his neck and he took a deep breath. “My girlfriend, Roxie? She’s a stylist in a hair salon.”
Aleksander didn’t know many personal things about the Special Ops male, let alone his having a girlfriend. He nodded at Bomani to continue, wondering where this headed.
“A Minotaur came into the salon for a ferricure and—”
“A what?”
Bomani chuckled. “You know, where they soak their hooves, then have them filed and painted?”
What the fuck is the hardcore, throat slashing soldier talking about?
For the love of Bacchus, Aleksander couldn’t believe they were discussing the painting of hooves. Shaking his head, he waved the conversation to go on.
“Roxie overheard the female speak of a proceeding that’ll take place during the next invisible moon. Said she’d mentioned the word ‘rebel’ more than once, too.”
“Do we know where, or what the activity might be?” Alek rubbed his forehead, trying to remember the present phase of the moon. Ella’s scent lingered on his fingertips and nearly broke his concentration.
“Negative, sir. And Roxie can’t question the Minotaur’s stylist either. They won’t talk openly with her because of me.”
“What about you?” Alek grew slightly irritated at this news. Bomani’s size didn’t match the height of the male within, and he didn’t deserve the intolerance thrown at him.
Bomani’s muscular shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m Centaur, sir. Satyrs don’t trust us. Well, except for Roxie, but she’s special that way.”
Back to square one; mythological prejudice. “So, what you’re saying is we need a non-Centaur female to go undercover and root out the necessary intel from a hair stylist?”
“Yes, sir. Unless you have a better idea. It’s a waning moon tonight, which gives us approximately six days to figure out what the rebels are up to and where it’ll happen.”