AMNESIA

by Canada Jackson

  “One?” he said, and she nodded, trying to still her breathing when he slowly opened the sash at her waist, spreading the crisscross folds of her dress aside and sliding it off her shoulders. Amber flushed when his gaze caught hers and held it whilst his hands went to the straps of her teddy, gently rolling it down until it slid off her shoulders.

  He lowered his eyes then and moaned deep in his throat as he took in her form. His breathing quickened and she was awed once again by the reverent gaze that held hers. His hands clasped her waist and moved her with one fluid tug onto his arousal that dug into her thigh.

  Wrexel was a dominating force under normal circumstances, but he had no issue showing her how she affected him; his honest awe of her was heady. He lifted unsteady hands, his gaze moving from her face to her breasts until he covered her with his palms and sucked in his breath as if he held a treasure. He stroked his thumbs reverently and gently over her nipples.

  “That’s two,” she gasped and responded in earnest.

  “No.” He never took his hungry gaze off her breasts. “This is two.” He brought her forward, running his tongue over her one nipple and then drawing her into his mouth.

  Amber’s hands clawed into his shoulders; the tugging motion of his mouth sent shock waves through her and made her move her hips against the length of his erection at her own core.

  Her motion had him lifting his mouth and sucking in his breath in surprise. He ground a little closer to her and they both shuddered against one another.

  “Three,” she whimpered, and he shook his head, laying her down on the couch beside him. He smoothed the rest of her dress apart and hooked his thumb into her lace panties, holding her to him as he removed them from her legs.

  “That is three,” he growled and ran his hands from her breast, down across her stomach, her naked hip, and farther, stroking her upper and then inner thigh.

  The way he gazed at her made her heart race. His expression was almost pained. His touch set her on fire. Her head fell back, and she moaned aloud when his mouth caught her breast again, teasing her relentlessly with his tongue whilst his fingers traced circles across her belly, her hips, lingering at the juncture of her thighs.

  “Four.” His mouth claimed hers and she kissed him in return, unable to pull back from the insane dueling of their tongues, hating that when his lips broke from hers, she let out small pants and quivered beneath him. She wanted to fight him, tell him that he had kissed her breasts twice, that that counted as another favor but then he would stop.

  “Five.” His finger finally left its maddening tour of her inner thigh, sliding across her betraying wet folds, gently touching the silk of her sex.

  * * *

  Amber could not help the sound she made. She had never experienced anything like the fire he ignited in her. She was spurred on even further when he moaned against her lips and then moved down to draw her nipple back into his mouth. This time he lost his gentleness, somewhat overcome by his own desire for her. The more he indicated a loss of control with his own moans of pleasure and labored breathing, the more he incited her. He was taking his favors without her complaint but the knowledge that she overwhelmed him just as much as he overwhelmed her was potent.

  His fingers seemed to know exactly where to stroke her; he knew exactly how, where, and when to move, as if her body had been designed by his own hand. She choked back moans of pleasure, completely overwhelmed with her first experience of clawing desire. Amber teetered on the brink but then his hand would move, soothing her, stroking other parts of her less fired. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she should stop him. But her pleasure overrode her sanity. He returned to tease her again and again with knowing fingers, each time to the point where she was about to scream but then he would slow, move away, focus on her breasts or kiss her. She shamed herself by clamping her legs around his hand but he refused to give her the climax her body had begun to demand.

  On and on he toyed with her until she began to beg for him to stop, beg him to give her what she wanted, what she needed more than air more than…

  “Six.”

  Amber thrashed; she didn’t need him. She dropped her own hand down between her legs but he denied her, trapping her wrist with one hand whilst the other teased her again.

  “Six?” he demanded of her as she lifted her hips to meet his slowing fingers.

  “Six?”

  “Yes,” she screamed, and the reward was worth it. He knew exactly how to toss her violently over the edge, not once but twice, and then again…

  Amber put her hands on her face with a sob of shame when she finally had enough. He pulled her hands away and stared down at her with the passion she had always wanted, the wild desire that had never been hers. He ran his thumbs over her cheeks, his own gaze tortured as he kept to their deal. He lowered his head against hers, his forehead touching her own, and brought her tenderly to his chest. Amber loathed that he had won their bet, detested that she still trembled from her self-betrayal. Most of all, she hated that he held her tenderly.

  “I hate you,” she cried brokenly in his arms.

  “No you don’t,” he said gruffly as he rubbed his cheek against the top of her head.

  Amber thought she could sink no lower in her need for Wrexel, but then she fell asleep to the sound of his beating heart.

  * * *

  An hour later, Wrexel collapsed against the wall of the shower, totally spent. Amber was still naked and sleeping on his couch, covered with a blanket he envied for being across her body. What had started out as a game had ended up with him nearly losing his own mind. He wanted to show her how much she desired him, how she needed to lose her inhibitions and control and yet he lost in the end. It had taken everything within him to stop when he felt her softness; but it was too soon and Amber would hate him even more if he had persuaded her to give herself to him fully. It was her first venture into decadence. He could tell by the way her eyes flared with shock that she had never experienced anything like that before. Taking her would have been unfair.

  The water ran down his body. Despite relieving himself several times, he still experienced the madness within. Nothing would suffice. Nothing but the sweetness of her body, which he had denied himself. When he finally did take Amber, she would be beyond ready for him. She wouldn’t care about his size or alien form; she would beg for their union. More than that, she would do it without the intention of being set free.

  She would want him to keep her forever.

  He could still smell her. He was exhausted and spent, but the memory had him hardening again and his chest constricted with a strange euphoria that she was his and then stabbing fear that it would one day end. Confusion threaded through him as he struggled to rise above feelings he had never experienced before.

  Protect.

  Covet.

  Keep.

  Wrexel tried to clear the fog from his brain. When control did not return and his mind still raced, he started to panic and then, when a biting ripple of electricity rolled over his body, he had a vivid flashback of a day he had almost forgotten.

  He turned the water to ice and called Whyle, willing his mind to slow down, his heart to beat normally, and the insanity that suddenly plagued him to settle down. He forced himself to stay away from her and called Leyahanna. “Come and fetch Amber, bring a robe… now.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Leyahanna, when she wakes tomorrow, tell her to write down five questions. No… tell her to write down six.”

  “Why?”

  “That will be all.”

  18

  Suspicion

  Whyle found Wrexel’s door open before he had a chance to announce his arrival. His cousin had sounded off-kilter. Considering that he remained the demon of bad decisions, Whyle rushed over, afraid that Wrexel had done something they would all regret, especially after the Monarch’s terror attack. He entered the room and nodded when Wrexel held a finger to his lips, then pointed at the sleeping figure on the
couch. Whyle walked past her and into the closed-off study as indicated. Seeing Wrexel flushed and freshly showered, he relaxed.

  “Did you ask me here to brag about your encounter?” he scoffed. He grasped the jug of Thromian wine. “I’m going to need a double dose,” he said, “I can still scent her.”

  Wrexel’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted uncomfortably.

  Whyle drained his glass. “She’s intoxicating. I’ve never been with a colonial; didn’t know they gave off pure heaven.”

  Wrexel poured him another and handed him a Thromian cigar. “This should help.”

  “So, what’s wrong? Battle to get it up, want me to join the party?”

  Wrexel did not smile.

  “Something is wrong.” Wrexel didn’t waste any time. “My desire for her is bordering on insanity.”

  “No shit.” Whyle drew in the smoke and blew it out, then shook his head in alarm. “This isn’t working. I can still scent her, heady stuff.” He tempered down his comments when he saw Wrexel’s violent response.

  “Well, then, stop fucking breathing,” Wrexel demanded.

  “Relax, your highness; nobody is going to challenge you for her. So, are you feeling a little more in control now that you’ve had her? Or are you disappointed that you still want her afterward?”

  “I haven’t claimed her.”

  “But…” Whyle stopped, and then nodded knowingly with a grin. “Ah, taking non-Thromian liberties, are we?” he said with a measure of envy.

  “No, but working on it.”

  “Well, let me know what it’s like,” Whyle said, full of regret. “Had to have stitches in my ear after my last attempt to go down on a Thromian female. It remains a no.”

  Wrexel frowned in earnest.

  “So, did you ask me over to brag about your prospective dive or is there another reason?”

  Wrexel gave a grunt of a laugh, then sobered up. If he had attempted to taste what Amber offered, he was sure his head would have exploded. Touching her had been enough. He lifted the sketh that lay upon his desk and flicked his wrist, watching it lengthen and shorten.

  “Let’s chat about your dabbles into magic.”

  * * *

  Wrexel allowed Whyle many secrets and liberties; he didn’t ask questions because everything worked. However, it was notable that Whyle allowed no one to enter his hilltop fortress and laboratory on Throm. After he had finished building the color-changing tower, he had surrounded it with a five-step security system. No flesh-and-blood workers other than himself could enter. It remained impenetrable. The Monarch had wasted several of his adherents’ lives and time trying to gain access to the stronghold, but to no avail. Whyle controlled all of Throm’s communication and was solely responsible for every new technological breakthrough. It was all holed up in his black tower and it was all top secret.

  * * *

  The arrival of magic in the Diogel system several decades earlier had been mysterious and terrifying. It was spoken of as “the Great Cloud” or “the Coming Mist” – a swirling vapor that settled upon the seven planets, excluding Illohi. It had spread through the streets and the skies, touching and bestowing a variety of abilities on random members of every race.

  What had ensued was catastrophic. A few years later, it led the Yimmyrd to outlaw the practice of magic on any of the planets. They claimed the decision was for the safety of those afflicted, as they were quickly exploited by those who were not. The planet Serenay became their home and was shut off from access. The transfers to Serenay had not been voluntary; they were the inevitable result of widespread testing for the magic gene.

  When the Yimmyrd exercised a task that the Creator ordained, their power was unstoppable. Whole families were moved: Gweithis, Raks, Thromians, and colonials. The afflicted lived together on Serenay, closely guarded by the Yimmyrd and forever shut off from their previous homes. The only ones who left Serenay where the unafflicted who had perhaps divorced or been born on the planet without the magic gene. No magic was supposed to exist outside Serenay.

  * * *

  “I want to know more. How did you get your hands on the magic for this sketh and how did you manage to keep it from the Yimmyrd? After their purge, every single magical person and talisman was removed from greater Diogel and yet you have made liberal use of sorcery.”

  “They know the skeths are part magic and part technology.” Whyle shrugged. “They opted to look the other way, firstly because it suited them, it made us better protectors of Diogel, and secondly because I found a means to keep the original spells without them finding it when they read my mind. The only thing they got out of me was my supplier from Serenay and now she is locked away on Illohi.”

  He looked extremely disgruntled as he sipped his wine, nursing his own feelings of animosity toward the controlling Yimmyrd.

  “How did they not read your mind and find out?”

  Whyle frowned and looked at Wrexel, weighing him up. “Okay.” He put down his drink.

  “Watch this.” He settled his fingertips on his bare neck. As he lifted his hands, Wrexel saw he wore a black necklace. Dangling on the end was a flat disc, ornately carved with a jade stone within the center. Next to it was a small gold bulb. Whyle dropped the necklace back to his chest and it disappeared as if he wore nothing.

  Wrexel’s eyes widened as Whyle explained the disappearing necklace. “This is a talisman that hides magic and the bulb beside it contains the original sketh altering spell.”

  “How...”

  “Have Staede to thank, actually. The bastard rolled me over and I was hunting him down to beat him senseless. He ran down into the catacombs at Four Wings, telling me he had a date with colonial triplets and didn’t want me to ruin his good looks. I decided to follow him and I stumbled into a room that the Yimmyrd overlooked during their purge. If you recall, the Monarch Sevian was a huge enthusiast, and the catacombs were packed with magical talismans and spells before the prohibition. Anyway, I found the amulet and a summoning spell, complete with instructions that they missed. I used the summoning spell to break through the communications hold on Serenay and got in league with a sorceress who smuggled out spells for me. When the Yimmyrd came to know of it, they searched Four Wings and interrogated me. Thanks to the amulet, I managed to hide the original spell around my neck.”

  “How are they able to pick up amulets and trinkets that are magic and not people of magic? They detect that only with blood tests?” Wrexel asked.

  “On the Yimmyrds’ right wrist is a thin black bangle; check it, they all have one. It vibrates when they are near an object of magic. I am sure the bracelet is magic itself. It’s the one magical thing they tolerate.” Whyle snorted at the irony. “But when it comes to people of magic, they have no sense. Much like us, they need a blood test to find out unless the person casts a spell which gives off signs.”

  * * *

  He stopped rehashing his own issues and looked at Wrexel with a frown. “Did you call me here only to chat about magic and the Yimmyrd?

  “I experienced something suspicious tonight with Amber. I felt magic earlier when she… was in the throes and when I showered afterward.”

  Whyle started to smile, but the look on Wrexel’s face sobered him. “What makes you so sure?”

  “I had an encounter with magic once in my life. I was near the entry point to the Illohi mainland and a creature I did not recognize tried to run through the checkpoint. A Yimmyrd restrained her, but at the gate she caused a sensation.” Wrexel pointed at his ear. “A crackling sound, the smell of hot metal; it burnt my tongue and nostrils. I told Shihlo about this and he said it was sorcery. He experienced the same thing when the Allanor woman confronted him.”

  “Magic has never occurred naturally in a human. It has only ever been the result of the Great Cloud. If magical creatures had been on Earth, the Yimmyrd would have packed them up long ago and locked them down on Serenay or Illohi. If I had believed that any Earthling had this ability…” Whyle lifted his glass. “I
would be taking more than their natural Earthly commodities for Throm.”

  His smile was calculating. They both knew he would do exactly that.

  Wrexel might be bloodthirsty on the battlefield, but Whyle would stop at nothing to better their race and strengthen their power.

  “Every human who entered our ship was tested for health. By default, my scanners pick up the sorcery gene as prescribed by the Yimmyrd. It hasn’t signaled once.”

  “Have you tested Amber?”

  “No, kidnapped victim testing day isn’t until next week.”

  Wrexel ignored Whyle’s sarcasm. “Whyle, the sensation was the same.”

  “So, you assume Amber is a gnarled witch in disguise or a mighty sorceress who is rendering you incapable of thinking.” Whyle grinned. “And your desire for her is pure magical enchantment?” His laugh resounded off the wall. “I think, my dear cousin, that you should talk to me again when you’ve sealed the deal with Amber. You won’t see things clearly until you’ve had her.”

  When Wrexel continued to glare at him, he sighed. “Its pheromones, genius. We have never had sex issues like this before. I’ve got more Thromians bedding humans on our ships than I can handle. Judging by the sweet smell that is still in the air, I can see why. Obviously, something is wildly attractive about the humans and our men are susceptible. However, it is biology, not magic.”

  “I want her tested.” Wrexel was convinced that something was off about his attraction. He could understand lust, but Amber drove him to want things he had never wanted before.

  “Suit yourself.” Whyle shrugged. “I’ll get Leyahanna to bring her around. If she is some sort of anomaly and this ridiculous obsession of yours is due to enchantment, what will you do with her?”