He smiled and reached for the dress. She neatly turned away. “Slip of the tongue, my dear. I simply meant it’s one of a kind.”
“What are you asking for it?” It was doubtlessly a novelty, but perhaps the secret of the Decadent Dance would finally kick-start her imagination.
“How much can you afford?” he asked with a triumphant grin.
Vaden stared at the control band on his forearm, too shocked to move a muscle.
It had been four solar cycles since he’d paid for his Decadent Dancer. One by one, all those in his acquaintance who had risked their hard-earned credits on the iffy scheme had been rewarded for their patience. He was the only one remaining whose contract had yet to be fulfilled.
If the blinking light on his control band could be trusted, that was about to change.
He thrust his pulse pistol into the bracket on the thigh plate of his armor and ran from the shooting range. Rather than explain his odd behavior, he held up his arm as he passed the security gate. The sentinel waved him on and wished him luck.
By the time he reached the transport bay, he was out of breath and grinning like a fool.
“Congratulations, Commander Nassar.” Warder returned his smile. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“The signal is real? My dancer has activated her tracker? She’s ready to transport?”
The transport chief shrugged. “I’m not sure any of them are actually ready for what awaits them once they arrive. But her tracker signal is live, so that means she’s ready to make the trip.” Warder finally noticed that Vaden was still fully armored and concern creased his brow. “Shall I wait while you change? You don’t look very welcoming.”
“I’ll explain my appearance once she’s on board. I will not risk losing that signal.”
With a respectful incline of his head, the transport chief turned back to his controls. “Well, put on your best smile, Sir. She’s on her way.”
Zoe flew through the blackness, her screams long since faded to pathetic whimpers. If that stupid chant had been some sort of lethal curse, why was it taking so long for her to die?
The night had started out so well. The costume fit like a glove, the strange, sometimes shiny material surprisingly soft against her skin. Even the cheesy booklet—which told of brave warriors, neglected and forgotten by the ruthless people they protected—had entertained her while she’d soaked her aching feet. Then she’d decided to play along and see if the role sparked her imagination.
So she’d stood in the middle of her living room and recited the ridiculous chant.
Nothing had happened as she struggled through the awkward phrases the first time. But the second time, she paused before each phrase and spoke more carefully…
The sense of motion gradually slowed, which sped Zoe’s already racing heart. A violent rushing, like the roar of a storm, made her wish she could cover her ears. She felt as if she were being sucked through a giant Hoover and was about to hit the vacuum bag.
Light bled through the darkness then individual sounds separated themselves from the din. She tried to scream again, but her raw throat wouldn’t cooperate with the fresh rush of terror. What the hell was happening? She hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in hours. This couldn’t be a wacky reaction or some accidental overdose…
The dress!
Had her pores absorbed some sort of hallucinogenic? Decadent Dance indeed! She hadn’t lost her mind. She’d tumbled down the rabbit hole!
Her feet hit something solid and pain ricocheted up her legs. Her dry throat surrendered a strangled cry then she collapsed onto her hands and knees. Her hair streamed forward, insolating her from her surroundings. Was it better to fight an acid trip or just go with the flow? She wasn’t into recreational drugs. In fact, she felt guilty each time she took an aspirin.
That salesman was in for one hell of a lawsuit. That was for sure.
Beneath her, the floor looked like metal that had been buffed to a satin finish. She listened, trying to decide if she wanted to lift her head or just pray that the hallucination would end. Was anything left of her apartment or was she completely immersed in this drug-induced fantasyland?
A gruff voice spoke words she didn’t understand. That wasn’t good. Was someone in her apartment? He repeated the same phrases, as if speaking louder would help with the translation.
Massive hands wrapped around her upper arms and she screamed.
He dragged her to her feet as she flipped her hair out of her eyes and looked up—way the hell up.
One glance at his face convinced Zoe he was part of the synaptic joyride, so she allowed herself to relax just a bit. But why did he feel so real?
“I don’t understand you.” She felt obligated to respond so he didn’t think she was ignoring him.
His skin was smoke gray and his unusual black lips made her want to trace them with the tip of her finger— or better yet, her tongue. Sculpted armor contoured to his entire body, leaving only his head and hands free. Midnight blue with silver inlay across the shoulders and down each arm, the protective suit was surprisingly beautiful. As was the man wearing the armor.
She’d hoped to kick-start her imagination, but this was ridiculous. Even with his unusual coloring, the man’s features were basically humanoid. His angular cheekbones and sharply defined jawline made him appear harsh and refined at the same time. But his eyes… Distinct silver slashes divided his bright-blue irises into pie-shaped wedges, and even the whites of his eyes were tinged with blue. His jet-black hair had been buzzed in what could only be described as a military style. Too bad. She could imagine it long and flowing, adding to his elfin mystique.
He spoke again, slowly this time, his silver-streaked gaze boring into hers.
She shook her head and twisted out of his grasp. “I don’t speak…alien.”
He looked at a person standing to her left, a person she hadn’t noticed before. Though his coloring was similar to the warrior elf’s, this man was smaller and much less intimidating. She took a step toward him and Warrior Elf’s arm wrapped around her waist, jerking her back against his body.
His harsh words made it obvious he didn’t want her talking to the other man.
“Fine.” She slowly turned around and looked into his strange yet beautiful eyes. “What do you suggest we do?”
If this was all some drug-induced hallucination, why did everything seem so real? Trepidation gripped her belly and rekindled her fear. It had to be the dress. What other explanation could there be? She’d been sucked through a wormhole and—
No. That only worked when someone was already cruising around in a spaceship.
The smaller man said something to the warrior and the warrior replied, but his gaze never left Zoe’s face. The smaller man approached with obvious reluctance, his gaze continually darting toward the man holding her. The smaller man held some sort of instrument, which looked a little too much like a gun for Zoe’s peace of mind.
“Wait a goddamn minute!” She tried to twist away, but the warrior trapped her arms at her sides and held her firmly as the other man went to work. “What are you doing?”
He moved her hair away from her neck and pressed the gun-thing against her skull just behind her ear. She wasn’t sure if she should hold still so he didn’t scramble her brain or fight like hell to prevent the same thing. If she died in a hallucination, would she die in reality?
She heard a snap and a sharp sting made her gasp.
The warrior said something, his tone low and…soothing? Was that possible?
“What was that?” She worked her arm out from under his hand and rubbed the spot where she’d been shot. No gaping hole, not even a speck of blood. All she felt was the long arms supporting her. “You can let go now.” He didn’t budge. “Who are you?”
“Finally.”
Had she actually understood what he just said? She bent back her head until she could see his handsome face. Wow. Her imagination was making up for lost time. “Can you understand me now?”
He stepped back, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. “I apologize for the confusion.” His lips moved slightly out of sync with the words she was hearing, but that was so much better than not being able to understand him at all. “The translator microbes in the dress must have malfunctioned.”
