She hesitated when she pressed her foot against the surface, lightly at first, testing to make sure it could actually support her weight before sucking in a breath and going for it. Even with the lift, she had to stretch all the way up onto her toes in order for the tips of her fingers to graze the edge of the spine.
It was a struggle, but after a long moment she was able to grab it, and the two books that had flanked it, dropping down with a huge huff of relief. Absently flipping through the first book, she lifted a single brow when she stopped at a page with a crudely drawn image of a girl in a poodle skirt on roller skates.
How old was this book?
Instead of checking, she carefully placed it onto the stool and selected one of the others. This one was a bit more helpful, written in English but clearly connecting Earth to Xenith. She scanned references to kings and queens, and their deciphering into the Vakar and Kint versions: King: Basileus (Vakar), Rex (Kint), etc.
She was in the process of flipping through in search of new information when she turned. And saw him in her peripheral vision.
CHAPTER 7
It was impossible to tell just how long he’d been there, but it was obviously long enough. The corner that the rows formed turned only the one way, right, and led to a reading nook of sorts, which had been created by another three shelves and was nestled directly after another right turn. A single armchair had been placed there, old burnt-brown leather with brass finishing. It’d been set at an angle, so that it faced both the opposite hallway and the stacks to its right, giving whoever sat there ample space to stretch out their legs.
At least, it would have for just about anyone else; Trystan, however, seemed to barely fit. He had his legs stretched out and his feet pressed against the very bottom shelf despite the fact that he was sitting in the chair and not lounging. His arms sat against the rests, hands holding a book three times the size of the one she had.
He was still dressed in his uniform, somehow managing to appear dignified even here, surrounded by yellowed pages and heavy dust motes. His light blond hair was perfect, not a strand out of place, and he had his head angled at her, watching through those cornflower-blue-and-crimson eyes with an interest that had her gut instantly twisting into knots.
He was so still, she may have been able to convince herself he was a mere statue of the Zane, if not for the slow rise of the corner of his firm mouth. The fact that he enjoyed catching her off guard was obvious, as was the fact that his pleasure only grew from the knowledge that she knew about his enjoyment.
The danger here became apparent so swiftly, it was a raw sensation, a primal one that had her spine instantly straightening and her mind racing to attempt retracing her steps. If she had to get out of there, would she be able to find the door?
“Lissa Olena,” he said, finally breaking the silence, his voice a poisonous purr, “how odd to find you here.”
“I believe”—she cleared her throat, reminding herself that running wasn’t an option—“technically, I found you.”
He canted his head, eyes narrowing, though he never lost the vicious half smirk. “So it would seem.” His chin nodded toward the book she was now clutching. “I wasn’t aware you could read.”
“Come on,” she snapped before she could catch herself, “you can do better.”
Both of his brows arched in surprise, before slowly settling once more. Instead of rising to her blatant challenge, he closed the book and folded in on himself, dropping his legs and standing with a flourish.
Tucking the book he’d been reading under his right arm, he slid his left hand into the front pocket of his navy pants, the material so dark, it could easily be mistaken for black in this dim lighting.
“We didn’t get to finish our conversation,” he said then, but his voice was different, lower. “Back on the ship.”
“I wouldn’t really call that a conversation.” Was she pushing it too much? Keeping herself together was taking a lot more out of her than she’d expected; at least on the ship, she’d been well rested. Perhaps ditching Pettus in the middle of the night without getting in at least an hour’s worth of sleep hadn’t been such a good idea.
“I wouldn’t really call conversations with you conversations.”
“Good.” She took a deliberate step back. “Then we can end this one and go our separate ways.”
“The last time we did that,” he pointed out, “you ran off.”
“I didn’t run.” Olena had. “Besides, what does it matter? I’m here now, aren’t I? I came back.”
“Did you?” These words were whispered, his lips barely moving along with the almost inaudible sound. Louder he said, “You’re not clever enough to be up to something, Lissa. Whatever it is you think you’re doing, I advise you to end it now.”
“I’m not up to anything,” she stated matter-of-factly, hoping he’d buy it.
“Really?” He didn’t. “You’re holding books, standing in a library I’m fairly certain has never seen you before. You didn’t seek me out—you’re naive, not suicidal—so what else could you possibly be doing?”
She switched the book to one hand and waved it pointedly in the air. “Reading.”
“In English,” he noted.
“Got a problem with English?” Which she knew the second it was out was a stupid question. He was Kint, after all. He hated everything from Earth.
“I have a problem with your tone.” His expression darkened, and he took a single step forward, a step that would have made up five of her own.
“Best way to solve that?” Maintaining her ground was taking all of her courage, and only because her instincts warned that he was the type of predator who chased when the prey ran. “Leave me alone. We can’t bother each other if you’re not here.”
“I was here first,” he reminded her.
She wished she could go, she really did, but knew that if she tried, it would become all too clear she had no clue which way was out. She was fairly certain she was tiptoeing on a thin line already; she needed to avoid doing anything that would tip him off.
Delaney must have taken too long to respond, because the next thing she knew, he was crowding her up against the side of the same bookshelf she’d pulled her books from. One of them dropped out of her arms, clattering to the ground like a slap. Her breath caught in her throat, and she tightened her grip on the book she’d been reading.
Could she use it as a weapon if she had to?
Against him? Yeah, right. She wasn’t so sure a bazooka would be useful against the Zane.
“You’re trembling,” he said, that taunting purr back in full force. “That’s more like you.”
She narrowed her eyes but bit her tongue. There was less than a foot of space between them right now, and while he didn’t seem in a rush to close the gap, she’d already gathered his was a mercurial nature.
Why couldn’t Olena have been nice? Not that she thought his actually liking her would have made this ruse any easier, but she might not even be in this situation at all if Trystan and Olena had actually wanted to marry each other.