Troll-y Yours (16 page)

This was no ordinary hair wash. Lavender scented shampoo filled her senses, and the Satyr’s strong fingers massaged her stress away. The experience should have been illegal. Cool water, poured from a white ceramic pitcher, rinsed the suds away.

“That was incredible.” A pleasant tingle covered the surface of her scalp, invigorating her skin and brought a smile to her lips.

Cherrie laughed. “That was nothing. Just wait until I cut your hair. I have the perfect style in mind.”

In the chair, the stylist’s talented fingers sectioned Ella’s hair. Holding taut, she combed and snipped, chunks as long as her finger fell into her draped lap. The females in the next booth over, were still going strong, gossiping about Bacchus knew what.

“How short will it be?” Ella asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as uncertain as she felt.

“I wouldn’t dare cut your gorgeous hair short. That would be an offense to the gods! I’m only trimming the damaged ends, then I’ll blend in layers. You’ll love it. You’re going to see such movement in your hair with all the waves you have.” Cherrie gave a dramatic sigh.

Bingo!
Thank you mythic deities, her opening finally appeared. “Speaking of movement,” Ella kept her voice low and gossipy. “Did you happen to hear the rebels are being naughty again?”

Cherrie’s green eyes met Ella’s in the mirror. A small smile grew. “I heard something about that.” The ladies in the next stall quieted down, listening in. “My friend heard it from a co-worker, whose boyfriend’s cousin is a rebel. And she said they’re gathering during the invisible moon.”

“That’s what I heard, too.” This came from the Minotaur with yellow perm rods in her forelock.

For the duration of her haircut, the two stylists and client next door launched into a detailed dissertation of everything they knew or heard of regarding the rebels. They spoke of past attempts to dethrone the queen and recruiting to build their army.

“So, where’s everyone meeting?” Ella asked. “In case I want to join in.”

The Minotaur lowered the lids of her cow-brown eyes and gazed back between the slits with a smile. “You know the southern amphitheatre where they held the Spring Fling last year?”

Ella nodded.

“It’s supposed to be somewhere thereabouts, during the night of the new moon.”

The Satyr stylist chimed in. “And the Centaurs don’t have a clue! Isn’t that great? The soldiers will be in for a big surprise if they come nosing around.”

Inside, nausea churned Ella’s stomach, hearing the plans of a surprise attack against Aleksander’s men.

Minotaur and Satyr discussed everything from lining deep earthen pits with sharp pikes, to hidden spring-loaded darts on patrol trails.

Through it all, she managed to keep an interested expression pasted on her face. Ella would nod her head at the right times to encourage them to continue. Anger curled in her chest and brewed from the hateful information. Hidden beneath the drape cover, her hands knotted into tight fists.

Horrified by all she never knew, Ella did her best for Al and the Centaur Crown.

Twenty

“I
t’s true. People who constantly compare themselves to others are insecure. They are looking for validation that they’re as good, if not better, than the person next to them...”

Dressed in his signature black robe, Templar Khristos droned on with his closing remarks. On the elevated dais, the dark priest’s medallion of office caught the stab of overhead light and blinked a flash to the audience.

From the back of the Communal Chamber, Aleksander tuned him out while the mandatory meeting for Representatives of the Woodland Nations came to a close. Alek leaned against the rock wall and propped a boot near his butt. Khristos continued to spout his religious crap and it appeared nobody was listening.

Seated front and center in the audience, Queen Savella’s back remained straight and tall.

Maybe she was listening…more likely sleeping with her eyes open
.

Standing nearby in a shadowy front corner, Hippy yawned without covering her mouth. From the guard position, she had an unobstructed view of the open meeting room and, most importantly, Her Majesty. No doubt, she also had a clear shot of Minotaur representative Mykal, whose limited theological beliefs seemed to pertain to the area of Savella’s cleavage.

Aleksander lifted higher on his toes and skimmed the seated heads of mythic dignitaries to the other side of the circular room. Seated directly behind Savella, Koviac, the great Wood Nymph ambassador, shook his white crowned head at Mykal’s antics. 

Bastian stood beside the main vestibule doors that opened to the wide outer hall, and Nubbs had positioned himself in the murky alcove of the other exit. Behind the paneled door lay a corridor that paralleled the hall. For safety, Hippolyte preferred this private mode for Savella’s travel route as doors opened discreetly into each chamber along the way.

“Those who seek comparison, only for use in putting someone down, they are the ones who suffer the worst.”

The sound of clearing throats brought Aleksander’s eyes back to his current duty. If Khristos wasn’t careful, he’d put his disinterested
flock
to sleep.

“Mythic friends,” the dark priest’s voice rumbled low, edging toward his dramatic closing. “When we have the gods in our heart, the deities helps us accept who we are. I can say this because I truly believe, it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. The gods love you for who you are, the way you are.”

Alek nearly snorted aloud. Who was Khristos kidding? The priest looked down his arrogant Roman nose at any mythic who wasn’t of Centaur breeding. Good thing no one listened to the crock of lard peddled as the power of positive thinking.

Savella stood, turned her back on Representative Mykal, and offered her hand to the Troll ambassador, Archibald. Today, the queen wore modern business attire; a fringe-trimmed tweed jacket and a slim, dark grey skirt. She appeared very confident, very cool, and every inch the monarch.

Other leaders also stood. They shook hands and clapped one another on the back.

Across the room, Hippolyte gave a nod to Alek and made her way to Savella’s side, politely situating herself between the Centaur queen and throng of well-wishers—the signal it was time to initiate Her Majesty’s extraction to the private exit.

Aleksander caught Bastian’s eye and motioned with his head to indicate the queen’s withdrawal from the chamber. The guard nodded once in acknowledgment, then turned when the door to the outer hall opened. After Bastian’s crisp salute, the silver brush cut of Colonel Petros stepped through. The two spoke, then both looked in Alek’s direction.

Curious over Petros’s appearance, especially when the Colonel viewed diplomats the same way he viewed the squashed remains of a bug under his boot, Alek waited for the male to cross the meeting room.

In the shifting lights and shadows, his patchwork-colored equine body blended with the myriad of reflected colors and shapes. A modern work of art, painted with russet browns, shades of black, and underlying white, yet the distinguished silvery hair set him apart.

“Kempor Aleksander.” Petros snapped a salute. “A female Troll is waiting to speak with you.”

His heartbeat quickened. Alek glanced toward Hippy and Savella, and saw Nubbs guarding the partially open side door. In a few more seconds, Her Majesty would be safely ensconced in the private hall and on the way to her office. When the door closed behind Nubbs, vacating the Communal Chamber could begin.

Aleksander returned his attention to Petros, anxious for Ella’s report and, more importantly, to see her again. “Where is she now?”

“In her assigned stall.”

“Stay here and help Bastian clear the room. I’ll go to her now.”

Petros’s put a calloused hand on his arm, stopping him. “Be careful, Alek. The innocence of this one might knock you off your hooves.”

The older man gave him a knowing, fatherly look, then moved to herd Mykal toward the exit.

Bring it on.
Alek felt a ripple of anticipation for that very occurrence.

*~*~*

Blades of bluegrass absorbed the sound of Ella’s booted feet pacing the stallroom floor. There was so much to remember. And details—times, places, people. She hoped her message, asking to see Al, went straight to him. Otherwise…no, she wouldn’t let her racing mind go there. The hastily written notes she’d jotted in the restroom were in her jacket pocket, she wouldn’t forget anything. For an extra measure of confidence, she gave the outer linen a quick pat.

There came a knock, and she forced herself not to run and rip open the door.

“Ella, it’s Alek.”

She then…ripped the door open. “Pointed horns of Pan. Al, do you guys know what you’re dealing with? They’re crazy! The rebels are out of their bleedin’ minds.”

Without his elongated body and sexy tail, he was able to shut the door as soon as he stepped into her room. “Slow down and tell me what happened.”

Ella paced to the floorbed, and then turned to face him.

Above his wide stance and crossed arms, he wore a huge smile that crinkled the corners of his warm brown eyes.

“What?”

“Your hair, it’s…”

Go ahead and say it. It’s orange and ugly and no matter what I do, it’ll still be orange and ugly.

“…a nice cut. When you stomp around, it looks like sunshine kissed your head and streaked rays into your hair. It’s lovely. You’re lovely.”

“Thank you…wow.”
Not what I expected to hear.
Her cheeks warmed as if she stood next to a heating source, which meant her freckles would be having a party. To cover her embarrassment, Ella went to her jacket she’d tossed aside and pulled out her notes.

Al’s gaze locked on the paper and his smile faded. His eyes narrowed and grew serious.

Time she got serious, too. “Thanks, Al. Silk purses and sow’s ears, you know. Come sit with me.”

“Huh?”

“Sit. Here.” Pointing to the empty chair across the café table, Ella hooked her boot heel on the bottom rung and hoisted her fanny up on the seat. Crumpled notes dropped from her fist to land front and center, and made a pile of tissue paper.

Instead of sitting in the seat she assigned him, Al rounded the table and came to her. He wrapped her in his muscular arms and hugged her body close. “I missed you, Sweet-thing.”

The thought crossed her mind, fleeting though it may be, that he called all females sweet-thing because he couldn’t remember their names. While she inhaled his spicy scent and basked in the hug, once the demon thought emerged, it stayed rooted in place. Held to his chest,
the girls
lapped up his bodily warmth and pressed their tips to entice him further.

The body is willing, but the mind is not.
“Let’s talk before you make me forget an important detail.”

Either Al failed to notice she didn’t do more than drape her arms about his waist, or he chose to overlook it. In any case, he kissed her lips and lingered, drawing his fingertip down her cheek.

Warm pleasure enveloped her heart and slowly drifted lower.

He studied her face with heavy lidded eyes ringed by flecks of gold starbursts, tapped her nose, then skirted the table to take his seat.

Ella crossed her legs at the knees, checking that the hem of her borrowed dress stayed decently low. Remembering every detail would be hard enough, add a too handsome, smiling Centaur and her brain flat-lined.

“Lay it on me, babe.”

I’d like to lay it all over you.
A deep breath to calm her racing pulse, and she began, “I met Roxie right off. Nice Satyr. She set me up with Cherrie and once I figured out how to broach the subject, she and a couple others in the salon turned into regular chatterboxes.”

“Did they say which night the rebels are meeting?” Al leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“The night of No Moon, like you thought.”

“Did anyone mention where?”

Oh, boy did they ever.
“You would’ve thought Bacchus himself was going to appear with all the fuss they were making. These rebels—they have a freaking fan club!”

Al dropped his gaze to the table, shaking his head sadly.

“Cherrie said they’re all meeting about three hours south-east of Boronda Falls at ten p.m. I could join them if I wanted.”

Twin lines etched the center of Al’s lowered brows. He met her gaze. “That’s close to the hunting cabin where you were held. Did she say why the rebels are meeting at that location, or what they’ll do once they arrive?”

“No, sorry.”

“In the past, there have been humans who’ve become involved with our civil unrest. I wonder if the hunter who kidnapped you knows anything about what’s going on.”

Unable to contain her hands in a demure pose any longer, Ella covered her hot cheeks with her cool palms. “This is some scary shit, Al. There was a Minotaur client who said the meeting will bring together all the rebels throughout the forest.” She dropped her hands. “How many rebels are there?”

Al’s lips pressed into thin lines. “It’s anyone’s guess. The numbers seem to grow daily as the insurgents recruit more ignorant mythics.” His fist hit the table and the tissue pile jumped, catching his attention. “What’s with the paper?”

“My notes. Guess I didn’t need them after all.”

A grin replaced the worry lines bracketing his mouth, and a merry twinkle returned to his eyes. “You took notes on TP?”

Ella grinned back. “A spy’s got to make the best of what she’s got.”

“Believe me,
Kalos.
This doesn’t come close to being your best asset.”