Page 149 of Stars in Umbra
At first, she protested. ‘Baby, my lipstick.’
‘You can redo it,’ he rasped as his palms roamed her spine, holding her to him.
The kiss continued until finally he drew back, gliding his mouth to her nape.
‘Don’t let anyone touch you,’ he murmured against her throat. ‘If they do -.’
‘You’ll kill them?’ she interjected, arching a brow.
He growled. ‘I’m not joking.’
‘Possessive,’ she said with a breathless laugh, brushing her fingers along his jaw. ‘But I can kill them myself,sante.’
Their neural link synced with a soft pulse in her inner ear.
Mo, Rina. It’s time.
Rina took an inhale, stroked Mo’s chin once more, then headed to the rear docking bay.
He strolled behind her, eyes on her as she entered the vessel and strapped in.
The hatch closed, and she locked eyes with him, waving as the craft lifted off.
With a quick wink, she tore past the blast doors and vanished into the clouds.
The Thrall Estate unfolded before Rina like a sovereign jewel nestled in the cradle of the eastern Trossachs.
She landed and handed her craft to a valet parker, adjusting her trailing, long dress as she sailed forth.
The grand entrance was alive with activity, streamlined sky cars touched down in sequence, their glinting hulls polished to mirror perfection.
Uniformed guards in charcoal gray patrolled with visible discretion, scanning identities with wrist-bound nodes and ocular trackers.
Floating chandeliers disguised as floral drones drifted over the guests, capturing images and biometric data with hidden lenses.
Through her neural link, Mo’s voice filtered in.‘Visuals transmitting. Holy hell, this place is decadent.’
‘And fortified,’Mirage added.‘Every corridor is covered with cameras and hidden security measures. Take care.’
Rina glided past the orchestra, a string quartet playing an elegant cover of an old Earth love song.
A golden-voiced singer crooned in a husky contralto, her words gliding through the open-air gallery that funneled into the estate’s grand ballroom.
Guests mingled near roaring fireplaces and soft-lit lounges where single malts were served alongside vintage amuse-bouches.
The scent of aged timber, pine resin, venison sliders, and candied pear filled the room.
She kept her steps even, her expression languid and mildly aloof, slipping through the crowd sinuously.
Thrall’s banquet hall was breathtaking.
Cathedral ceilings, carved Highland beams, antique iron chandeliers overhead. Tartans in jewel tones softened the stone walls.
The guests comprised Dunia’s elite, scions of old families and power brokers, wrapped in furs, brocade, and couture.
The buffet tables gleamed with cold water oysters, roasted mountain duck, wild boar terrine, and towers of fresh cheeses and preserves.
Beyond the archways, floor-to-ceiling windows framed the dusky sky and forested hills.
