Not So Little Green Man (Scifi Alien Romance) (Celestial Mates) by Celia Kyle

Author:Celia Kyle [Kyle, Celia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grab Celia Kyle’s newsletter and be kept up to date on new releases, amazeballs news, and general shenanigans…
Published: 2016-10-18T04:00:00+00:00

9

Vroe would not follow her. He would not.

He did, however, listen as she departed and left the room—listened and did not hear a sound when she entered the hallway or the space Feil had prepared for her.

Like a ghuv, and she wasn’t even attempting to move about without drawing attention. He shook his head, still unable to believe the skill his mate showed. Vian warriors studied and trained to accomplish such a feat.

Yet Jassa…

He frowned. Jassa. His Jassa. His Vrya. His mind rebelled against the label. And it truly was a label. A station. A statement of position on Vialea.

But one that had been used for centuries. There had been countless Vryas through time, and there would be more in the future. As she said, she would be one of many.

Though she would only be one if she completed the ceremony.

Would she?

Vroe did not have to dip into her thoughts to know the answer to such a question. Now, at that moment, she would not. Because she did not wish to get “lost.” He was unsure how she could become lost if he would forever be at her side, and he was too exhausted to understand a female mind. He sighed. He would not allow her to retreat, however.

Jassa desired him greatly. He would ensure that desire did not have a chance to fade. He’d already left her alone for a full day while he saw to his duties. He would not allow her to withdraw.

Vroe rolled from the sleeping platform and padded across the room, not attempting to mirror his mate’s silence. He was Vialea’s strongest warrior but lacked skill in that area. He refused to admit it was due to his own failing. He simply had not had adequate teachers.

The dark enveloped the hall and he moved across the space from memory, striding confidently down the path with his gaze intent on his desti—

“By Vi!” He slammed into something, hip colliding with a hard corner as he tripped forward. He crashed into a solid doorframe, striking his head on the hard wood before tripping and fumbling backward until his back met the opposite wall with a solid thud.

Pain—no more than a small ache because warlords did not feel true pain—assaulted him and he rubbed his hip with one hand and head with the other. He squinted and attempted to see through the blackness—to spy what’d caused injury.

Probably a decoration. Perhaps he’d been in error when he demanded Feil give Jassa all she desired.

Liquid slipped over his fingers and he groaned aloud. He did not wish to have a head wound at that moment. He would be forced to seek aid and he did not wish to explain the events to anyone—least of all a healer.

Jassa’s door eased open, soft light spilling through the small crack, and she poked her head out into the hallway. “Vroe?” She shook her head. “That’s not even your name, is it? What’s your real name? Or have you forgotten?”

He had not forgotten, but it was not one he had heard on any’s lips in many turnings.

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