Between Imminent Fates (The Immortal Accords #12)

38. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Celeste

Surprised emerald eyes met hers.

Derikles was powerfully built, like so many of their breed, and his gaze held an intelligence and heat that’d made her shiver. His perfect features, flawless in a way that’d make the Greek gods jealous, formed a delicious contrast with the tattoos visible on every inch of his exposed arms and neck.

Ignoring the sudden swell of desire within her, she asked, “Bourbon? Coffee? Carmel Ribbon Crunch Frappuccino with chocolate drizzle?”

The instant he frowned, she wanted to melt.

“You’re asking me about my favorite drink when I’ve just heard the last words of my sovereign?”

“If you wanted pity, you could’ve played that card. But you didn’t.” Celeste fisted her hands on her hips. She quirked an eyebrow expectantly. “What’s your poison?”

“Do you typically call beverages poison? Is there someone I should be murdering because you’ve experienced an assassination attempt?”

“Fighting for my honor?”

“More wanting to rid the world of pests.” Derikles inclined his chin. “I detest the hurting of innocents.”

“Whoever said I’m innocent?”

That got his attention. His gaze slid down her body, not in a heated way that would make a woman feel sleazy, but cataloguing everything about her.

“You never answered my question.”

“Why?”

A man of few words. “Humor me.”

He sighed. “I prefer whiskey.”

“Something to warm your soul on those cool desert nights?” The man’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. She continued with the line of questioning. “Favorite zoo animal?”

“Why would I delight in caging them?”

A studious nod. “Valid. Favorite sport?”

By now, he was growing suspicious. “Polo.”

“Really?” Pleasantly surprised, her eyebrows rose. “Ever been on a roller-coaster? And no, the kiddie choo-choo train doesn’t count.”

At the hint of a taunt, he pivoted so she was his whole focus. Before now, they’d simply been standing side by side to watch as everyone else spoke. “Paying money for cheap thrills isn’t my style.”

“What is your style?”

“Seriously, what’s with the interrogation?”

“If we’re going to liaise , I want to know who I’m getting in bed with.” A poor choice of words, really . “And if I’m to teleport to you with updates, I need your psychic signature.”

“And it takes you twenty questions to secure it? Why does that seem like a lie?”

She experienced just a hint of frustration at his suspicious tone. “Rather than stare at you for an obsessively long period of time, I figured I’d simply get to know you. I lack the talent for quickly retrieving psychic signatures.”

“Perhaps you should get around more often.”

Sugary sweet, she replied, “Oh, I get around just fine.”

Celeste couldn’t tell if his eyes widened at the reference, or if she was seeing things. For a moment, Derikles didn’t speak. Then, he asked, “How old are you?”

She feigned mock embarrassment and fanned herself. “Why, Derikles, count me shamed and blushing.”

“You’re not blushing.”

“No? You’re looking closely, are you?”

The heated look of intensity he wore nearly did her in. “Pretty in pink, Celeste.”

She wondered if he meant her cheeks or her hair. Resisting the urge to frown, she asked, “Who’s your personal hero?”

“Isaiah.”

Her smile dissolved. She thought about their similar predicaments. It was obvious that Derikles had deified his sovereign, much as she had with Nina. Now, they were bereft of a friend, mentor, and leader, and struggling to stay afloat.

Derikles wouldn’t see her inner battle, no matter how hard he looked. She’d buried it so deeply that no one could dig it out. Despite that, a part of her craved his attention because she was desperate for a distraction.

“Celeste.”

Say it again , begged a part of her she previously thought dormant. Everything about the way her name rolled off his lips was a promise. “Yes, Derikles?”

He gave no indication of being as affected by her use of his name. “Do you have my psychic signature yet?”

“I do.”

“Good. We’ll meet in a week. I’ll come to you.”

Celeste was already shaking her head. “No. Zeke won’t allow you in our territory.”

“Why the hell not?”

The flare of irritation that seethed through his voice made Celeste shiver. “Because you’re a sovereign now. Having any Raeths of a different clan on campus might disrupt the peace and strain him even further. I can come to you. If that’s acceptable.”

“Do you ask in honor of Raeth tradition?”

“I’m not a traditional girl, Raeth.”

“Count me surprised,” he stated, monotone. “Why, given your outfit, I’d have thought you the perfect picture of traditionalism. I’m only shocked there wasn’t lime green lipstick to complement the conservative look.”

Celeste leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper, “That was in my other corset.”

Though she’d thought him handsome before, when he smiled, Derikles was positively devastating. And then, as if remembering himself and why he was here, the grin faded.

“I’ll see you in a week.”

Celeste watched as the man strode away, leaving only a trace of his coffee and dark chocolate scent behind. He’d surprised her, and she found herself eagerly anticipating their next meeting.

“Did you get his psychic signature?”

She perked at Remmus’ voice. “Yep.”

“Good. It appears you’ve made a new friend.” His voice sobered. “If this friend hurts you, I’ll murder him.”

Celeste chuckled, patting his crossed arms pedantically. “There, there, Remmus. If you murder him, you get the sovereignty. Nobody wants that.”

“Especially not me.”