Chapter Two
I wrenched my eyes open, only to squirm at the brightness of the harsh daytime lights streaming through the open lounge doorway. An icy dampness tingled across my shoulders and chest, and I shivered. My pyjamas were soaked in sweat, my bedsheets, too.
What the hell?
With a groan, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the same unfulfilling ceiling that smiled down on me every morning. Three large magenta flowers adorned the metallic shell. I’d painted them in the attempt to brighten my drab, lifeless bedroom years ago, in the hope of lifting my mood.
I wasn’t sure if the theory had remotely worked. Ever.
My eyes analysed the thick brushstrokes, particularly where the paint had flaked away from one of the petal edges. Its imperfections annoyed me, but if I gave myself a quin for every time I promised myself I’d repaint it and never had, I’d be a wealthy woman.
As I lay motionless, staring at my flawed artwork, flashes of last night’s dream shot to the forefront of my mind. I cursed. How many times was I going to dream of the Damson God? Of the same agonising conversation?
It had been nine years—nine Gods damn years—and I couldn’t understand why I was mentally torturing myself now.
I’d rejected the Damson bond that had appeared between Torz and me when I was seventeen.
We’d accepted our decision. But over the past several months, something had changed: the heart flutters when he smiled at me, the tingles when he brushed against my skin, and whenever he came near, the all-consuming emotional overload.
I craved him, desired him in a way I’d never allowed myself to. And those dreams…they did nothing but intensify my longing for him.
Slipping out of bed, I tore the cold, damp clothes from my body and threw on my old, fluffy dressing gown with its fraying hems and a hole in the pocket. I needed a new one, but my mum had given it to me two months before she died. Nothing could convince me to part with it—nothing.
The thought gave me pause.
Her death had been nine years ago, too.
That year had tried to break me.
Rubbing my eyes, I batted the thought away. Too much clashed about my mind these days, and the fight to dampen those thoughts and memories was waning. What I’d give to stop thinking for a few hours…
Gods! Stop it, Remi.
I’m fine. I’m fine!
I was fine, just tired. At least I hoped that was what the new melancholy swelling in the pit of my stomach was.
As I entered the brightly lit lounge, I dimmed the harsh lights.
A used wineglass sat on the round glass table, resting in front of the plush chair the Damson God sat on every night in my dreams. I could’ve sworn I hadn’t left it there yesterday.
I didn’t remember drinking wine before bed.
But in my exhausted stupor, clearly, I had.
With a sigh, I picked up the empty glass and glanced towards the floor-to-ceiling window edging the inner curve of my living room.
Quoram’s glow always cast a violet tinge over the circular structure of the space station I called home.
The four rotating rings and the space traffic visiting the docks were usually the only floating structures I could see from here.
But today, I could make out the steady lights of at least four of the huge space stations orbiting the planet.
There were eleven stations in total, with a twelfth orbiting Pura, the solitary moon.
Each one was unique in size and structure and followed its own orbital path around Quoram.
Each station home to thousands upon thousands of people.
How ironic. I was surrounded by an entire civilisation, yet barely knew anyone.
An abrupt hammering on my door made me flinch, and I rolled my eyes. Counting the number of people I was acquainted with, there was only one who had the cheek to be so obnoxious.
Placing the glass back on the table, I ran my fingers through my dishevelled hair, the dark strands falling over my eyes in the infuriating way they did when I wore it down.
As I strode to the door, I unhooked the hairband fastened around my wrist and winced at the gnawing ache in my right forearm.
For weeks, it had nagged me. I blamed it on boxing a little too vigorously of late, but I was starting to wonder if sleeping awkwardly—no thanks to the disturbing dreams I kept having—had something to do with it.
After tying my hair back, I slid my apartment door open and found Saul—all six-foot-five, spiked-haired, and bronze skinned—leaning against the doorframe, dressed in the black security uniform of the Argentum’s Delta Ring. Chewing on root-gum, he grinned at me. “Morning. Boss is asking for ya.”
Rolling my eyes, I folded my arms across my chest. “Really? Or are you still too chicken to face him alone after the stunt we pulled last week?”
Feigning nonchalance, Saul shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Torz doesn’t scare me. I blamed it all on you, anyway.
Besides, I’ve already seen him this morning.
” He straightened, glancing at one of my smartly dressed neighbours strolling past. “He specifically asked for you. You’ve overslept and your comms are offline. ”
Urgh! I’d forgotten I’d turned my comms off last night. I’d needed peace and solitude following the day I had of breaking up three reported altercations on Level Four.
“What’s Torz want me for, anyway?”
Saul threw me an incredulous look. “I don’t know.”
Full of reluctance, I inwardly sighed. “Fine. Tell him I’ll be fifteen minutes.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later than intended—after an elevator jump up two levels, passing four bulkheads and two intersections of main corridors—I walked into Torz’s office situated on Level Ten.
To be honest, it wasn’t really an office.
It was his apartment-slash-operational headquarters, and only those loyally sworn to him were allowed access.
His formal office, which he frequented to show official military presence, was located in the Delta Ring Command Centre near the Central Docks.
Casually dressed, with his dark hair still wet and swept back from the shower, Torz sat in his favourite armchair, hunched over a digital pad with a cup of coffee in his hand.
As usual, the main apartment appeared immaculate and untouched.
In comparison, the smaller room I’d just entered was a cluttered mess.
Old books were stacked in piles on the floor next to a wilting silver-leafed potted plant.
Boxes of Gods know what stood in a tower in the far corner, blocking the only outer window.
Empty food trays and coffee cups cluttered the desk, and there was always an anti-gravity ball somewhere…
oh yeah, there it was, hovering under the lamp between the hologram receiver and games console.
Gods, this room gives me anxiety.
Looking up from his digital pad, Torz narrowed his brown eyes at me, roving them up and down my black uniform with scrutiny. “Where’ve you been?”
Eyeing the creased T-shirt and lounge pants he was wearing, I inwardly questioned how he could chastise me for being late when he wasn’t exactly ready for work, either. And as if he read my mind perfectly, he countered, “I didn’t clock off until two this morning.”
“Long meeting, was it?”
“Something like that.”
I walked over to the half-full coffeepot perched on an antiquated radio and poured myself a cup, well aware he was patiently awaiting my response.
“I didn’t sleep well,” I finally answered.
His emotions shifted. The scepticism morphed into intrigue and then…was that concern?
I had to admit: it was disconcerting the bond Damsons had.
When in close proximity, the connection enabled each couple to perceive one another’s emotions.
Though, I’d been able to feel Torz in that way regardless of where he was aboard the Argentum.
Sometimes, it was intrusive and outright inappropriate, making me question who he was with, whilst I crumbled with reluctant jealousy.
On the occasion he travelled to another station, the respite from the dual set of emotions was always a welcome relief.
I’d always assumed—and hoped—the connection would eventually diminish due to our rejection, but for me, it never had. I assumed it was the same for Torz, but that was a subject we never broached.
“Everything alright?” he asked, our bond flooding with a gentle tingle of intrigue. “Something bothering you?”
Heat rose to my cheeks, and I choked back the reason behind my fitful night’s sleep. Thank Gods I had my back to him. “No. It’s nothing.”
“Okay. Well, I need you on form today,” he said. “Governor Zuli from the Linxos is making the rounds before the Debate Gala next week. She is due aboard the Argentum in the next hour, starting her tour with Delta Ring. I need you to escort me while I greet her.”
I turned from the radio, now with a cup of coffee warming my hands, and paused, eyeing the fabric support covering Torz’s left wrist and forearm. “What’s wrong with your wrist?”
“Oh, this?” He glanced down at it, a bolt of embarrassment hitting me through our bond like a spark of lightning. “Just a sprain…from the gym. Anyway…” Clearing his throat, he rubbed the flannel material. “Did you hear me? About Governor Zuli?”
Taking a sip of scalding coffee, I nodded. “Yes. Would Arlo not be a better choice to assist you? He is your chief of security.”
“Zuli requested a female escort. Don’t ask me why. I assume she’s more comfortable with the fairer sex.”
“Have you seen me?” I snorted, gesturing to my black-clad uniform, harshly pulled back dark hair, and scowling facial features Saul always mocked me for.
Torz smiled to himself. “You’re not as scary as you think, Rems.”
Unsure if I should feel insulted or comforted by his remark, I tsked.
“It’s by no means a menial task, if that’s what you’re worried about. There’s been several assassination attempts on her life in recent weeks.”
“Who’s she been upsetting?”