by Cathy Clamp
Hearing that calmed Anica down the rest of the way. She knew so little about mating! She returned to the living room, where the others watched her carefully. “I did not think of Lagash hurting me to hurt Tristan. I do not feel when he hurts. What does that mean?”
The bobcat doctor sighed. “Mating is very complicated, but the short version is when a mating is one-sided, the mated one gives—power, magic, devotion. Usually, a weaker Sazi is mated to a stronger one, and the stronger one doesn’t need the power or magic, and doesn’t understand, or return, the devotion. So the impact on the mated one is minimal, other than emotionally, which is hard. You can probably shut him out of your thoughts pretty easy, but he will drown in yours. In a double mating, everything is shared and damage to one is damage to both, mental, emotional, and physical. I can tell Tristan is mated to you because he’s healing you and can smell things you smell. Pretty classic signs.” Now she stared at Anica with intent eyes that weren’t glowing but were fascinated. “What I don’t know is whether you’re mated to him. I think Lagash is trying to find that out now. Testing you both.”
It made sense. Sort of. “But that does not explain Paula’s death or the bomb. Tristan is not mated to her. Does not even know her and was not in the room where bomb was, and Lagash couldn’t know I would be there. But I see past time in Tristan’s mind, when Lagash wants to turn all humans to Sazi, with him as king. Tristan says Lagash is a planner. Years would mean nothing, yes? Decades are hours. Only ten years has he been here … just a few hours for one like you. True?”
Amber reluctantly nodded. Anica could smell her anger, but it was tempered, biding its time. “True. A decade is nothing, barely the equivalent of breakfast to lunch for you.”
Anica didn’t want to invoke that anger, but she needed to speak, to work it out in her own mind. “So, there is no need to kill a waitress. Unless she knows something or has something. And there is no reason for woman to kill Bojan and I unless we know something or have something.” She paused, looking at each of the women in turn. “Or she thinks we know or have something.”
Rachel started tapping her fingers on her thigh, which she always did when she was trying to sort something out. The fresh paint on her nails, nearly matching her shirt, but with a little more purple, added a chemical scent to the air as her fingers moved. “We were all at Paula’s this morning. Maybe we picked up something, or saw something that we don’t know we saw.”
Amber wanted the answers. Her eyes were bright with curiosity, her body coiled in the chair like she was ready to spring on any hint of an answer to the mystery. “Tristan is going through the mediation files right now, looking at your history. Maybe this isn’t about Luna Lake at all, but about Serbia.”
Anica shook her head. That made no sense to her. “But again … why Paula? Lagash has to have been here for whole time Luna Lake has been here. Only residents were allowed to stay during mediation. So either my bomb was mistake, or hers was.”
“Or,” added Claire, the word lilting up with new information, “there’s something at both houses he can’t afford to have more eyes on. Until I came to town, nobody in Wolven had been here. Dani Williams made a point of telling me they had been abandoned by the Council. For a whole decade. The mayor and police chief were too involved in their own dirty plotting to notice something happening right under their noses. But now there are Wolven agents, Council members, people from his past who could actually recognize him, or sniff him out. Maybe it’s time to bury the evidence … whatever that may be.”
Anica liked that idea and so did Rachel. Her eyes lit up and her head began to move in tiny nods. Even Amber began to nod, but then the cloves in her scent burned away into metallic frustration. “But evidence of what? That’s the part we don’t know. And it needs to stop here. If Lagash is truly here and not even Ahmad can recognize him, then the disguise is so perfect nobody else will find him if he leaves and another decade or century could pass before the plan unfolds.”
I need to see you. Can you get away? Tristan’s voice filled Anica’s mind like a balloon that was suddenly near to bursting. She tried to give no sign of it, other than rubbing her temples, because it really did hurt when he intruded so abruptly. She couldn’t think of any reason why she couldn’t leave for a moment. The conversation had stalled. They all needed some time to try to organize all the ideas.
“I am going to go put clothes in dryer downstairs and check on Bojan. I need to think, to remember for a few moments.” She spoke it in her mind at the same time, hoping Tristan could hear.
“Sure,” Rachel said, waving a hand toward the door. “You know where it is. I’ll clean up the dishes and we’ll figure out what to do next. You want anything to eat, Amber? We just finished.”
“I’d take a couple slices of toast,” Amber said. Her words were casual, but her eyes were intent on Anica. She could feel the bobcat’s gaze burning into her. But the doctor didn’t say a word.
Anica left the apartment, letting the coolness of the dimly lit hallway calm her down. But her heart was beating too fast, as she was wondering what Tristan would need so urgently that he couldn’t come to the door and talk in front of the others.
She raced down the stairs, feeling out with her senses and her nose to see if she was being followed. As far as she could tell, she was alone in the stairwell. Anticipation replaced worry in her stomach, making the tight worry settle into something that was a different sort of tight.
The laundry room was nothing special, just four plain white washers and four dryers along opposite walls. She’d been in it before, during the mediation, helping Rachel wash and fold towels and sheets. The room was empty. Well, I may as well put the laundry in the dryer. She opened the washer and the rough, stale scent of lingering smoke erupted from inside. It made her realize the whole house was going to smell just as stale when she returned. It would take much cleaning to get the smell of snake out. Shutting the lid again, she set the washer to run a second time, but this time on hot. While it filled, she added some of the liquid soap that was on the shelf above. Just as she closed the lid again, her pulse sped. Tristan’s exotic spice scent was just behind her, so close, she could feel the rustle of his clothing against her skin.
When his head lowered to nestle next to her ear, his hands moved to slide along her waist. She would have sucked in a sharp breath if only she could breathe. Power poured over her, soaked into her skin like lotion after a shower as he blew lightly against her neck. Light shivers made the hair stand up on her arms and legs but then became something far deeper inside and she remembered Claire’s words—Do you feel strange when you’re near him?
This would qualify as strange. She’d experienced the giddy sensation of arousal before and the hunger that led to sex from boys in her teens and, as she grew older, men. But never before had she felt magic in sweeping waves that licked at every nerve, stole her breath, and made her dizzy and crazy with need. Her hands covered his and pulled them around her. She wanted to feel the lines of muscles against her back, the cool strength of his body surrounding her, in her. He stepped forward, pressing her against the equally chilled metal of the washer, sandwiching her in cold, so that her body responded with more heat. Her breath finally came out in a trembling rush just as the water turned off and the agitator vibrated the whole machine. The combination of sensations made her feel sweaty and flustered. One word was heard by her ears and her mind simultaneously. “Anica.”
“Tristan,” she whispered in reply; it sounded like begging. His whole body shuddered and he heaved, trying to catch his breath. He held her like that for a long moment and then leaned back, shook his head, and released her abruptly.
The sudden lack of pressure and cold made it hard to stand. Tristan was swallowing repeatedly, his throat working rhythmically as though trying to recover from nearly drowning. His eyes were glazed and blazing with blue fire. Even now, she could feel the attachment of the magic, like a wet sheet covering her, suctioned against her skin. She wasn’t p
ositive she could peel it away if she tried. She started forward, to wrap her arms around him to feel that sensation again, but he held up a hand and stepped back a pace, putting a shaky hand against the wall. “Don’t. Please. I thought I could control this, but I’m not sure I can. I don’t know if I can stop and this is not the place.”
He was serious. She could see his pulse pounding so hard that the vein in his neck was throbbing. She wondered what else might be, and dropped her eyes.
Tristan let out a low chuckle that brought heat to her face. “You don’t have to wonder. My whole body is feeling it.”
“Is this why you wanted to see me? To see if you could control yourself?” She wasn’t sure whether to feel happy or insulted. He moved all the way across the small room and leaned against the dryers.
“No.” His laugh wasn’t so much erotic and needy now as it was edging toward hysterical. “No … this didn’t happen until I saw you. Apparently, being able to see you, to smell your scent, is tougher than I’d expected. I was fine this morning. But when you cut yourself—” He shook his head, fast and hard, as though to clear his mind. “You pulled on me and I tried to stop the flow, tried to cut it off. But I couldn’t … and then I didn’t want to.”
Now Amber’s words came back—He’s already healing you, and it’s not without cost to him. The more you’re hurt, the weaker he’ll grow.
“I am very sorry. I cut myself on a glass, and then Amber made me angry.” Anica looked down at her hand, now healed and without even a scar to show the event had happened. “I did not mean to involve you. But I don’t know how not to. I was angry and it just … happened. I just learn from Amber what is causing this.” She was sorry. Whatever was happening to him wasn’t with his consent. That was obvious by the panicked look on his face and the heavy jaw-tightening scent of fear that filled the room. To have him be afraid of her, when he wasn’t afraid of Sargon, made her wonder what sort of magic this mating was. She needed to find out much more about how to protect him—and herself. But for now, what she was doing was no better than stealing, and she wasn’t a thief. “I will be more careful in the future. You should not have to protect me.”
He nodded, but it was a lie. He didn’t believe her and how could she blame him? She had no idea how to control it. “Okay. Thank you.” She started again to step toward him, to comfort him and try to ease his fear, but he held up his hand. “That’s close enough. I can manage this distance for the moment.”
She stopped, nodding, but realized it was actually hard not to walk toward him. The room seemed to slide out of focus until he was the only thing clear in her vision. She reached out and grabbed on to a metal rod attached to the wall that supported a wooden dowel to hang clothes hangers. Feeling the metal under her hand helped ground her and the room became clear again. “Again, I am sorry. What is your question?”
“When you were in the forest, what were you smelling when the attack happened … a tree, a plant, ashes?”
She thought back. “I was trying to find your pack.” That memory made her suddenly annoyed, which helped clear her mind. “You tell me to go the wrong way! Why do you do that?” Pointing at her face, she challenged him. “I tell you when we meet that I have very good nose. Your pack is still out there because you lied to me.”
His scent took on the dusty dryness of the desert at high sun, which she knew meant he was embarrassed. Some of the magic attaching them together severed, tiny strands unraveling like a failed row of knitting. “I did lie to you. I’m sorry for that. But before I knew there would be people who would recognize me, I’d planned to investigate undercover. You only know me as Tristan, but that’s my undercover name.”
That made her smile, because he didn’t really understand how much she could overhear when he was in her head. “I know you as all names that come to your head. You are Risten, and Adika, Tulus, and Pawura. But I like ‘Tristan’ best, so I call you that. It is a nice name.” She cocked her head as an image came into her head. “It is interesting. When I say ‘Pawura,’ you think of yourself different—with darker skin and black hair, and always carrying a long bow, like for archery. When I say ‘Adika,’ you are fairer, but not as fair as now, with reddish hair. Can you change how you look, even to you? Is that how Lagash is hiding? Even to him he looks different? But how do you change your smell?”
He balled his hand into a fist and banged it against the white-painted metal of the dryer. It wasn’t hard enough to dent the metal, but it rocked the whole machine back a little. “The things you’re seeing are very dangerous, Anica. There are things in my past that I don’t want you to see in my memories.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. The images just appeared, like twilight dreams that she couldn’t control. “I am not looking for things. They just appear in my mind and I know they are not my thoughts.” She paused, not wanting him to be angry. “I have not told anyone what I see. They are private, like reading someone’s diary.”
He ran his fingers through his hair in a practiced movement. She doubted he would even remember doing it. His frustration shredded the rest of the magic and she was back fully in her own skin. It was strangely unnerving. “Back to the scent. What specifically were you smelling?”
“The ground.” She remembered it distinctly. “Someone was following you. I could smell their footprints over the top of yours and I worried about it because they smelled dangerous. I don’t know how to better describe it. It was something in the footsteps, in the ashes.” She started to take a step but then stopped and gripped the steel bar tighter. “I can take you back there.”
He shook his head, a burst of panic in his scent. “I’ll go back to the forest and find it. I don’t want you to get anywhere near whatever it was again.” He was not lying, but this time it was not fear that rose from him at being close to her. It was worry that she could be hurt. It made her feel warm inside that it would matter to him.
There was another option, but she didn’t really want to bring it up, considering his fear. Still, it would be foolish not to say it, considering the fear everyone seemed to have about Lagash. “Can you look in my mind? I remember smells very well, even if I don’t know what name to put with it.”
He considered that, staring at her with narrowed eyes and suspicion. But he wasn’t suspicious of her. Not really. It was what he might find in her mind, or more that he might not be able to get back out. “It’ll still be there later if I need to find it.”
She nodded as he backed out of the room, clearly shaken. She didn’t try to follow, although she wanted to so badly it made her skin hurt. The room seemed suddenly cold, emptier than when she arrived. Having him leave was like a bandage was being ripped off and cold air hitting a wound.
She kept holding on to her metal bar, and in time the empty, needy sensation passed. By the time she felt confident she was herself again and could leave the room without trying to track his scent, the washer was done a second time. As she picked the clothes out of the washer, one of her socks dropped back behind. It was one of her favorite socks, bought by Mama in New York on their way here for the mediation. It was covered with sparkling gold threads. She put the clothing back in the washer and pulled the washer away from the wall. To her surprise, there was a hole in the wall, big enough to crawl through. It went back into the rock as far as she could see and she could feel a light breeze coming through that smelled of outside. But there wasn’t much smoke, so she presumed there was a cover over wherever it came out. She would have to ask Rachel about it.
She was just putting the clothes in the dryer when she heard quick footfalls coming down the stairs. Rachel’s voice preceded her body by just a few seconds. “Anica? You down here? What’s taking so long?”
Throwing in a dryer softener sheet, she shut the door and turned on the tumbler. “The smoke scent wasn’t gone. I started the washer over.”
Her friend stood by the door, leaning on the metal hinges. Her eyes were twinkling and a half smile quirked the corners of her l
ips. “Smells like you had plenty to keep you busy down here.”
Oh, no! Once again, everyone would be able to smell that Tristan had been near her. She hated that she could never have secrets. Letting out a sigh, she turned to face her friend. “Tristan is troubled by the mating. He cannot control his attraction to me and is afraid. So he comes and touches me, holds me, but then is angry and leaves. It is very confusing and I wonder if I should be angry too.”
“Ah.” That one word held the wisdom of experience. “The panic is a guy thing. It’s not your fault and you have to try not to be insulted.” She raised her hand, like when a teacher would ask a question in class. “Been there. Although”—she lowered her hand and waggled her head from side to side—“it was Claire who fought her mating, not Alek, so maybe it’s not just a guy thing. I think it’s whoever has control issues.”
Rachel was very good at helping her focus. “What are control issues?”
“‘Someone who can’t follow’ I guess is the best description. They have to be in control of whatever situation they’re in. Larissa had control issues. Tamir had control issues. See? You and I, we’re okay following someone we trust. Alek too. Even Amber can follow orders, although she probably wouldn’t have to, being as powerful as she apparently is. Claire told me that the head of Wolven told her to not get involved in taking down the mayor here, and she did it. But Claire really struggles with following orders. She does it, but you can tell it grates on her.”
That made a lot of sense. Larissa Grebo was a very willful woman. She had deceived Anica, tried to kill her. Kill her! All because she had been turned into Sazi. If that was what “control issues” meant, Anica understood immediately. Samit was like that too. She tried to think of Tristan by comparison. “Yes, I can see what you say. Tristan needs to have his own way and is powerful enough to get his way. Now he cannot and fears that loss of control. I understand.”