K. R. Treadway
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Sunglasses 15: The Queen Questions
🕑 Added 2024-12-15 16:00:10 +0000 UTC
~ Mel ~
“I’ll handle the introductions,” I say, knowing that Cal must hear the strain in my voice.
“Introductions? You know who—”
I pop open the door before Cal finishes, because if I don’t keep moving I’m going to lock up from indecision, and then the barely contained backlash will eat me alive.
“Qué hay de nuevo amiga?” The words are a clear waterfall pouring from the second floor walkway. I look up.
“Hola Omaira.” I can’t help but smile at the tall woman leaning against the railing in an unconscious pose, like she's waiting for a photographer to snap an iconic perfume ad. Maira is my closest friend, but this is the first time I’ve seen her this year.
She abruptly vanishes from view, heading for what I assume is the nearest stairway. A second later I hear Cal’s shoes scrape to a stop on the asphalt behind me.
“Another storm chasing friend?” he asks.
Spinning on my heel, I slide an escaped lock of hair behind one ear in a nervous reflex. “Yeah.”
“Cool.”
I don't sense anything in his mild tone. Maira usually prompts…stronger reactions, especially from men. His nonresponse sends little bubbles zipping through my veins—even as I tell myself he didn't get a close look.
“Another cousin?” he asks more quietly. He couches it like a shared secret, and for some reason that makes those joyful little bubbles fizz more.
I hesitate…and nod. Am I betraying Maira’s confidence? Goddess, I hope not.
“Nice. Oh, I have your glasses.” He hands me my aviators, and now I almost feel ambushed at how right it feels to have him standing beside me.
“Thank you.” I slide them on, unable to avoid a happy little lip bite. Cal’s own mouth curves in response.
We both turn at the rhythmic rise of power heels impacting cement. Even off-duty, Maira strides like a super model, her steps making precise little gunshot cracks. Her skin is flawless ebony, the color of a night warmed by a harvest moon, and her abstracted smile could be that of the goddess herself.
She steps off the walk and strolls towards us, “slumming” in a designer jean jacket and a headscarf depicting a vibrant print of The Great Wave off Kanagawa. Her leggings, made of some glossy black material, are vaguely similar to yoga pants the way modern humans are similar to primates.
When she stops in front of me, her smile turns genuine, showing bright even teeth that contrast strikingly with eyes as blue and dark as deep ocean. I happen to know that their real color is a warm brown, but Maira hates sunglasses; she’s the only one of us who hides her primal eyes with contacts.
“I ‘ave missed you, Melanie.” Her accent is as unique as she is, a rich mix of Columbian Spanish and French. The French was from her language tutor, a Parisian man who—according to one drunken confession—had also tutored her in “erotic rope binding.”
She’d never told me who was tying who.
Maira grabs my shoulders and proceeds to give me a pair of European-style air kisses. I kiss back on a delay, feeling like an imposter and laughing.
“I missed you too,” I say.
She gazes at me fondly, and the beauty of her expression makes it obvious why she’s been in magazines. Then I remember that Cal is standing nearby, and for the first time in my life I feel a pang of possessive worry. Men always go a little nuts for Maira. Clearing my throat, I step back and gesture to Cal.
“Maira, this is Cal. He’s a late…addition.” I find I don’t want to say “friend,” because I don’t want to give the impression that he’s available. “Cal, this is Omaira.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cal says, reaching out to shake her hand.
Maira’s response is graceful and poised, but it’s also pure “dismissive debutante.” I can tell Cal struggles when she offers a limp hand as if expecting to have it kissed. Is she making him uncomfortable on purpose? He awkwardly grips it for a moment and lets go.
She assesses him in silence, long enough for Cal to fidget. Then she turns her midnight eyes back on me. I start to fidget. Dammit.
“How charming to meet you, Cal. I am ‘Maira’ to my friends.” She purses her lips. “You leave the ‘O’ on, okay?”
Cal blinks. Before he can formulate a response, Maira has linked her arm through mine. She whirls me about.
“I must talk with my friend. You will wait here.” She wiggles her fingers like a starlet saying goodbye, then womanhandles me over to the motel walkway, her much taller strides making me stumble to keep up.
“Hey, wait—” I begin, only to be shushed.
“We will take the air before we talk,” she tells me.
Motel doors blur past as I'm hurried along. Suddenly, Omaira stops cold and whips her head to look over her shoulder. She whips it back and resumes walking, leaving my feet so tangled that I’m forced to cling to her arm.
“Maira. What the hell?”
“So I see…” she murmurs under her breath.
“See what?” I huff in annoyance.
“These pants,” she answers cryptically.
I shake my head, painfully aware of how awkward I must look to Cal right now. “Huh?”
“These pants,” she repeats. “The ones I am wearing? They are a Lu Kulu original.”
“Lu who?” I bring my voice down to a hiss. “What the fuck are we talking about?”
Maira shakes her head and gives me a disappointed side eye. “These pants cling to my rockstar ass like food wrap.” Her chin flicks in the direction of Cal. “But he is only interested in your wrinkly butt.”
Her words make me stumble yet again. While I process this, I instinctively shoot back, “My butt is not wrinkly.”
“Your capri pants are well-traveled, Melanie.”
“Fine,” I say, acknowledging the point through gritted teeth. “But just so we’re clear, under these wrinkled pants I have a very cute butt.”
“It is a lovely butt,” Maira agreed. “And your late addition is enchanted with it.”
I feel a whisper of heat across my body. “That’s what you were checking when you looked over your shoulder?”
“Of course.”
“He was staring at my butt?” I fail to keep a pleased note from creeping into my voice.
Maira stops and turns to me with a quirked lip. “He is a man. He was staring at both our butts…but yours is the one he wants. I only caught him because he didn't notice me turn. His eyes were roaming those tragic off-the-shelf capris.”
On top of my flushed skin, my heart begins to race. A sense of rare exhilaration fills me.
Cal doesn’t want my super model friend. He wants me.
I’m familiar with male attention. I've earned enough to know I’m attractive. But never, not once, have I won out over Maira. It doesn't bother me—my friend makes her living walking runways—but this intense elation is just as unexpected.
“You are glowing, I think.” Maira smirks knowingly, adding an “aww” for good measure. I suddenly want to hide in a supply closet. “And now my words ‘ave sparked a blush. I did not know Melanie Wade was capable.”
“Shut up.” I blow out a breath and can’t resist rubbing vigorously at my cheeks.
The sound of a car door closing makes us both turn around. A dozen rooms away, Cal is pulling his overnight bag out of the roadster. His movements are slow and deliberate, calculated to take time. He sets his bag down beside the rear wheel and returns to the car—probably for the snack remnants.
“What goes on, amiga?” Maira asks me, and now her amusement is laced with real concern. “Who is this man?”
“Just…someone I met on the road,” I answer. “We hit it off. I…I enjoy his company.”
“He is a hitchhiker?”
“He works in Drywell. It’s a hamlet near Hoisington.”
Maira’s eyes search mine. “This has something to do with last night?”
“No.” I shake my head, starting to feel angry. I do not want to bring Ángel into this. Even a whiff of his presence near…whatever is happening between me and Cal feels offensive. “I met him way before I found out about Ángel’s plan to ‘bed down’ last night.” I eye her suddenly. “Did you know about that?”
“Of course not! None of us did.”
My flash of anger turns to regret at the hurt in my friend’s eyes. I sigh, feeling relieved and a little ashamed. “Sorry. I shouldn't have even asked. I’m still pissed.”
“We thought his flirting was part of the jokes and games that all of us play this time of year.” She frowns. “I admit we did not immediately yell at him afterward, but I swear it was from shock. By the time it wore off, he’d gone.”
“I know. He caught up with us in Nebraska.”
Maira’s sudden glower leverages her already iconic presence. Any doubts about her protectiveness towards me vanish in an instant. For about the thousandth time since I met her, I’m grateful she’s my friend.
“Bastardo,” she seethes. “What did he do?”
“Nothing. Cal was inside and Ángel didn’t see him.” I hesitate, and my blush threatens to rekindle. “In fact, Cal got him to leave.”
Maira sucks in a breath and glances back at our subject, who is trying to look super casual leaning against my car. His pointed stare at the wall is ruining the effect.
“He is a shifter?” she asks, bemused.
“Ordinary human,” I say. “He did it by hacking a security feed.” I feel a sense of pride, as if Cal’s accomplishments are intertwined with mine.
Maira faces me, and now her expression is deeply mystified. “You ‘ave never invited an outsider to come with you. And now…a regular human?” Her brow lowers. “Tell me what this is, Melanie.”
“I…really don’t know.” I cross my arms.
A flash of understanding lights Maira’s intent gaze. It makes me want to cover my face to block whatever it is she's seeing. Too late.
“You ‘ave kissed him.”
My arms drop. I consider lying, but denial is useless when your cheeks refuse to back you up. “Only…barely,” I finally admit. “Once.” And again when we get to our room. My inner voice sounds confident about this.
“Come.” Maira tugs me around a corner. I try not to be bothered that Cal is out of sight as I'm led towards an exterior stairway. Just as I’m about to protest that I don’t want to go to her room for an anti-kissing intervention, she points at the steps. “Sit.”
Relieved, I do as she says. Maira sits beside me, apparently not caring if her designer pants get dusty. She takes my hand with a sympathetic look. “I am only—” Her breath hitches. “Melanie! You’re fingers are ice.” She grips my hand tighter. “I feel them trembling.”
“It’s…backlash,” I mumble.
“Backlash?” The word is sharp with disbelief. “How is that? We’ve tasted no storms.” Her voice lowers. “Your other half must be asleep.”
“No,” I say, “she’s drowsy, but awake. Well…mostly drowsy. She’s been pushy a few times.”
“It cannot be.”
I shrug, having no other answer to give. “Is your primal self awake?”
Maira’s other half was more eager than most, usually waking before the first intercept. But my friend shakes her head. “Flashes of grogginess, that is all.” For some reason this both excites and worries me. I can tell Maira is just plain worried. I feel dissected under the scrutiny of her gaze.
“Can I ask you something?” I blurt, then blunder on without waiting for an answer. “You’ve been with a lot of guys, right? At least, compared to me. I’m fine with a couple hook-ups a season, but you have more…” I'm not sure how to continue without sounding insulting.
“I enjoy men,” Maira answers frankly.
I nod, grateful for her bluntness. “Have you ever…felt something when they touch you?”
Maira blinks. Then her eyes dance with amusement and her lips compress.
“Wait, I mean—”
An unladylike laugh dribbles past my friend’s mouth, then turns into a surprisingly robust guffaw. I’ve always liked how Maira doesn’t hold back her mirth—except for now, when I'm the cause.
“If you are not feeling anything,” she says, still laughing, “tell them to move their hips more!”
A reluctant smile turns up the corners of my mouth. “That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about…” As I search for the words, Maira’s expression grows more quizzical. “I meant like…like an energy? This kind of pleasant tingle?”
“Between your legs?” she hazards.
“Be serious,” I plead. “It's not sexual.” Not entirely, I amend to myself. “When we hold hands, Mai, it’s…” I trail off.
Maira’s eyebrows lower as she sees some of what I'm trying to say reflected in my face. She tilts her head slowly. “I think maybe you are ‘aving a crush, Melanie. A big crush. If you ‘ave never had one before, it can feel like what you describe.”
I frown. Is Maira right? This doesn’t seem like some hopped-up hormonal surge…but she’s correct about the crush. I’m so hung-up on Cal that I’m restless with him just out of sight. I want his smile and quick clever words here with me, lighting my mind like delicious lighting on a storm-scented night.
“Answer me something, Amiga.” Maira’s urgent tone pulls me away from my Cal-templation. “ ‘Ave you…shown him your eyes?”
My guilt must be obvious, because Maira’s expression registers shock.
“Melanie…” she whispers.
“I told him I’m an ocelot,” I say quickly, but it’s a weak defense and we both know it. When Maira doesn’t answer, I hang my head. “I wanted to show him,” I say, my voice almost sullen. “I wanted to see him see me, to hear what he would say. That's all. I shared nothing else. I had to know, Mai.”
There is a long silence. I brace myself for her disappointment.
“What did he say?” Maira whispers. The whites of her eyes have gone faintly pink, a much subtler shade than the vivid pink-purple my eyes turn when they go primal. But her contacts hide the other changes.
Surprised by the question—and the memories it stirs of last night—I don't answer at first. An image of Cal’s adoring face comes to me, and I treasure it privately for a moment. “He said my eyes were beautiful,” I say at last.
Maira’s inhale is sharp. Her hand involuntarily rises to touch her mouth. An impossibly delicate gold bracelet catches the sun and seems to wink at me.
“Mai,” I breathe, “the way he makes me feel…the things he says.” Pause. “The things he makes me want to say.”
“What things?”
I open my mouth, but it’s impossible. My chest is too full, like everything has jammed together in my throat. Maybe I can only say the words to Cal—assuming I find the courage. Instead, I ask a foolish question that even a Storm Kin child wouldn't bother voicing.
“Mai…what if he's supposed to be my mate?”
My friend's silence is her answer. I keep my eyes fixed on the parking lot; if she's looking at me with pity I couldn't bear it.
“Why else would my primal self wake up?” I press, feeling stupid but unable to stop. “Why does he make my skin sing?” Why do I feel happy listening to him talk about old TV shows? Hearing him laugh at my dumb jokes? I could go on and on…but it already feels pointless trying to convince her.
Maira sighs softly and rubs her hands over the knees of her leggings. They look even more expensive up close, like synthetic eel skin. “I admit it is strange…but perhaps you ‘ave never fully fallen for the charms of a man before? Among our brethren, you ‘ave never taken the same lover twice.”
“We both know that would complicate things,” I hedge. It’s true, but it’s just as true that I’ve never felt a connection during those storm season liaisons. Not once. I am always relieved afterward—as if “getting off” was an annoying checkbox on a form.
Christ, that’s depressing.
“I ‘ave never seen you with this look on your face,” Maira tells me. “Like when I told you he was admiring your behind. It is…girlish. Like a teenager. Unlike you.” She uttered a fresh noise of surprise. “As are those blushes.”
I lay my fingers against my infuriating cheeks. “Don’t talk about it. You’re making them worse.”
With my hands framing my face, I stare at her, ashamed to know that I'm about to beg like a criminal at sentencing.
“I think he and I are compatible, Maira. I think he’s the first guy I’ve actually fantasized about going on dates with. Like…candlelit dinner dates.” My friend’s expression softens, and I press my advantage. “Even if there’s no bond, that’s still special, right? I…I want to believe in more than mindless campfire sex. If Cal feels the same, then we could be together longer than a weekend!” A lot longer. “That shouldn’t be some impossible wish.”
Seconds tick by. I feel like I’m waiting for the verdict. Finally, Maira stirs. With obvious reluctance, she shakes her head faintly. It’s a punch to my heart. My hands slide from my cheeks and cross protectively over my chest.
“It is a lonely path we walk, my sister,” she says. The words quietly devastate me. Such sadness from a woman I had always thought was happy in this strange secretive life. My throat constricts, but somehow, I can’t let it go.
“Even if Storm Kin can't form mate bonds, we do have relationships. Even with outsiders. The Elders of the Circle gnash their gums, but they’ve allowed it.”
“Do you think they would allow you?” Maira’s voice is steady, but quiet as a poison needle jabbed into my arm. “Be honest with yourself.” She speaks like she’s performing a painful but compassionate act. Putting down my rabid heart.
That’s what it feels like.
“The secrecy,” I say, my voice nearly a croak. “The hiding. The chasing. All of the goddamn rituals and traditions. Sometimes…” I swallow with difficulty. “There are days I think it’s going to strangle the life out of me, Mai.” I hold up my hand to stop her from answering. I don't want to hear what she’s going to say, just like I don't want to give in to the useless urge to cry about it. I keep my hand raised, waiting out my burning eyes until I’m sure no tears will fall. Then I finish. “The way they treat me is worst of all. It's so fucking pointless. You look more like royalty than I do.”
“Agreed.” Maira’s amused tone lets me know it’s safe to turn to her again. With her crooked smile firmly in place, Mai reaches for my shoulder. “But while I may ‘ave the bearing of a queen…I do not ‘ave the color of one.” She slides her hand down to my wrist, and her tapping finger draws my gaze.
The juxtaposition of her flawless ebony skin against my paler duskiness is striking, but not Maira’s point. I stare at her perfect polished nail resting on my pink-purple tattoo. Dino. Normally the silly dinosaur mascot makes me smile, a quiet act of rebellion. Today it just makes me feel hollow. I cover Maira’s hand with mine, silently acknowledging the truth of her words.
But even then…I allow myself the tiniest daydream. If I can't have Cal, I deserve that much. I imagine pushing him against the motel room’s closed door and kissing him until we’re both out of our minds.
My primal self raises her head abruptly.
Maira feels the subtle jerk of my arm. “What is happening, Mel?”
“N-nothing.” After my other half’s earlier withdrawal, feeling her this clearly is shocking. “Just…thinking.”
I brace myself for internal chaos. But to my astonishment, my other half is hypnotized by my conjured up Cal. She charges right for my giddy girly fantasy, ignoring the depressing realities choking it. I find myself following in her wake, rushing past our shared fears. The fantasy finds new life. I run my hands through dream Cal’s hair and press my body hard against him. I feel his lips on mine before I guide his head down to lick the sensitive skin at the crook of my neck—
And all at once my primal half is…fine. She abruptly curls up, right in the heart of my daydream, and falls at once into an uncomplicated nap. A feeling of deep contentment wells up from within, as if a cozy fire has been lit at the base of my soul.
What. The. Fuck.
“Your hands.” Maira sounds puzzled, but hopeful. “They’ve stopped shaking. The backlash has run its course?”
Yes. I imagined sucking face with Cal and my primal self chilled out. I almost say the ludicrous sentence aloud. Instead, I nod so slowly my head could be on a rusty hinge. My surface thoughts are whirling and twisting with agitation, hidden from me like a rain-cloaked mesocyclone over quiet fields.
“You ‘ave the strangest look on your face,” Maira says. “What are you thinking about?”
“The bear’s cage,” I reply automatically. Then I focus on her. “I think I’m inside it, Mai.” My hand, the one which hasn't moved from its protective place over my heart, tightens against my chest.
Her puzzled expression makes it clear she doesn't understand.
That makes two of us.
