Spaceships? I’m assuming they’re spaceships based on the representation of asteroids in the picture.
“You know, if it wasn’t for all the Hollywood depictions of holographs, I would freak out that the technology exists and I had no idea,” I say, because I have no idea what else to say when everyone’s eyes are glued on me like I did something wrong.
I do not want to talk about sleeping with Thoren until I have the chance to talk to him about it. I don’t even know the parameters of this situationship yet, and I’m not defining it in front of a crowd. That’s a private conversation that we will have when one of us gives in to the pressure of the need for definitions, expectations, and limits. It will probably be me,because: insecurity, amiright? But not today. Today I am going to just go with the flow.
“It’s not commercially available,” Maxime replies easily, frowning at my black suit. “Are you really sure a black suit is the reflection of your inner divinity? You seem more interesting than that.”
Thoren’s hand squeezes my ass as I respond, “Everything I am wearing is a comfortable reflection of my inner, um, badass.”
I’m so not a badass, except that I’m totally a badass butler. Also, the reflection of my inner self is definitely what’s happening under my clothes. I can’t wait to see what Thoren thinks about the blue lace bralette and thong set I put on. He loved the gray lace panties so much he fucked me with them on. Although he’s going to have to give me a stipend for underwear if he keeps destroying them; it’s not like pretty panties for men are cheap and easy to come by.
He squeezes my butt again and pulls a chair out for me, so I sit, trying not to stare at the gargoyle forms of all the Staianos (except Maxime who remains in his human form). “What’s going on?” I ask to cover my need to examine each of them. If someone speaks, I’ll have the excuse to study them, and no one can accuse me of staring. Just gotta be chill.
Thoren picks me up out of the chair, sits in it, and sits me back on his lap.
As soon as I’m rebalanced, I twist to look at him, narrowing my eyes. “What are you doing?”
Thoren smiles, but it’s not nice, and it’s not directed at me; he’s looking at his brothers. “We don’t usually have guests at this table,” he replies, pointing out that there isn’t another seat available for me to move into except the one that appears to be Faulkes’s. Since he’s sitting on Reeves’ lap right now, I could probably protest and take that chair, but honestly, I kinda like that Thoren is staking a claim like this.
“I... see. What, um, what’s going on?”
Please don’t let me be in trouble for sleeping with Thoren.
Maxime points to the holograph. “These ships are a tinkral invasion force. Tinkral are an intergalactic species of colonizers; they are known for subjugating native species on their homeworlds and moving in. They prefer worlds with infrastructure already in place, and the only reason they would be hiding out in the Kuiper Belt is if they're planning to invade Earth.”
I stare at the ships as Maxime explains and soak all this in. Aliens are real. Hostile invasion forces are real. I fucked an alien. Obviously. “We should probably alert the government about the possible impending doom, don’t you think?” I suggest, throat drying up as the theory of hostile aliens becomes a concrete reality in my head.
“No, there’s no reason to do that. We’re going to stop them before they’re organized enough to make the jump to Earth,” Reeves assures me, but his stare is intense and intimidating, and it sounds like he’s trying to include me in that “we,” and there is no possibility that I am going to be able to do fuck all about stopping an alien invasion force.
My vision blurs and light-headedness makes me sway on Thoren’s lap. He pinches my side and I gasp, realizing that I’d stopped breathing. I take a few deep breaths, forcing myself to think rationally for a few minutes.
I close my eyes and let my brain imagine the worst case scenario, delving deep into the possible destruction and horror. I give in to the fear and agony for just a few seconds, and then I force myself to hear that these gargoyles believe with no uncertainty that they’re going to stop this invasion before it happens. I lean back against Thoren’s broad chest and remember how very solid, strong, and indomitable he is. MyThoren can and will stop this invasion, and I’m here because he believes I can support him. I got this.
I open my eyes to find every person in the room staring at me. Each of them expresses a different emotion with their face, but none of them look hopeless or cowed. These men are perfectly capable of stopping this invasion, and I believe that. “Ok. Let’s do this. What’s the plan?”
“You’re good?” Ethan asks skeptically.
I let my professional smile lift the corners of my mouth and dip my chin. “Of course. What can I do to help?”
As Thoren's arms flex and tighten around me, Maxime claps his hands together and looks at me with absolute delight. “You are a treasure, Dec. I’m so glad I made the right choice to hire you. Now, let me explain what our dilemma is, and maybe you can shed some light on it.”
I listen to his explanation of the cards and their guidance, and how they decided that I’m supposed to go with Thoren to an alien spaceship to disable it, and the entire time my brain fluctuates between intense disbelieving laughter, terror, and absolute shock that anyone would think me—the butler, for fuck’s sake—would have anything to add to a mission on an enemy ship.
When Maxime finishes talking, I make sure to stare at him in agape horror for ten full seconds before answering, “With all due respect, Maxime, you’re crazy if you think I’m going to teleport into an enemy ship as Thoren’s only back up. I’m abutler. I clean, I polish the silver, I make sure that the house doesn’t fall apart, I supervise the staff, and I make sure your needs and the needs of your household are met expeditiously. What I don’t do is invade enemy ships and hope for the best. I will lead the squad of cheerleaders pumping you up for your mission, but I won’t be going on it. The cards are crazy if they think I’m a better choice than...” I pause, deciding which of the brothers is possibly theleast likely to be someone’s backup. “Faulkes.” Regardless of his incredible mass, seeing him sitting on Reeves’ lap because he needs comfort for an intense situation makes me think he’s the last person they’d choose for the job.
Reeves pats Faulkes back, nodding. “Obviously we would prefer to send Faulkes; he’s the most skilled with these types of covert missions among us, but the cards have never led us wrong. If we send Faulkes, he wouldn’t return, and we’re not risking that. If you go, you and Thoren will both return from the mission. The cards aren’t wrong.”
Ok, so the baby of the family is really good with disabling ships. I would not have guessed that, but it just goes to show you that you can’t judge people by the aspects that you see. Faulkes acts like a sensitive baby boy, but maybe he’s only that sometimes. Who knows?
I twist again to gauge Thoren’s reaction to this. “What do you think?”
Thoren’s grip tightens again and the muscles under my butt harden. “I think the cards are stupid and I’d rather take Faulkes, but like Reeves said, I’m not willing to risk losing him. We can ask the cards for guidance again, but whatever the deal is, it will be up to our own interpretation.”
“Ok, I’d like to see that,” I decide. Having seen one Tarot reading in my life, and that was just a single card that the owner of that shop used to encourage me to go to buttling school, I’m interested in knowing exactly what Thoren does.
Thoren pulls his cards out of the pouch on his side and sets them on the table. “Shuffle them, then deal out nine cards, three on the left, three on the right and three down the middle. Each card you deal will be representative of a person in this room. It’s important that you know that these cards come out in order every time these cards do a reading for this family.”
I don’t think I understand, but I shuffle the deck, and then shuffle it twice more. Three times feels right. Then I deal a card onto the table on the left, but before I even put it down, Faulkes says, “The Star.”
