Scent Of Magic

by Jeanine Berry

  “Stop right there, Blane, or I will shoot.”

  He froze. His harsh breathing echoed in the cargo bay. Ange backed toward the door.

  “Listen…to…me…the dust.” His jaw clenched, he forced each word out. Ange halted with her gun at ready. Blane was making an immense effort to speak and he knew the effects of the dust better than she did.

  “The dust is almost microscopic, and it has gotten deep into your skin. You’ve taken in such a high dose the effect on any male will be overwhelming. Add that to the ability you’ve already shown to attract males and it spells nothing but trouble. You don’t dare go near anyone male. Get in the shower and scrub until your skin is raw if you can. Maybe the effect will drop to an endurable level if you do.”

  She frowned. “It won’t go away?”

  He grabbed at the handle to a storage locker as if he needed an anchor to hold himself in place. “Not as much as you’ve gotten on you. Like I said, it sinks down into your skin, into your lungs. It happened to me years ago when I went into the meadow, and I bear the mark to this day.”

  Oh, great. She blinked back sudden tears. That was all she needed, a double curse.

  “Isn’t there anything I can do?” she asked in despair.

  “The shower will help, but the glamour will never leave you completely. Do as I say and maybe we can discuss this further in a couple of hours as long as we keep at a fair distance from each other. Right now all I can think about is how much I want you.”

  He let go of the handle and took a stumbling half-step toward her, his eyes again blazing with passion. Her gun still at ready, Ange bolted out the door and down the passageway to her cabin. Her heart raced as she slammed the door behind her and locked it. Would her scent linger in the air? Would it draw Ryol to her door like a ravening wolf?

  Pulling off her clothes in a frenzy, she jumped into the shower and turned the water on full blast.

  Chapter Twelve

  Three hours later, Ange headed back for the cargo hold of the Hawk’s Flight. Her skin glowed from the scrubbing she’d given it and she wore fresh clothes. She’d consigned the blouse and pants she’d worn to the meadow to the ship’s incinerator.

  She passed Jake in the corridor. He glanced at her with his usual expression of calm interest. If only men could behave like androids. But men were flesh and blood and something in her flesh and blood drove them wild. The Fa’erie dust…she’d found out for herself that it had the effect Ryol claimed it had.

  She strode into the cargo hold, determined to get to the bottom of this insane situation. Blane sat on a crate with his arms folded and his head bent, lost in thought.

  At the sound of her footsteps, he lifted his head, his violet eyes alight with life in his tanned face. She was too far away to catch his scent, but the brooding stare he gave her lit a fire that sizzled clear down to her toes. She lifted her chin and folded her arms across her chest. A flush spread over her face, mimicking the waves of heat that burned through her body and pooled in her private parts whenever she saw him. This man’s fingers had caressed her breasts a short time ago, and her skin shivered at the memory of that arousing touch.

  “Blane.” She stopped a few steps from where he sat and balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to bolt if their emotions once more skyrocketed out of control. “Okay, you were right. I should have stayed away from the meadow.”

  Bathing her in his slow, sensual smile, he got to his feet. She became aware of her defensive stance and the way he dominated the space. He possessed a natural authority, not to mention being far too attractive, especially when he looked at her like that with a soul-haunting longing in his eyes.

  He took a step in her direction and sniffed the air. Some of the tension on his face seemed to ease. “Better. You followed my instructions for once.”

  She bristled at the idea that she’d followed his orders. “I needed a long shower after last night. And it sure beat getting raped.”

  He didn’t even have the grace to blush. Instead, he shot her a bold grin. “You’re a hard woman to resist, Ange. You’re attractive without the dust. Hell, I don’t know why you can turn men on like you do, but you don’t need it. You don’t need any of it. A man would be crazy not to want you.”

  Her heart thumped in her chest. She suspected this little speech might be as close as Blane ever got to a flowery declaration. She ached to hear more, but caution made her hold up a hand. “Is that you talking or the faerie dust?”

  His lips twitched as he moved even closer to her, his hot stare bringing back memories of his delicious kisses. “That’s the curse behind faerie magic—you can’t ever be certain what’s real. The dust will always add a magical allure.”

  She remembered the night she’d met him and the way her knees had grown shaky with desire. Was it because of the dust and the glamour it left behind, or had she seen something in those violet eyes that had called to her soul? He was a strong man who knew what it was to struggle to survive on a hostile world, a man who was uniquely able to understand her problem because he suffered from something like it himself, and a fabulous lover to boot. She’d be crazy not to be attracted to him. Perhaps the dust had triggered her lust, but she’d chosen to pursue it. She was no puppet to be jerked on a string. The feelings for Blane growing in her heart were real.

  Or did everyone trapped within the snares of the arousing faerie glamour think the same thing?

  She reached across the distance between them, wanting to touch him. But he stood out of reach. “I’m certain of my feelings.”

  “Are you?” Sorrow darkened his gaze. “I’ve been marked by the dust. I’ve gone into the Otherworld and walked among the Fa’erie. I have their magic scent in my bones. No one sees me as Blane Llewelyn anymore. Their glamour clings to me like a cloak.”

  “I know what you mean. I’ve suffered from the same curse. Maybe that very suffering gives me the ability to see beyond the glamour, to see you as you are.” Moved by his distress, she closed the distance between them and put a hand on his chest. His heart beat in a steady rhythm beneath her fingertips. Joy flowed through her as she felt the throbbing and her own heart settled into a matching pace. His clean scent washed over her and her blood heated in her veins.

  “Can you?” He sounded uncertain.

  “I know how it is, Blane. Men want me and don’t know why. As soon as they stop to think about it, they’re disgusted, even frightened, by their overpowering reaction. They get scared and want nothing more than to get as far away from me as possible. It’s not like that with you. It’s like a candle lit in a sun-filled room. I know its light is there, but it’s not needed in the radiance around it. I know the dust has marked you, but my desire for you runs so much deeper than that superficial yearning.”

  “By the gods, you give me hope.” He took her hand where it lay against his chest and lifted it to his warm lips. She shivered as his breath tickled her palm. The touch of his lips was soft and tender. She’d never admitted to wanting a man before, yet the thought of losing this dark-haired stranger distressed her to her very bones.

  She took a deep breath, wanting to savor his scent, magic or no magic. He drew her into his arms and kissed her, soft, tender kisses that fell like a gentle morning rain on her forehead and her cheeks. A low murmur of desire escaped her as his thumb traced the line of her cheekbone.

  “Ange.” He buried his face deep in her curls, his voice shaky. “I want you. I can’t deny that. But I want to know you, too. I want to grow to love every part of you—heart and soul and body.”

  Smiling, she snuggled closer to the heat of his body. Her senses were on full alert, aroused by his scent. His arms held her tight, but now they were a safe harbor. His firm thighs pressed against hers, stimulating erotic thoughts.

  “The effect of the dust must fade to some extent if you stay away from the meadow long enough,” she murmured. “Look at Ryol. No one’s finding him unbearably attractive.”

  “The Fa’erie never called him into t
heir realm—that’s why.”

  “The Otherworld.” Abruptly, she pulled away. How could she forget so easily? She shot him an appraising look. “You know, it’s odd, but I don’t remember a thing about it.”

  Blane chewed on his lip in distress. Ange was relentless. He loved her stubborn determination. But she didn’t seem to be forgetting the whole night in the meadow as he’d hoped she would. Was it because of her other differences, because of the alluring scent that clung to her, so like the scent of the mystical faerie perfume? Was she somehow a part of this Fa’erie strangeness as he seemed to be?

  “You wouldn’t. The Fa’erie king—Oberon, he calls himself, although I think it’s only because he’s plucked the name from our minds—blocked your memory when he brought you back.”

  “Blocked it?” Her brows drew together. “You knew what would happen if I ran into the meadow, didn’t you.”

  “Yes, that’s why I tried to stop you.” He sighed. “But I should have guessed it can’t be done short of tying you up and locking you in a room, and I’m not sure even that would work. You have a connection to the faeries. Don’t ask me how. But their magic called you, and a trip into the meadow was inevitable.”

  “Has this ever happened to others? Or is the meadow a secret between you and Ryol and Sharlene?”

  “It is. Because I was summoned in our family. But I’m certain I was not the first to be called there. Like I said, there is not much to do in a colony at night. After it happened to me, I researched old files, diaries, journals. I think others in my family were summoned—my mother, my grandfather.”

  “Why you but not Ryol?”

  Blane brushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. “I think it’s because we’re half-brothers. Sharlene and Ryol are children of my father’s first marriage. After their mother died, he married my mother and I was born.”

  “And that’s why Ryol can look away and resist their summons?”

  “Yes. It’s something in the blood, although I’m not sure what. Whatever it is, I’ve inherited it.” Blane looked away, hating the sudden pity in her eyes.

  “You managed to resist last night.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I knew what to expect. You didn’t.”

  Ange lifted her chin a notch. “So what happened to me?”

  “There’s no need to be upset. They didn’t harm you in any way. I would have tied you up if I’d thought they were going to do that.”

  To his surprise, she laughed. “I’d like to see you try. Why did they take me? It’s time you told me all you know about that meadow.”

  Blane lifted his hands to his head. His temples were beginning to pound. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them, but the throbbing only increased.

  “Blane?”

  Cocking his head to one side, he opened his eyes again. Ange was staring at him with an uneasy expression. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

  He frowned, puzzled by the intensity of her demand. “Nothing. I’ve already told you, I was drawn there years ago. Ryol followed me—that’s how he discovered the dust. I’ll bet he didn’t tell you that. I was thirteen at the time and all I knew about women was the usual adolescent fantasies. Like you, I made the mistake of watching the faeries dance. It was the queen who summoned me into the light, though. When I came back to New Hope, I was saturated with the scent as you are. I had several very—how shall I put it—intense erotic experiences.”

  “I’m sure you did.” Jealousy surged through Ange, leaving her questions about the meadow momentarily forgotten.

  “Believe me, when you’re thirteen years old, you’re not ready for those kinds of experiences.”

  “I know.” Ange’s flash of jealousy vanished replaced by sympathy. “I was twelve when it started for me—with my first period. A man—he tried to—”

  “Ange—”

  The way he said her name, his voice warm with concern, made her heart do strange gyrations in her chest. Damn those faeries and what they’d done to both of them. Blane might have returned from his first trip to the meadow reeking of Fa’erie dust, but she doubted any woman would need supernatural urging to take this man to bed now that he was grown. His smile lit up the hold, making her knees melt and her stomach do flip-flops every time his dimple appeared. The effect he had on her was uncanny. She frowned as she struggled to rein in her out-of-control libido.

  “I guess neither one of us had a normal adolescence. How long was it before the scent died away?”

  “It never left completely.” His eyes took on the faraway look of someone lost in memories. “The women soon realized something strange was affecting them, though. No gangly thirteen-year-old is that charming. It wasn’t long before they learned to keep their distance from me. I suspect constant exposure to the scent grants some immunity. Anyway, that worked for a couple of years—until I got older.”

  And turned into the handsomest piece of manhood this side of the Abandoned Zone. Ange smiled at the thought.

  “A few of them succumbed to my charms—or my scent, I should say. There weren’t that many young men to choose from, after all. I’ve never had a lot to compare myself to. For a while, I had my own harem and the other men hated me.”

  He paused, lost in thought. Laying a hand on his arm, she drew him back to the present. “What happened?”

  “I finally figured out it was my scent they craved, not me. I saw one of them with someone else one day in the forest. They didn’t know I was watching. They held each other—talked—kissed. I saw what genuine love was like. I knew in that moment that all I’d ever known was the Fa’erie lust. I wanted more and I wasn’t willing to settle for less. I’ve been lonely ever since—” He paused, searching her face with his eyes. “Until I saw you.”

  A lump choked her throat. She blinked hard and curved an arm around his neck. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his in a long, tender kiss. The intimate joining of their mouths was all she needed at this moment. Their passion stayed muted, revealed only by their quickened breathing, as their lips made tender promises to each other.

  His fingers brushed through her hair, twisting in the silky curls. She rested her head on his shoulder and took a deep breath. His scent aroused her as always but not so much that it overwhelmed her mind’s control. She wanted to make love with him again—soon—but this time with slow and pleasurable deliberation. She wanted to explore every inch of his body, to lie side by side and drown in his eyes while their bodies merged together in the ancient dance.

  She lifted her head and met his gaze. His eyes smoldered with desire as they swept over her. “We’re soul mates, Ange,” he said. “Two of a kind. I’m beginning to think the Fa’erie king called you to Kyffin.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “How can that be?” Ange frowned. Blane still hadn’t told her anything about his experiences in the Otherworld. Every time they came near the subject, she lost her focus and her thoughts became muddled. The next thing she knew they were discussing something else. Laser-sharp concentration, that’s what she needed.

  “It’s like an enchantment,” he said, his words echoing her thoughts. “Every time you try to talk about the Otherworld, your mind does a strange twist and those memories slide away. I’ve never been able to speak of it directly to anyone beyond a sentence or two.”

  She nodded and opened her mouth to ask him a question. Instead, her gaze fastened on his chin. So strong. So firm. She lifted her fingers to trace its curve. Her fingertips drifted upward to his cheek and the place where the dimple appeared when he smiled. Why was he looking so serious? She longed to see him smile his wide, dazzling smile.

  He inclined his head toward her. “You look a little dazed. The Otherworld must have left you reeling.”

  The Otherworld? She frowned. It took an effort to bring back the memory of the meadow. Had Oberon tampered with her mind? If so, the Fa’erie had made a big mistake. She scratched her head to clear away the fog, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. “I am having
problems concentrating. What about Ryol? How does all this affect him?”

  “He doesn’t know anything about the Otherworld. He’s always waited until the Fa’erie dance was over to go into the meadow. The man has no soul.”

  “It’s sad,” she protested. “The creator of Scent of Magic, the ultimate love potion, is a cold and calculating bastard.”

  “I feel responsible for what he’s doing with that damned dust. I led him to the meadow. He saw the chance to make a fortune. Then the ship came and we were gone. But I always knew we would have to come back to Kyffin someday. The Fa’erie wanted me—and now it seems that they want you.”

  “Wait a minute.” Ange backed away from his arms, intrigued. “We met by accident.”

  “Did we? You go into the Abandoned Zone because your difference has driven you away from a normal life. I don’t think any of this is an accident. More is going on here than we understand. I’m trying to come up with a theory. No luck yet. In the meantime, you’d better stay away from Ryol while you’ve got this fresh dose of dust on you. Even he might notice.”

  “Why should I care if he knows I followed him to the meadow?” Ange asked with a defiant tilt of her head.

  “No need to have him for an enemy,” Blane warned.

  “True.” She hated to admit it, but Blane was right. Ryol was a wealthy man and given his possession of the secret to Scent of Magic, he no doubt wielded a lot of influence with those in power back in the Federation. He could make major trouble for her. What if he thought she’d visited the meadow to gather her own supply of the dust? “What should I do?”

  The younger brother frowned at her. “You need to be careful. He’s not in a good mood today. Our fight attracted the attention of the Fa’erie king. Oberon got angry and conjured a rain out of nowhere. Ryol was lucky to get any dust at all.”

  She’d been so certain Ryol was lying, she’d never thought about the possible consequences of following him to the meadow. She’d stumbled upon far more than she’d bargained for. What was she going to do?