New World--Stay with Me, page 3
“Nobody listened to what I wanted and I felt trapped... I didn’t have a choice but to run.”
I considered her words. “And why do you look so much like the bots I saw online?”
“My father...” She paused as though she was considering her words carefully. “My father modeled the Servana 200 bots after me. I was his inspiration.”
Oh, hell no.
My eyebrows rose at that statement.
I occasionally tuned in to the Royal One e-radio channels and knew that the Servana bots were patented by a giant conglomerate called TechStorm that owned the HumanoidGadgets brand. Its founder was a powerful Royal named Oboid. He’d been in the news a few times for his groundbreaking technological creations.
“Are you Oboid’s daughter?” I asked, and I watched her flinch as I mentioned his name.
“I am,” she admitted softly.
Nope, she definitely can’t stay.
I sighed and set my pipe aside. In the distance, I could see the bonfire still raging and people dancing near the heat source with half-empty bottles in their hands. I should have been one of those drunk people, not dealing with a fragile-looking Royal runaway.
“I don’t need any trouble,” I warned.
She nodded. “I understand.”
Twyla looked on the verge of tears, wide eyes regarding me with such hope. Those generous lips quivered almost imperceptibly in the low light. I felt it pull on my heartstrings just a little.
“I need time to consider this,” I found myself saying.
Wait, what? Why did I say that?
“Okay.”
Her voice was small, just a little whisper.
I watched as her front teeth caught her bottom lip as though she was trying to still their trembling. Her shoulders hunched forward and a few errant curls tumbled down.
“I—I’ll do anything you want, just please let me stay.”
Anything.
I could feel my heartbeat treble to a staccato. She regarded me with those fearful expressive eyes, as though I held her life in my hands. And perhaps I did. It gave me a weird sense of responsibility, a need to protect this girl from anyone that might try to harm her.
She was too delicate and soft, wearing her vulnerability around her small frame like a tight jacket. From her lips to her hair, and those eyes that reminded me of soft earth in the rain, everything about her screamed for my help.
I couldn’t look away.
No. Stop it.
This was all too much. I needed to get away.
When I cleared my throat a little too loudly, she jumped visibly.
“I’m going out for a while. In the meantime, you’re free to use the service room at the back of the house. Or leave. I don’t care which.”
She looked startled, as though she hadn’t expected my words.
Hell, I hadn’t expected my words either.
“Okay. Well... I... Thank you so much. I’ll stay.”
I walked past her, taking in the strong feminine-iron scent that perfumed the air. Now I realized how silly I’d been to have thought the scent was anything but human. I could only shake my head at my foolishness.
“Don’t try anything,” I said as I shut the front door behind me, pitching the room into darkness.
Twyla
I breathed a sigh of relief as Cedra Holloway strode out the front door, her heavy boots echoing on the plasti-wood floor. I’d only known her for brief moments, yet I could already picture the permanent frown on her face and tightness in her shoulders as she walked away from the house.
My long, cumbersome engagement skirt swooshed along the tiles as I cautiously padded over the large front windows and pressed my face to the glass pane. There were large groups of people gathered across the dried field, and I squinted, trying to get a closer look at the festivities.
I’d only ever attended flashy Feast Balls, though I knew from my anthropology studies that people on other Stars celebrated very differently. Royals like me didn’t feast prior to planting crops or harvesting—we just feasted because it was an excuse to party.
I’d never had the chance to see celebrations on a different Star, especially a closed one. It was a privilege not open to many. I cupped my hands around my eyes to try to get a better view, but they were simply too far away to make out much of what was happening or what anyone was saying.
I watched, entranced by the huge and uncontrolled blaze of the bonfire and the uncoordinated singing, until I felt a cramp in my calf. It shook me a little to see how much louder people were here, more free, and certainly happier. There was no routine to their dances...they simply danced, laughed and enjoyed themselves without reservation, so very different from the coordinated and repetitive dances back home
I caught myself smiling on different occasions as I watched them, foot tapping idly even though I couldn’t hear the beat.
How I wished I could be a part of them, carefree, and not tied down by damn Royal rules.
At the periphery of my vision, I could just about recognize the shadow of Cedra Holloway seated on a low bench with a bottle in her hand. She was a few feet away from everyone else, her form easy and relaxed—a clear contrast to how she’d looked like a while ago.
I would’ve been blind not to notice the power in her form and the strength in her body. After all, she did tower over me with those broad shoulders.
But I couldn’t help but feel there was a softness about her as well. I felt it in the way she’d held me tight without actually hurting me—in her purposefully gruff voice, meant only to scare me.
But I felt it most when her gaze had softened as I pleaded my case with her.
There was more to Cedra Holloway than met the eye.
I moved away from the glass, still staring at the hypnotizing bonfire, and nearly tripped over the box I arrived in.
Bending low, I picked it up, trying to tuck it under one arm but settling for two in the end. The box was heavier than I imagined as I dragged it to the back of the large house and propped it against the cooler.
The kitchen was a spacious plasti-wood affair with a small dining table to one side and a cookery on the other. There was also ample counter space for the avid cook—not that I was one, but I sincerely believed that was only because I hadn’t been given the opportunity to try what my mother had considered a “menial task.” Until now.
If I were to survive on my own, I needed to know the basics, like how to operate a stove. Sadly, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d entered the kitchens back home. There simply wasn’t a need—the bots would get me anything I wanted.
It doesn’t look like someone lives here, I thought as I took in the bare kitchen.
There were no curtains adorning the windows or even a digital picture to line the walls. The place barely looked lived-in, if it wasn’t for the worn plasti-wood.
I compared it to my suite at home, with its muted pastel walls and cream-colored lace curtains that I’d sewn myself a few years ago. Vanilla-infused scents were pumped through the vents at intervals so it always smelled fresh and inviting, like soft baked goods. It had been my refuge for so long that the thought of never setting foot in the room that probably still bore my imprint on the bed was unfathomable.
And yet, here I stood, alone in a stranger’s kitchen, knowing I could never return to my old life. My decision to leave had been hasty. Perhaps some would call it reckless, but I held no regrets. All my life, I’d been haunted by my family’s expectations of me—the sole heir to the Oboid fortune and a perfectly respectable socialite in the upper crust of Royal One.
Even when I was alone, I felt a pressure on my shoulders pushing against the fragile curve of my spine. I’d studied marketing because my dad had decreed it would be the best thing for our business. And I’d taken etiquette classes because my mother had repeatedly instilled in me that I represented the Oboid name.
Each time I closed my eyes, I was reminded that my life wasn’t my own. Not truly.
And when they’d introduced me to my future husband, it felt like they’d cuffed my hands and cut off my oxygen. I’d fallen deeper and deeper into a breathless void each day that followed, until I knew I had to make a choice: get out now or forever hold my peace in the worst misery I could fathom.
How odd, I thought as I reached for what I assumed was the service door at the back of the kitchen. My chest feels different. Looser. As though I can finally breathe.
The creak of the hinges made me jump and I quickly called out for the lights, desperately needing to neutralize the creepy feeling awakened by the hinges.
My frustrated groan echoed back to me when the dim white light flooded the room...it was a service room that was used for storage.
Great.
My shoulders sagged. There were random items everywhere! Old furniture, filing cabinets, odd stacks of documents, even an ancient guitar that looked like it had seen better days.
I scanned the small room and spotted a window with a cushioned ledge that was laden with boxes that could possibly double as a bed.
I’ll start there.
It became easier with a starting point. The cushioned ledge was wide enough for me to sleep on, though I had to beat the cushion with a bat I found in a corner in order to remove a thick layer of dust. The window latches were almost rusted shut from years of disuse, but I managed to pry it open with a little effort and perhaps a few scratches on my fingers. The blissful night air exorcised the smell of “old” within minutes.
I simply stood by the window for a few minutes, inhaling deeply, trying to figure out why the air felt so different on this Star. Was it the air, or was it me?
Every box was neatly labeled “stuff,” which meant I had to open up each one to figure out its contents. In the third box, I found some couch cushions and a throw, which I decided to repurpose as a pillow and blanket. I laid them out on my makeshift bed and relabeled the boxes according to their purposes and stacked them neatly in a corner along with the black box I’d been delivered in.
I’d reorganize the rest of the room tomorrow, I promised myself. My body felt entirely drained after being racked by nervous energy all day inside a small box.
The journey hadn’t been unpleasant, truly. While the boxes were handled with care by the delivery bots, the anxiety looping through my body hadn’t allowed me to rest for a single moment. The thought of being discovered and dragged back to Royal One sat heavily in my gut and I’d spent most of the journey breathing deeply in meditation—or trying to anyway.
As I pulled the old throw over my chest, I looked out of the window at the clear night sky. It was the same sky I saw yesterday and had seen all my life. But now, I was looking up at it from a different place—no longer a Royal, but a starperson in charge of my own life...maybe. Or was that wishful thinking?
I knew I’d just have to see what tomorrow would bring.
* * *
A loud crash awakened me some hours later, followed by a string of harsh curses. Surging upright, I rubbed my eyes, pulling the covers over my cold shoulders. I’d left the window open just a crack to filter the air in the room, but the night chill had taken over quickly.
I pulled the throw around my body like a cape and padded back to the living room, finding my way well enough despite the darkness. The rooms were pretty bare anyway.
I paused in the doorway, taking in the sprawled form on the sofa and the bottle of half-drunk distilled spirit on the floor. There wasn’t a label on the bottle; it was probably homemade. A quick look out of the front windows told me that the bonfire had finally whittled down, an indication that the Feast festivities were over.
I walked over to Cedra’s sleeping form and tapped on her shoulder. She would rest easier in bed since her tall form barely fit the sofa and its worn fabric did not look at all comfortable.
“Cedra,” I said in a stage whisper before thinking I should’ve said “ma’am.” A bot would’ve said “ma’am.”
She made a sound of acknowledgment at the back of her throat.
“Let me help you to bed.”
I reached for her arm but she pushed me away with surprising force and I stumbled onto my bottom.
“You’re a liar, Riane,” she murmured, turning her face away from me, but not before I’d noticed that her canines were much more elongated than before.
From my studies, fangs usually reacted to extreme emotions felt by the host.
I remained on the floor, wondering who Riane was and why Cedra had mistaken me for her. I was certain there wasn’t anyone else living in the house. It was too quiet.
After a few long moments, I realized Cedra didn’t want to be moved. So, I did the only thing I knew. When I’d overimbibed, the bots would help me get undressed and into bed to make sure I was comfortable. Something told me Cedra wouldn’t like to be touched in such a way, but removing her thick outer T-shirt and work boots didn’t seem out of the question.
So that was what I did.
She protested minimally, her fingers taking swipes at me as I tried to work the shirt off her shoulders. When I finally did succeed, clutching the outer shirt to the front of my chest, she rolled onto her back with a sigh and threw an arm over her eyes.
The defined muscles in her arm bunched in a beautiful display of strength.
Years ago, I remembered studying that the farming starpeople were very physically fit, and that was a way to tell the class difference between a Royal and a starperson. I looked down at my own soft rounded belly—well, in this case, the study was one hundred percent accurate.
I took my time studying her tall form. Without running the risk of turning red with embarrassment, I realized that she was a lean specimen under her baggy work clothes. From this angle, her stomach looked well-toned and her breasts were small and flat against her chest. She looked hard all over, and I wondered what it would be like to lie on top of her, to touch her. To see if she ever became soft and gentle.
My cheeks heated at the thought.
It wasn’t a secret that I’d lived a very sheltered life—my parents saw to that. They gave me the best education in the fanciest all-girls schools and didn’t deny me anything I wanted...except a choice in my marriage.
They’d wanted it to be a political one, something that would raise our status on Royal One. But, even with that in mind, I just couldn’t marry the simpering fool they’d picked out for me. Tion had been nice, but he’d also been a coward under his mother’s thumb. He ran multimillion-credit businesses but his mother ran him.
I’d disliked him on sight.
Looking at Cedra’s tightly toned body, however, I felt an unexpected warmth rush through me—something I hadn’t experienced in years. Something I hadn’t felt since school. Since Leigha.
Desire.
It started at my core and spread upwards, tightening my chest and heating my cheeks. All I could do was swallow. Try to take a deep breath.
She was a beautiful woman with a firm hand. I could still feel her arm across my middle, holding me flush against her front.
I’d been scared to death, but the memory of it held lingering moments of excitement in my otherwise boring life. Despite her gruff mannerism, I didn’t think Cedra had actually wanted to hurt me at all. Maybe just scare me a little so I’d tell her the truth.
And it had worked.
A brief glance at the old digital clock told me it was past three in the morning, standard time. I wondered if my studies were true—that starpeople awakened before dawn to work the land. If so, I only had a couple of hours until Cedra awoke.
Waking early certainly wasn’t the norm in Royal One. It was only customary for guests to call after noon, and was widely acknowledged that anything before noon was unacceptable due to the parties that carried on through the night, and some even after dawn.
I looked down at Cedra’s sleeping profile, her breathing deep and even but her forehead creased. I wondered what she worried about even in her sleep, and a small part of me yearned to wipe those worries away with a swipe of my thumb. Instead, I unwrapped the throw from around my shoulders and covered her sleeping form, tucking the edges under her chin.
Before I could move my fingers away, she tilted her head down just a little so that her cheek brushed the back of my arm—an adorable display of affection, though she probably had no idea she’d even done it. But it made me smile.
I padded around the room as quietly as I possibly could, straightening items that seemed out of place and clearing the tobacco from the pipe she’d been smoking earlier. The action felt second nature to me, after having watched Father do it several times a day since I could remember.
The scent of burnt tobacco only brought images of his worried face to mind—I couldn’t begin to imagine the panic he must be feeling. Had they already noticed I was missing? Or was everyone too deep into their cups to care?
As I found a cloth in the kitchen and started wiping down the furniture in the living room, I couldn’t help but sense a feeling of rightness settle over me. It wasn’t like I’d dreamed about cleaning others’ houses for a living, but I had always wanted to do something for myself. Something on my own. Now I finally was.
Things weren’t as I’d imagined them, but I really couldn’t complain.
Everyone had to start somewhere, and perhaps this would be my “how I made it on my own” story. Perhaps one day, I’d earn enough to start my own line of clothing or set up a little sewing school for girls. Fashion school. Design school. I could only dream.
I found a little bottle in the kitchen labeled “plasti-wood wax” that thankfully gave in-depth instructions on how to use it. I’d just sprayed a little of it on a clean cloth when the back door jiggled open. I froze, bottle and cloth in hand, as a heavily pregnant woman waddled into the kitchen with a little basket in her hand.
