It Begins With the End Read online

  Dale's wife, Elenor, joined them after disengaging from a nearby group of women. A flowing white silk gown draped her willowy figure, and she wore no jewelry except her wedding ring. She pecked Dale on the cheek.

  "Elenor, your dress is to die for," Elise said with true admiration.

  Elenor spun in a circle and the fabric floated around her in a dazzling swirl of pearl iridescence. "Well, I wanted to look my best for our guests." She glanced at Elise's grandfather. "Director Comwell, when will they be arriving?" Elenor searched the hall and waved to an acquaintance.

  "Not until after we're all seated." He polished off the last drop of champagne.

  Elise grabbed another champagne flute off a passing server's tray. Newly twenty-one meant enjoying the freedom of drinking at one of these functions. Much better than slipping in a flask. One more glass should calm her nerves.

  A chime sounded and the great hall emptied as the assembled guests flowed into the large banquet room. Still no sign of the Vendel. People glanced around and nervous whispers filled the room. Men straightened ties as women fidgeted with their skirts. Anxious coughing bounced from one corner to the next, punctuated by an occasional sigh. An air of anticipation and excitement swirled through the crowd as people took their seats.

  Elise felt their excitement; it almost overpowered her incredible nervousness, but then the large double doors closed, sealing everyone inside. The thumping in her chest sped up.

  Her grandfather escorted her to the head table, followed by Dale and his wife. Gramps seated her to his right while the Armstrongs sat to his left. Four empty seats sat to her right and then four more next to Dale. A stab of shock made her sit upright.

  Her hand shook as she took a slug of champagne, nearly spilling the straw-colored liquid on her dress. "Why did you seat me next to them?"

  He leaned over and whispered. "They requested it. Something about traditions."

  Her stomach flipped. "And when do they arrive?"

  Her grandfather examined his watch. "Soon. They requested we all seat ourselves first and give them privacy to teleport into the lobby."

  "Teleport? Why would they need privacy?"

  Impatience flickered across his face. "I told you, we must handle them a certain way."

  She thought he would say something more, but he drifted off into his thoughts, leaving her to twiddle her butter knife. At an irritated glare from him, she stopped. Where were they?

  A single loud chime sounded, and the room stilled.

  Light flashed through the cracks of the closed doors. The air crackled. Silence followed, broken by a loud knock on the outer door. Global Corps guards, disguised as butlers, swung the doors wide.

  No smoke, no fog, no lightning, just ten large, muscular men walked in, marching in unison. The men in the back carried two crates.

  Director Comwell stood, and the rest of the room rose amid the rustling of fabrics and the scuffing of chairs. She remained seated and stared at the tall, broad man in the middle who dominated the entire room.

  Short, wavy, black hair topped his head, and over his left brow a tattoo swirled with what seemed to be a life of its own. His eyes were perhaps his most stunning feature. They simmered with an intensity she had never seen before and flashed with a silvery light.

  Black shirts tucked into black pants, which tucked into black, calf-high boots. It implied a uniform of sorts.

  What a way to make an entrance.

  She glanced around the room. Women reacted with eyes wide and mouths parted as they breathed a little deeper and heavier in open admiration of the new arrivals. This contrasted with the men. They shifted their feet and looked small compared to the Vendel.

  A few startled feminine gasps sounded. She suppressed one of her own.

  Their leader scanned the room with a predator's intensity. His gaze settled on her for a brief moment, twin silver orbs pinning her in place. Even from such a distance, his eyes narrowed as he held her in his stare. Then his brows shot up. His gaze flicked away to continue his survey of the room as if that moment of surprise hadn’t happened. That's when she realized she was the only person not standing and popped to her feet.

  The measured voice of her grandfather sounded down the length of the long banquet hall. "Emperor Gregor Ulysses vlor'Malita, welcome to Earth." He spread his arms out wide in greeting.

  The Emperor inclined his head. A deep bass rumble vibrated outward from his muscular chest, melting feminine hearts in an expanding wave of masculine presence. "Your hospitality is most welcomed, Director Comwell. We are honored and eager to, once again, taste the fruit of Earth."

  Elise eyed the Emperor. The hairs on the back of her arms lifted, and a chill wormed its way down her spine.

  "We brought gifts," he said in that bass rumble.

  Two of his men brought forward the large cases.

  "These are our most treasured fragrances. May we offer them to your ladies?"

  Her grandfather gave a shaky nod. This exchange had gone off script. He recovered with one of his enigmatic smiles. "Yes, of course. Ladies, please accept the gift of the Vendel." The crowd responded with soft applause.

  The Emperor and one of his men stood watch as the rest distributed the fragrance. Gasps of appreciation sounded as women opened the bottles and inhaled. A few women sneezed. When they didn't distribute the fragrance to the head table, Elise felt slighted and tilted her nose trying to catch a whiff of the tantalizing perfume.

  Only after the presentation was completed, and they had packed up their crates, did the Vendel proceed toward the head table.

  As they walked down the aisle, the leader held her in his gaze. Over his left eyebrow that black tattoo of swirling lines danced beneath his skin. Thick black brows framed silver eyes that sparkled in the light of the crystal chandeliers overhead. Cold eyes, penetrating in their intensity, crinkled at the corners.

  Despite the quickening of her breath, she couldn't seem to draw in enough oxygen. It was in that moment she understood what it meant when someone took your breath away.

  The Vendel contingent marched down the center aisle of the banquet hall as the world's leaders looked on. Tension twisted in Elise's gut and corkscrewed down her spine, deflating any earlier excitement and bringing back a landslide of anxiety. People shifted for a better glance, hungry, not for food, but for any hint of what would come.

  What was proper protocol for greeting aliens even if they were human? She didn't know, and her grandfather hadn't briefed her on anything specific. Her entire focus centered on the men who advanced. Or rather, on the one man who strode with a singular purpose toward her.

  The only sounds to break the oppressive silence were the tread of Vendel boots snapping against the tiles of the floor, some low whispers, and a few nervous coughs. There was something beyond simple nervousness at play here. Perhaps, she wasn't the only one with concerns over the tsunami of cultures clashing with this first meeting.

  She held her breath, locked in a stare with the Vendel Emperor at the lead of this strange alien procession. The other Vendel around him took in the crowd, a calm superiority radiated off them with each step toward the head table. Powerful in their pressed, black uniforms, which strained across impeccable muscular physiques, their smiles eased as they gazed upon the women, while tightened when confronting the men. The Emperor, however, continued his stare, locking her in place.

  Her heart beat a frantic tattoo under his scrutiny, and she fiddled with the fabric of her gown while struggling to maintain her composure. To her left, her grandfather gathered her hand in his grip.

  He whispered, "And, I thought they were imposing on the vid-screen. In person… well…" He coughed and stood a little straighter. The tremor in his hand radiated to his voice. The muscles of her grandfather's jaw ticked as he ground his teeth together.

  She squeezed his hand, uncertain which of them needed more reassurance. This crack in his stoic facade had her swallowing against a surge of panic. He was her anchor. She needed him
to be strong, not the other way around.

  The Vendel Emperor stopped a few feet short of the head table and gave a small bow. His gaze traced down her arm and caught her clutching her grandfather's hand. Above his brow, the unusual tattoo of dark swirling lines writhed beneath his skin. Her skin prickled as the tiny hairs on her arm lifted and stood up straight.

  "Charles Comwell…" The smooth velvety tones of his voice wrapped around her in a blanket of seductive steel, warm yet unyielding. "It is my great honor to be here."

  Her grandfather released her hand and extended his arms out wide in open greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet in person, Emperor vlor'Malita." He gestured beside him. "You have met Commodore Armstrong. May I please present Commodore Armstrong's wife, Elenor." He turned to Elenor with a smile.

  Elenor reached across the head table to shake his hand. "Emperor vlor'Malita—"

  The Emperor grasped her palm, turned it over, and kissed the back, silencing whatever else she had planned to say. "A great pleasure to meet the Commodore's wife. You are an exquisite vision, my dear. The Commodore is a most honored man to have you at his side."

  His voice rolled across the distance in multi-toned layers causing Elise to shiver.

  A flush pinked Elenor's cheeks. "Thank you. It's an honor to meet you."

  The Emperor nodded to Dale Armstrong. "Commodore Armstrong, I look forward to working with you and the Global Corps Space Agency."

  Dale extended his hand and gave the Emperor a firm handshake. His arm moved with a stiffness which was unusual. The Emperor radiated confidence in the easy way he carried himself. The contrast between the men was striking, even more so because she'd always considered Dale to be one of the most self-assured men she'd ever known.

  Her grandfather coughed into his fist. "And this is my granddaughter, Elise Comwell."

  She froze as the Emperor’s entire focus shifted to her. Silver eyes sparkled as he regarded her with deliberation.

  Her grandfather nudged her elbow. With a strange sense of detachment, she watched as her hand was engulfed by the Emperor's.

  A shock pulsed between them, shooting through her arm and into his, then returning from him magnified tenfold, thrumming with a strange burst of energy. She blinked against a kaleidoscope of color edging the corners of her vision, but then the strange sensation vanished.

  His eyes widened, then while still grasping her hand, he turned to the man standing beside him. The Emperor spoke something in a strange language which caused the man standing beside him to study her with an appraising intensity.

  She pulled back, but the Emperor's grip held firm, encasing her hand in a sheath of warmth.

  As with Elenor, he kissed the back of her hand. His thumb traced a circle on her inner wrist. Her pulse jumped a notch and that thrumming electricity returned, muted, but undeniably there.

  "Your granddaughter is even more beautiful in person." He flashed a brilliant smile before releasing her hand.

  Her gaze hardened as she turned to her grandfather.

  He ignored her glare. "I'm hopeful she'll consider your cultural exchange opportunity. She's majoring in theoretical physics and artificial intelligence in the Global Corps Virtual University. I think she'll be an asset in paving the way to establishing a mutually beneficial trade between our peoples."

  "Beautiful and smart. I believe you may be right." The Emperor's attention returned to her. "Miss Comwell, your grandfather has spoken highly of you during our preliminary talks. He also mentioned you have a unique skill—perfect recall? Is this true?"

  She pressed the heel of her shoe into her grandfather's toe.

  He hissed with pain when she shot him a look, promising a long conversation later.

  With a smile her etiquette tutor would be proud of, she faced the Vendel Emperor and measured her words out in smooth even tones. "I'm blessed with an eidetic memory, but it's far from perfect."

  He gave a slight bow. "Nevertheless, it is an unusual attribute. You are unique; intellect, grace, and beauty."

  Heat spread through her cheeks, rising high to her ears and even down her throat. She turned her head, letting her long, brown hair mask her embarrassment. "I don't know about that; most men feel threatened by me. I tend to scare them off."

  Mortifying didn't even touch on her feelings at this point. Another glare at her grandfather. Another look he ignored. She was alone in this and she didn't understand what her grandfather was up to, but now it made more sense why he seated her next to the Emperor. Cultural exchange? And why hadn't Gramps briefed her about this earlier?

  The Emperor chuckled. "I'm sorry to have embarrassed you, Miss Comwell. Please forgive me, and I assure you, I do not scare so easily."

  Perhaps not, but she wished he would. Between an overprotective grandfather, and her unique social status, dates were hard to come by. Add to that the quirkiness of her oddball intellect, her experiences with men had been… unique. Not that she was an untouched virgin princess, or a nerd with her nose stuck in a book. Quite the opposite occurred. She had a wild streak and plenty of willing men to take an heiress for a spin under the sheets—but she didn't have success in relationships.

  The Emperor continued as if the intense exchange between them had never happened. "Director Comwell, may I please present my companions." He gestured to the men standing behind him. "High Tender Marcus vlor'Vardhal, Tender Zanthis lor'Malden, High Councilors Talen vlor'Adreti and Cardic vlor'Altus, Councilors Massen lor'Smethci and Riobal lor'Bracus, and Judicators Sessil Grader and Mireck Kender."

  Each man gave a brief nod as he was introduced. By the time he finished his introductions, she had already forgotten half their names. High Tender, Tender, Councilor, Judicator, vlor' and lor'? The titles made her head spin.

  The only one she remembered was High Tender Marcus vlor'Vardhal because he'd been the man the Emperor had spoken to right after that weird electricity zapped her hand. Also, he was a vlor' like the Emperor. It seemed to be a title.

  For whatever reason, she took an instant dislike to the man. Maybe it was his beady brown eyes and matching short-cropped hair. He was short and stocky, too, at least compared to the other Vendel, although he still stood well over six-foot. All the Vendel were imposing in every measure: height, build—hell, their intimidation factor was off the charts. Standing in front of them, she felt diminutive and weak.

  "Gentlemen, welcome," her grandfather said with a puff of his chest. From the way her grandfather rolled his shoulders back, trying to stand taller than his aging frame allowed, it was clear he felt their guests’ natural dominance too. "Please be seated. We've prepared a meal which I hope you enjoy."

  The Emperor stepped around the table and pulled out the chair next to her. A heady aroma filled the air around him, making her pulse leap in her throat.

  He placed a hand on the back of her chair, holding it for her. "Miss Comwell, may I?"

  With a gesture, he indicated she should sit. As he adjusted her chair, he reached over her shoulder, startling her, and flicked her napkin open laying it across her lap. His mouth hovered beside her ear.

  "You are quite lovely, Elise."

  He turned away and exchanged words with the man sitting beside him, the one introduced as High Tender Marcus vlor'Vardhal. They spoke in a different language, harsh and guttural. The men disagreed about something. Their argument ended as abruptly as it began when the Emperor put his back to the High Tender. The red-faced man crossed his arms, obviously the loser, but looked like whatever conversation they had was far from over.

  The Emperor leaned forward, ignoring the High Tender. "Director Comwell, I'm sure this is one feast I'm certain to savor."

  She fiddled with her napkin, smoothing it over her lap, looking anywhere but at the man seated beside her. Two of the Vendel, who hadn't been introduced, took up posts behind the Emperor. Slim black rods, tied at each of their hips, extended midway to their knees and looked a lot like police batons. She wondered if they didn't serve a more sinister purpose be
cause the men oozed malice.

  An awkward silence descended over the table. One she broke with a question. "Excuse me, but what is the proper form of address for you? Is it Emperor Malita or Emperor vlor'Malita?"

  He leaned back, took a sip of water from the crystal glass from his place setting, and smiled. He flicked a glance at High Tender Marcus vlor'Vardhal. "For you… it would please me if you would call me Gregor. In fact, I insist on it."

  High Tender Marcus vlor’Vardhal coughed and shifted in his seat, but otherwise he remained silent. His dark brown eyes regarded her with intense scrutiny.

  "That seems very informal." She placed more distance between herself and the Emperor.

  "I insist," he pressed. "For the rest, Sire, or My Lord, would be appropriate."

  "But you are not our ruler." Her words came out with more challenge than she had intended. "Or is that your intent?"

  Why would he want her to call him Gregor? It seemed a very informal form of address. No way was she going to call him that.

  The entire head table went silent punctuated only by the deep indrawn breath of her grandfather. He reached over and squeezed her knee under the tablecloth. "Elise," he hissed in a whisper. "Behave!"

  Oh great. Open mouth. Insert foot. What would her etiquette tutor think now?

  The Emperor tilted his head back and laughed. "A challenge at every turn. How refreshing. You are correct, of course. Presumptuous of me and very rude, but a matter of habit, I'm afraid." He leaned forward. "Director Comwell, you must forgive me. Your granddaughter is correct, and I meant no offense. My subjects would refer to me as 'My lord,' or 'Sire,' but I would not expect someone from Earth to use that address. I respect your autonomy. Emperor vlor'Malita is the proper form of address. The lor' or vlor' is added before a lord's name and their title before that."

  He leaned back, using it as an excuse to speak low into her ear. "But for you, call me Gregor." There was no mistaking the hunger in his words. His throaty chuckle resonated deep within her, calling forth an answer she wasn't yet willing to acknowledge.