Invaded (Alienated, #2)(24)

David let out a low whistle. “You may not know much about girls, but you’re an expert at pissing them off. What just happened?”

Aelyx threw his hands up in frustration. “I was honest.”

“Ouch,” David said, then sucked a breath through his teeth. “That’s the second thing you need to learn about relationships. Telling the truth is overrated.”

In a way, Aelyx agreed. If he’d lied to protect Syrine’s feelings, he would have spared both of them the awkwardness to follow. But deception tended to compound his problems. The conspiracy to end the alliance had cost Eron his life.

David was wrong. In Aelyx’s experience, the truth was underrated.

“I’d better go talk to her,” Aelyx said.

“Good luck.” David resumed fanning smoke out the window. “Oh, and by the way.” He glanced at the postal bin. “You should read those. I mean, some of the letters are creepy, but you get nice ones, too.” He shrugged. “It could make good PR for you to reach out to your fans while we’re still on tour.”

Aelyx supposed that David had a point. “I’ll go through them later.”

He made his way to the kitchen and found Syrine elbow-deep in a suds-filled sink, not washing or rinsing dishes, just staring at the bubbles. When she didn’t move, he cleared a spot nearby and sat on the countertop.

“These are primitive appliances,” he said, pointing one booted toe at the stove. “And unfamiliar ingredients. You did a far better job than I could have. I’ve never managed to prepare anything more sophisticated than toast.”

She replied with a grunt and snatched a washrag from beside him.

“The meat here is dense,” he said. “It cooks differently.”

“Not that differently,” she finally replied, scrubbing an item beneath the water’s surface.

“But all skills take time to master.” He used a comparison to make her understand. “Would you expect Cara or her brother to braise a flawless roast in our Aegis kitchen?”

Syrine scoffed. “Of course not. They’re human.”

“You’re missing the point. If cooking makes you happy, then keep practicing. But don’t do it for me.”

She stared into the sink. “I thought it would be a nice gesture. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.”

“You know what would be nice?” he asked. “A simple apology for what happened on the transport. That’s all I want.”

When she grumbled something unintelligible that definitely wasn’t an apology, Aelyx gave up and left the kitchen. Syrine surprised him by following close behind, wiping her sudsy hands on her pants.

“I’ll help sort your stupid fan mail,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “But I won’t touch their disgusting undergarments.”

He shook his head in bewilderment. Why couldn’t she just say she was sorry?

When they rejoined David in the living area, he’d settled on the opposite end of the room, reading his magazine while cool air from the open window cleared the haze. He peered at both of them from above Sports Illustrated. “Everything okay?”

In typical fashion, Syrine ignored him and dragged the postal crate into the living room, where she dumped its contents onto the area rug.

“We’re going to sort the mail,” Aelyx explained. “And we’ve nominated you as Keeper of the Thongs.”

Syrine snickered and lifted a large padded envelope from the heap.

“Uh, hold on.” David sat upright and tossed aside his magazine. “I just remembered something.”

“This one’s heavy,” Syrine said, giving it a shake. The clink of metallic pieces jingled from inside the envelope. “No satin or lace in here. I’ll take it.”

Palms forward, David shouted, “No, wait! I forgot to pre-screen this batch. I always let the bomb-sniffing dogs—” He cut off when Syrine tore open the top of the envelope.

After that, everything happened in an instant.

David bolted off the sofa and grabbed the envelope from Syrine’s hands. His combat boots squeaked against hardwood as he raced to the open window and hurled the package outside. Half a second later, a deep boom sounded from the street, and the windowpanes along the front of the penthouse rattled. David clutched the wall and panted for breath while Aelyx and Syrine shared a blank stare.

Nobody spoke, aloud or otherwise. Aelyx’s mind raced to process what he’d witnessed. He blinked a few times to make sure he hadn’t imagined it, but nothing had changed except a new acrid scent on the breeze.

Had Syrine actually opened a bomb?

Her thoughts must have matched his own. Did that really happen? she asked.

Yes, I think so.

Still in a fog, Aelyx walked to the window and leaned out, squinting at the pavement several stories below. He couldn’t recall which city they were in, but the streetlights illuminated bits of shrapnel littering the sidewalk and confirmed what he wished he could deny. If the sender of that letter had accomplished his goal, those jagged metallic fragments would be embedded in Aelyx’s skull. Syrine could have died tonight, simply for opening his mail.

Thank the Mother for David’s quick thinking—and for the National Guard’s decision to block off the street to foot traffic, or someone could have been hurt when David threw the envelope outside.