Destin's Hold (The Alliance #5)(35)

Sula lifted her chin at his tone and her eyes flashed with determination. Without realizing it, she tugged at the hairs on his chest before pushing him backwards a step. Her lips were tight.

“I am Princess Jersula Ikera, only daughter of the Royal House of Usoleum, Councilor Select for the Alliance representative to the Earth, Destin Parks. One of those women sent out a message – a message that was intercepted by my older brother. He has become fixated on finding her. Her plea….” Sula’s eyes filled with tears and she swallowed. “Destin, please, my father is very ill and the weight of what Badrick did weighs heavily on his conscience. He wishes to find and return those women to their families. It is more than shame or pride; it is a matter of responsibility and honor. He is the one who assigned Badrick to your world. He cannot bring back those that died because of Badrick’s deception, but he can right this terrible wrong.”

Sula’s throat tightened on her admission. A low sob escaped her and she pulled her hands away from Destin to brush at the tears that had escaped. Drawing in a ragged breath, she started to turn away from him. She was an ugly crier. Her face always grows puffy, her nose would leak, and her eyes would turn almost black, making her look like a dead, bloated sea mammal that had washed up on shore.

A hiccup escaped her and she started crying harder when she felt his arms encircle her, drawing her against his chest. Now she was going to end up smearing her disgusting mucus all over him. Just the idea of it made her start to cry even harder which made her mad – at herself. All she wanted to do was escape into the ‘bathroom’, as she had started calling it now, and lock the door.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Destin asked quietly, stroking her back.

“Because… because… I keep forgetting when I am with you,” she wailed, frustrated at her uncharacteristic emotion. “I hate crying! I don’t… I don’t… cry.”

“That makes me feel even worse,” Destin teased with a sigh. “It sounded pretty bad and I’m a suspicious person by nature.”

“I… know,” Sula mumbled against his chest. “I had to deal with you once before when you weren’t very ni… nice to me, remember? I need to borrow your cover.”

Sula could feel her nose starting to drip. Reaching down, she pulled the towel from around Destin’s waist and stepped back out of his arms. She blew her nose into it, then glanced at Destin. The thought of him seeing her like this sent another wave of tears to her eyes.

“What is it? I’m not upset anymore,” Destin said, lifting a hand out to her.

“I don’t cry pretty,” Sula wailed again and turned on her heel to hurry into the bathroom.

She slammed her hand against the panel, closing the door behind her. Stepping over to the sink, she looked at her reflection. It was worse than she had expected. Her nose looked like a big, blue blob. A long, uneven wail rose up in her throat and she buried her head in the towel.

“Sula…,” Destin said from the other side of the door. “Open the door…. Sweetheart, please, open the door. I believe you.”

“Go… go away!” Sula cried out, turning away from the mirror to sit on the toilet. “I’m not coming out until… until… I’m through making a fool of myself.”

“That could take a while,” Destin’s muttered words filtered through the thin metal.

Sula glared at the door before rising off the seat and taking the three steps to it. Palming the door, she blinked and jerked her head back when she saw Destin standing so close to it. With a toss of her head and a loud sniff, she gave him her dirtiest look.

“I heard that,” Sula informed him. Her bottom lip trembled when his expression softened. Afraid she was going to burst out crying again, she shook her head vehemently at him and closed the door again. She leaned her head against it and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Leave me alone, Destin.”

“I didn’t mean it that way, Sula,” Destin’s muffled voice swore through the closed door.

“I… I… I… Oh, go away!” Sula demanded before a loud, hiccupping sob escaped her and she turned her back to the door, buried her head in the towel again, and slid down to the floor to have a good, old-fashion cry as Chelsea would say.





11





It seemed to take forever before she stopped crying. At one point, she had become so quiet that he had been concerned that she had fainted or become ill. He had been about to call maintenance to force the door open when the sound of the shower turning on assured him that she was okay.

After dressing in a pair of black jogging pants, he called Trig to see if he would mind bringing down some food for them. Trig gave him a questioning look, but didn’t say anything. A short time later, Trig delivered a tray complete with a thick soup, bread, drinks, and dessert.

Twenty minutes after that, a very subdued and drained Sula exited the bathroom. She wore a thick towel wrapped around her pale figure, her long, white hair hanging in a limp, tangled mess around her. She glanced up at him, her lower lip trembling, and he melted into a warm pile of mush in her hands.

“Let me,” he gently murmured, taking the brush from her loose fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in a soft, hoarse voice. “I don’t normally cry.”