by Brenna Lyons
He sought out his mother's eyes. “Where is Ondrea?” he demanded.
Her brow furrowed. “Kieran?"
"My mate?” Why did no one understand what he was talking about?
"The O'Ken?” his father asked.
"Yes. Ondrea.” Kieran's patience was fraying fast, and it showed. “Ondrea O'Ken ... but only until we marry formally,” he amended.
"Fate loves a good irony,” his grandfather muttered. He darkened, and his eyes shifted toward the window.
"Hardly,” Kieran replied. “Ondrea isn't like her family."
"Tell that to the man she killed,” his father huffed.
"In defense of me.” Though Kieran was no admirer of violence, the choice of Gabriel's blood or his own had been simple enough to make. “If anything, I'm concerned for Ondrea."
"She's an O'Ken,” his father scoffed. “Killing is in her blood."
"Markus,” his mother admonished.
"She's a plant healer,” Kieran argued. “Killing ... Fighting in general is against her nature. She has problems making even defensive spells work properly. Her family's proclivities are discordant to her base nature and her natural magic."
"She overcame that well enough,” his grandfather quipped.
"I doubt it.” Just the sight of violence in the vision had unnerved her. She was surely suffering in her choice, though he'd tried to calm her. “How long has it been?"
"A day,” his mother offered.
"A day! A full day?"
Tears glistened in her eyes. “I was afraid you'd never wake."
"I told you he would, Ariel,” his father soothed her.
I should be soothing Ondrea. Kieran pushed to sitting, wincing at the sting of his still-healing tissues.
"What are you doing?” his grandfather inquired.
"My mate needs me.” And he needed clothes before he went to her. “Mother, I'll need held to translocate to...” Spells, was she still at the castle? Had she sought a healer's aid or her family's solace?
"As your healer,” his father began.
"Then bring Ondrea here,” Kieran countered.
"Where the healing spells are working? Are you mad?"
"She can improve upon the herbs you're using."
"No!” His eyes flashed in fury.
Kieran started to pull the blankets back. The sharp command from his grandfather startled him. Hands caught Kieran, as his eyes slid shut. His mother's shout of protest disappeared into the mental buzzing of magic-induced sleep then was swallowed up in black silence.
* * * *
Ondrea took one last look around her rooms, sighing that there was nothing left to be done. It was time to leave.
She'd given Kieran three days to come to her ... then tarried two more, simply to avoid returning home to her family. She'd sent requests to join her mate to every place she knew he might be, but Gabriel had been right about one more thing; she didn't know Kieran well enough to know where to send word to him.
Kieran hadn't answered, and he hadn't come to her. That meant he'd decided to end it, no doubt. Though he'd been willing to accept Gabriel's murdering ways as fated, it seemed he wasn't willing to accept a mate who showed the slightest inherited O'Ken talents, no matter how unreliable they were.
Ondrea shifted, disoriented by how simple it had been to kill ... too easy for her comfort. Why, after all these years and all the failed attempts at mastering fight spells, did killing come effortlessly?
Her hands shook, and Ondrea fisted them within her travel gloves. The pale gray leather was spotless, but the image of blood-soaked hands persisted.
"It is past time to leave this place,” she decided. Most of the destined couples had already done so, and the castle was quiet, lending to internal dialog Ondrea would like to avoid. Even her father's chatter and questions would be better than this.
He'd begged her return a dozen times in the last five days, demanded answers she wasn't ready to give. He'd even offered to aid her, if she had need of him. A short note asking forbearance had been her only reply so far.
But, she'd stayed too long. Obviously, Kieran had decided to escape their destiny.
A sudden certainty that the Ellix Spinner and Fates Room would have different results now occurred to her. A mad need to test the latter assaulted her, and Ondrea pushed it away, reasoning that it would be one last proof that Fate was not absolute that she couldn't stomach right now.
Ondrea bit back tears and translocated her belongings to her rooms at home. SanCee would take care of the unpacking, and her rooms would be prepared long before Ondrea reached home by conventional means. True, she could translocate herself, but she was in no hurry to explain a single hour of her time at the castle.
Resolute, she opened the door to the corridor ... and came face to face with Kieran.
* * * *
"Kieran ... Kieran?"
His mother's whispered voice cut through layers of confusion and exhaustion. “Mother?"
"Good. You're waking."
Kieran licked his lips, trying to force his eyes open. His limbs tested better, moving ... however sluggishly.
"You must hurry. They'll know what we're doing soon.” There was a note of urgency in her voice.
"Wh-what are we doing?” he grumbled. And who are ‘they'?
"Getting you to your mate."
His heart raced, and his eyes opened. Kieran scrambled to sitting. He was stiff, but the healing spells had done their work. How long did I sleep? Damage this deep would take days to heal.
Kieran grasped the soft lounging shirt from his mother's hands and dragged it over his head.
"She's asking for you, Kieran."
He paused with one arm in the shirt, his already-dry mouth going parched. “Ondrea?"
His mother nodded. “She wants to join you."
Kieran stuffed his other arm in and left the bed on bare feet. “Father wouldn't let her.” He didn't need to ask it.
A sound from the stairs caught his attention.
His mother grasped both of his hands. “Keep the location in mind, Kieran. I'll fuel the spell."
"But—"
"Ariel?” his grandfather called out.
"Now, Kieran,” she ordered. “Think."
Of where?
The castle! They shouldn't be able to follow him there ... not without permission of the elders to enter uninvited.
If Ondrea has left the grounds, I am no longer invited either.
That will place me outside the doors, and they will let me enter.
He closed his eyes, locking onto the site of Gabriel's attack. Kieran would rather translocate directly to Ondrea's rooms, but having never been there, he couldn't visualize it.
The door opened ... and Kieran stumbled through emptiness and onto a thick carpet.
"Ah, you've arrived."
He looked around, spying the same elder who'd spoken to him after the Fates Room. “You knew I'd be here?"
She smiled. “It was destined."
"Of course.” Kieran had never realized how annoying it was to deal with the elders before. Fate magic could make one so smug as to be irritating.
She motioned the direction he'd been traveling with Ondrea. “I assume you want to reach her before she leaves."
His heart faltered in its steady beat. How long did I sleep? “Assuredly."
"Then come along."
Kieran glanced down at himself, blushing at the fact that he was barefoot and dressed in bedclothes. “That might be wise."
The elder's laughter preceded him down the corridor. Two turns later, the elder waved him toward a door then disappeared further down the hall.
He took a calming breath and placed his hand on the doorframe, wishing he had more information. How long was he away from her? She was leaving; it wasn't a matter of hours. It was time to knock and learn the answers to his questions.
The door swung open, and Ondrea halted. Her dark eyes panned from his chest to his face, her head tipping up slightly to accom
plish it. Kieran held his breath, waiting for her reaction, hoping for relief, joy ... anything positive.
She paled a notch, and her lips parted in a look of shock. There was no move toward him, no comment.
It's been longer than I thought. Kieran reached for her, searching for a way to open the discussion. Ondrea's move was so abrupt, he nearly pitched forward into the now-empty space in surprise.
"Why are you here?” There was a note of something fearful in that, almost panicked.
"Ondrea?” The question made no sense. Didn't she want him here?
Tears reflected the lamplight, making her expression harder to grasp upon. “Why did you come here?"
"We're fated to—"
The curse leaving her lips was so unlike her, it stunned him to silence. Ondrea crossed one arm over her chest, pacing the width of the room. She played with a curl that cascaded over her shoulder, a nervous habit she'd had as long as he'd known her.
Realization that he was still standing in the corridor and barely dressed sent Kieran toward her. He closed them both into her rooms.
Ondrea stopped short, her eyes widening and breath hitching at the sight of him leaning against the door. She fidgeted from foot to foot.
"How long have I been gone, Ondrea?"
"You ... don't...” She shook her head, her color rising.
"I was placed in a healing sleep.” Kieran motioned to his lack of appropriate clothing. “I came as soon as I was able."
"I see that.” But, her tone said she wasn't mollified.
"It wasn't my idea to keep you away,” he assured her.
"No. It was your family's.” Again, there wasn't a hint of give in her.
"Not all of them. My mother broke the sleep spell early and fueled the spell to send me to you.” But what difference did it make? They were destined mates.
She nodded but didn't comment.
His heart ached at her emotional distance. “How long?"
"Five days,” she whispered.
Spirits and spells, it's no wonder she doesn't trust me. Kieran took a step toward her, and Ondrea retreated.
"Perhaps we should...” Her gaze flicked from surface to surface, optical fidgeting at its finest.
"Yes?” His heart worked hard in a fear he couldn't place a name to.
"Slow down. See if ... if this will work."
"It's destined to work,” he reminded her.
"I'm an O'Ken.” Her voice held a bitter bite at the mention of her own name.
"That doesn't matter to me,” he pleaded.
"It mattered to you.” There was something unforgiving in that, the same accusation he'd feared after he'd seen their destiny in the Fates Room.
"I was young and stupid,” he admitted. “It didn't really matter to me.” Given the chance, he'd have bedded her in secondary.
"No.” Her voice raised to a shout. “You were just repeating what your family said. Their poison became your poison ... and it still flows in their veins."
He couldn't deny that. “They'll come around, once they get to know you."
"How can you be so sure? I see little chance of it."
"We're destined to—"
"Stop saying that!” There was no mistaking the panic that time.
"Why?” It was true. Why would he stop saying it? Why would Ondrea be frightened by it? They'd passed the worst of what she'd seen already and survived it.
She shifted aimlessly, agitated. If he scanned her body's functions, Kieran felt sure he'd find her highly distressed, though she hid it well.
"They will never accept me, Kieran."
"They will. I saw it in the mirrors. They must."
Ondrea didn't respond to that immediately. “When? How long will they hate me?"
"They don't hate you,” he protested.
"Of course, they do. They're healers."
The bite in that one word made his heart stutter in apprehension. “You're a healer."
"A plant healer. I have no reason to loathe fighters, unless they burn crops."
"I'm a healer!” He was shouting now, stung by her refusal.
"And you're only here, because we're destined,” she accused.
"That's not true.” How dare she accuse it!
Ondrea stormed to him, her expression passing from confusion to fury and back again. “Are you saying you'd have ever courted me, Kieran? Be honest."
"If I thought I was welcome,” he raged.
"Whose fault was that?"
Again, he couldn't deny the truth of her words. “I've always been attracted to you. That didn't start with the Fates Room. Why do you think I was so ... vehement in school? It confused me to be attracted to someone ... I don't deny my family filled my head with stories, but I learned to separate reality from them ... in time."
"But your willingness to pursue the attraction did start with the Fates Room. Your willingness to pursue me did,” she qualified. Her lip curled in a look of disgust at the concept.
"I love you.” Wasn't that enough? Couldn't she see that and forget Fate for a moment?
"You don't know me."
Kieran considered that, calming himself, forcing his voice lower. “You love strawberries, but they give you an allergic rash. You eat them anyway.” And never seek a healer for it.
She gaped at him, a soft sound of confusion escaping her lips.
"Your favorite color is green. Not surprising for a plant healer. You love Rajicar O'Berio's paintings and the harp playing of Mahree Tabor."
"How—"
He raised a hand to silence her. “You watch mirror ball to be sociable, but you don't like the sport."
A tear spilled down her cheek. Kieran took a step toward her and brushed it away on the pad of his thumb, heartened that she didn't move to avoid him.
"You like to ride,” he continued. “You're not proficient, so you avoid it."
"Why?” she whispered.
"I don't know that,” he admitted. “I imagine ... so you don't look foolish. I want to know the whys, Ondrea."
"No. Why did you watch me? Why did you consider it important enough ... Why did you take note of all of these things about me?"
Kieran leaned toward her, feathering his lips over hers.
Ondrea hesitated, then did the same in return. “I want to know, Kieran. I want you to know."
He smiled, capturing her mouth in a more purposeful kiss.
Ondrea's hand slid beneath his shirt, tracing the scars marring his chest. She pushed up at the fabric, baring him and pulling her mouth from his. Kieran moaned out a protest, shaking his head.
"I want to know,” she repeated.
He nodded, easing the shirt off for her and dropping it to the floor. Ondrea stared at the damage, visibly pained. Before he could reassure her, she pressed both hands flat to his chest and started tracing the still-sensitized tissue with her lips.
Kieran gasped, reaching up to circle her wrists with his hands, visions of making love to her on the nearest flat surface nearly masking his senses. It couldn't mask them completely, and a healer couldn't miss the feel of a bandage, even incapacitated and through clothing.
He pulled at the fasteners on her dress, peeling it down her body to the chorus of her urging, but this wasn't sexual ... yet. The dress pooling around her boots, Kieran dragged her injured arm up. He started unwrapping the linen.
"Kieran?"
"You still have an open wound."
"Not open ... healing well, I think."
"It's unacceptable. It should have been healed."
Her breathing hitched. “I'm an O'Ken. Unless it's life-threatening, no healer will trade with me. And ... only then out of a sense of duty."
He looked from the sloppily-set stitches to her eyes, horrified. “I would have,” he vowed.
A smile pulled up at her lips. “I believe you."
"Then you've come to know me."
Kieran cupped his hand over the raw wound and evaluated it. “Excellent choice of herbals.” He winced inwardly at
the fact that an O'Ken would need to know them, plant healer or not.
He couldn't heal her as completely as his family had healed him. Not alone, without aid in his healing. Not as young and weakened from his own healing as he was.
Still, he had to do what he could. The spell trilled off his tongue. Ondrea tried to pull her arm away, and he clamped down on it.
"You can't,” she reasoned. “You're still recovering."
"I can't heal you completely, but I can speed the process of your own healing."
Her arm relaxed in his grip, and Kieran completed the spell, knitting the flesh and skin lightly and removing the stitches. He stroked at the deep red line.
"You'll always carry the scar,” he apologized. “I would remove it, if I could."
She kissed at the longer of his scars. “I'd remove yours."
Kieran cupped her face up, returning to the kisses that would lead them to some close surface. Her legs shifted against him, and her low boots thumped against the wood floor. Her arms circled his neck, and Kieran lifted, fitting Ondrea to his body, kicking her clothing and boots away on the way to the sofa.
They came aground on the large table in the center of the room. It wasn't his first choice, but it would do. As if in agreement, her legs wrapped around his.
Her mouth left his and a whispered translocation spell swirled between them. Kieran expected to find himself in bed with her, but they didn't move.
He dragged one strap of her camisole off of her shoulder, intending to bare her breast. “What did you move?"
A sexy smile graced her lips. “It was more ... removed."
Her camisole still being in place left only her stockings and panties. Kieran thrust a hand beneath her camisole, confirming that it was the panties.
"Stars and spells.” He stroked at her ready body, dizzy in need. He had to get his sleep pants off.
Ondrea's hand slid down his chest toward the tie, and Kieran captured her mouth, his tongue dancing hard against hers.
The spell unfolding dragged his attention around to the crowd appearing in the room with them. What in the great Fate's name is this?
"Ondrea,” a strange man shouted, clearly shocked.
"Kieran,” his father warned.
"Oh my,” the elder sighed but with an expression of glee that said she wasn't the least bit sorry for translocating their fathers into this scene.