by Autumn Dawn
Jasmine felt something soft graze her cheek and looked up to see the little villi standing right next to her. A smile of pleasure lit her face and she giggled as he rubbed his silky cheek against her once again. “You are a darling little thing, aren't you, sweetheart?” she murmured, stroking his silky mane. “Would you like to come home with me?” To her surprise, the little villi reared a little, whipping his head back and forth. Alarmed, she looked to her bodyguards, but they seemed unconcerned. The rearing turned to crow-hopping and she scrambled to her knees, preparing to run in case the little guy really got rough. In her rush to get up, her feet slipped on the grass, twisting her leg and causing her to come crashing down in a heap on the lawn. She bit her lip on impact.
In somewhat of a daze, she blinked up at the turquoise sky. Two Haunt faces and an inquisitive villi peered down at her. She gave them a weak smile. “Let's just keep this one to ourselves, shall we?"
"What happened to you?” Rihlia demanded as Jasmine came limping into dinner late that evening. Everyone was present, even Keilor, and all conversation came to a halt as they waited for her answer.
Jasmine gave her a rueful smile as she lowered herself into a seat, wincing a little as her sore lip pulled. Feeling mischievous, she lowered her eyes and allowed a shy, satisfied grin to curl the corners of her mouth. “I found a new playmate. He likes it a bit rough.” Stunned silence held the room for about twenty long seconds.
"J-jas?” Rihlia finally ventured in disbelief, “Are you saying that some guy hurt you? And you let him?"
Raising her brows like an innocent and fighting to keep a straight face, Jasmine toyed with her silver chopsticks. “I decided to take a walk on the wild side.” She swallowed hard to force down her laughter. No doubt Rihlia would pick up on the odd note in her voice at any second and demand in on the joke. To her surprise, it wasn't her friend who questioned her.
"Who was it?” Keilor demanded harshly.
Jasmine's eyes flew up, startled into actually looking at him. Other than noting his presence, she'd intended to ignore the ill tempered brute. Without thinking, she answered him, “I left him sleeping in my room."
Keilor was on his feet and to the door before she'd finished saying, “my.” Jasmine gaped at the empty doorway. It took her a moment, but she began to grin and then to giggle. The giggle became a full borne laugh the minute Rihlia demanded with suspicion, “What are you up to, Jasmine?"
Jasmine gasped for breath and threw her a wicked grin. “My new playmate—” she snickered, “—is a villi."
Jasmine wasn't the only one snickering when Keilor returned several minutes later. He threw her a lethal look as he dropped down in his chair between Rhapsody and Portae.
"How is the little villi, Keilor?” Fallon asked with amusement. “Jasmine's been telling us all about her new companion, Casanova."
Keilor's stare was not amused. “A foolish name for a villi.” He took a vicious bite of meat.
"Do you think?” Jasmine inquired brightly. “I considered calling him Brad Pitt, but now that he's happily married, it didn't seem quite right.” She smiled slyly at Rihlia. “Besides, he hasn't been nearly as hot since he cut his hair.” She glanced flirtatiously Keilor, just to annoy him. “Lost that bad boy look.” Something hot leapt in his eyes, and she hastily averted her own, trying to slow her breathing and calm her excited belly.
"What's got you in such a spirited mood this evening?” Fallon inquired, letting his appreciative gaze linger. “I don't think I've ever seen you quite so radiant."
Jasmine waited until Keilor took a sip of his wine and then quipped, “I'm in love with one of my bodyguards?” One cue, her victim choked on his drink and coughed fit to bring up a lung. “No?” she inquired, raising a brow and then relented. “Actually, I'm just happy to have a pet of my own,” she answered, a sweet smile gracing her lips. “Wiley's—” she didn't even need to look to feel the heat of Keilor's glare, “—always had one—you know, Lemming—and that was fine when we lived in the same place, but now ... I find that I'm really enjoying it, and Casanova is so sweet.” She batted her eyes in mock shyness at Fallon. “Sometimes a woman just needs someone to cuddle with on a lonely night."
Out of the corner of her eye, Jasmine saw Jayems lean back in his chair with a look of fascination on his face. Rihlia just peered at her as if she'd suddenly transformed into some sort of alien beastie. The rest of the woman remained breathlessly still, waiting for the rest of her little drama to unfold.
Keilor she ignored.
Fallon's response was everything she could have hoped for. He leaned forward a seductive fraction, saying in a sexy murmur, “You might have said as much."
Jasmine very deliberately folded her napkin and stood up. Addressing the table at large, she said, “I really can't wait to introduce you all to Casanova. Would you mind escorting me to go and get him, Fallon?"
His eyes slid briefly over to gage Keilor's reaction. Fallon rose with a roguish smile. “Anything you desire, sweet Jasmine.” He extended his arm, and Jasmine linked hers through it.
The door had barely closed behind the pair when Urseya grinned wickedly and asked, “Do you think that they'll be back?"
"You should have a care, cousin by adoption.” Fallon advised, slanting her a shrewd look. “Teasing Keilor can be a dangerous pastime unless you're able to deal with the consequences."
She shrugged. “What can he do? He can't beat me. I think Jayems would be annoyed at that."
He shook his head, chuckling dryly. “I doubt very much that beating you is what he's contemplating at the moment. Or is that what you had in mind?” She said nothing, and they walked in companionable silence until they reached her door. As she moved to open it, she suddenly found herself pinned between it, the door frame, and one of Fallon's strong arms. He placed a finger on her lips, stilling her protest. “He's watching,” he said softly.
Jasmine's breath quickened with the thought of Keilor hiding in the shadows. It could only mean one thing.
Fallon chuckled knowingly. “Mmm,” he whispered against her ear, making her shiver with the vibration. “You like that idea. But perhaps...” He placed a small kiss just in front of her ear, and then another, making her eyes go wide, “...perhaps I could make just a small suggestion."
Jasmine's hands came up to press against his chest. He was starting to worry her. Maybe she'd made a very bad miscalculation here. After all, how well did she know this man?
Fallon didn't budge an inch. “In the future, if you wish to torment my cousin...” His hand slid up along her arm and she sucked in a breath, “...don't use another man to do it. It's not safe; for either you or him.” He paused with his hand on her upper arm, a hair's breadth away from her breast, and she held her breath in dread. He met her gaze with eyes of fire, letting her see the dangerous extent of his desire. “Understand?” She nodded like a robot, and rueful satisfaction filled his eyes. “Good.” He gave her a fast, smacking kiss and then withdrew. “Go get your villi, woman."
Keilor stepped around the corner the moment she'd scurried through the door. Surveying his cousin, who was leaning against the wall, sweating, he said with disgust and no small degree of anger, “I should rip your lungs out."
Fallon snorted. “Too much trouble. Besides, you should be grateful; had I done as I wished to do—"
Keilor grabbed him by the shirtfront and jerked the dazed warrior nose to nose. “Say it and I will maim you,” he warned. He did not think he could take any more insults to his sensibilities. His little Sylph had put him through enough torment that night. He set his jaw, remembering the agony that had shot through him when she'd declared, no, implied, he thought savagely, that she had not only taken a lover, but that she'd chosen one who abused her. Not only had his heart died within him, but he'd had the sickest feeling of failure and loss, and a grief so fresh that furious searching for the lover had been the only thing to keep it at bay. All of that, only to discover that her new ‘playmate’ was a villi! If he h
adn't already spoken to Jayems for her hand, he would have right then just to have the right to beat her!
Shaking his head to temporarily clear it, he said, enunciating very clearly, “I am going back to the others. You will be right behind me. If you are not—"
Sighing, Fallon freed himself from Keilor's grasp. “Rest easy, cousin. I have myself in hand. We'll be right behind you.” He straightened his shirt and smiled wryly. “After all, I am rather fond of breathing."
Chapter 8
"Oh, please, Keilor, more!” Jasmine moaned, arching beneath him. She cried out in pleasure as his hands touched her, bringing delight and a fierce, burning need. With one hand she gripped his hair while the other clutched him to her, begging with a series of erotic little whimpers. With one last, passionate kiss, he sealed her to him, and then—
Sweating and disoriented, Keilor woke to find himself alone. Growling in frustration, he rolled over on his stomach and pounded his pillow. Even in his sleep the willful wench denied him satisfaction.
Not forever, though. Keilor closed his eyes and forced his mind away from his relentless frustration. He had spoken formally with Jayems two days ago, and Jasmine would now soothe this burning ache he had for her as soon as he could seduce her into his bed.
A slow smile of satisfaction curled his lips as he imagined her seduction and then he grimaced, rolled over and rested one arm on the pillow above his head.
He could have had her weeks since, saving them both a great deal of frustration. Oh, yes, he'd known well what she'd been about tonight, though knowing hadn't helped. He'd had to admit, though, it had been a pleasure to see her so high-spirited. No doubt he would have enjoyed it more had the bulk of her mischief not been directed at him, he thought wryly. These things and more would change after she became his.
First, though, he had to get some sleep. The tournament began tomorrow, and he ought to get his rest, not that it would make a difference to his opponents if he were fresh or suffering from lack of sleep. The Master of the Hunt would still take the tournament.
He smiled to himself. Family excluded, it had been years since he'd met a woman so completely unimpressed by his title and wealth, neither of which had been legacies. It was true that Jasmine had never seen him in battle, or been given any indication of his prosperity, but even if she had known, he doubted it would make a difference. In fact, her complete irreverence was one of the things he loved about her.
It had taken three weeks, and he'd known that he loved her. He'd deluded himself at first, telling himself and anyone else who would listen that it was only Sylph induced lust, but as the days and the long, lonely nights had drifted by, his heart had clamored more and more loudly until he could no longer ignore it. He was in love; with a human and a Sylph at that, but there it was.
He felt a flash of regret. They would have no children. Haunt and human pairings were inevitably sterile. He had no way of knowing how she would take that. Of course there was always adoption, and he had no doubt that Jasmine could love a child not of her body, but would it be enough?
It would have to be.
The first day of the tournament dawned bright and clear, and even though Jasmine was terribly nervous, she was excited as well. Today promised to be an event to remember.
She frowned as Rihlia, along with herself and Rihlia's family, approached the stands set up around the barracks training grounds. In back of the raised pavilion where they would be seated for the duration of the event, Keilor stood, holding the reins of a stag and talking to Knightin. He was dressed in the uniform of the Haunt, with the red symbol of rank above his heart. With a twinge of unease, she noticed he seemed to be armed with an unusual number of weapons. An engraved tomahawk hatchet was stuck into the back of his wide black belt, along with the gun and long knife the Haunt regularly carried. “What's he doing?"
Noticing the direction of her scowl, Jayems answered, “Keilor is Master of the Hunt. Naturally he's overseeing the event, and he'll be opposing the contestants, along with several of the men who will be competing tomorrow."
"Several?” she asked, surprised. “But won't they get tired or be outnumbered? You said that there are over a hundred cadets in the tournament today."
Jayems snorted. “If they could be tired so easily by mere cadets they wouldn't be in the ring tomorrow. Today will merely be a warm up for Keilor and the rest of your suitors."
A frisson of alarm shook her at his words. “What do you mean, ‘and the rest of my suitors'?” she demanded, uncaring that they were close enough for Keilor to hear her question. Surely he didn't mean—
Giving her a sexy smile, Keilor answered for her. “Jayems gave me his permission to win you, of course.” His smile turned down right scintillating. “Wear something silver tomorrow night, Dragonfly."
She actually blushed. Furious and just a little bit scared, and more than a little bit excited, she ground out, “You can't play!” Horrors! What if he actually won?
Keilor raised a brow and studied her with lazy possession. “Why not? I did give you a gift, didn't I?"
Jasmine huffed even as her temperature shot up ten degrees. “You don't count!"
With a husky laugh, he flicked a butterfly caress across her lips with his thumb and assured her, “I'm the only one who does.” He flashed perfect teeth at Jayems, full of good humor. “Your suitors can still have their reward. All they have to do is go through me."
Jasmine clenched her fists and stamped her foot, which would have shocked her if she'd been paying any attention to herself. “Why must you be so difficult?” she demanded.
He just winked at her.
"This is hardly fair,” Jayems told him with a smirk, putting his arm around the seething Jasmine and steering her firmly towards their family pavilion. “I ought to just hand the girl over to you, gift wrapped."
Keilor grinned as Jasmine twisted futilely, attempting to turn around and blast him. Mercy, she was beautiful with her eyes full of fire! “Where's the fun in that?"
The cadets had not been warned what to expect during the beginning of the tournament, except to be ready for anything, the Master of Ceremonies announced to the restless crowd of thousands. People had traveled for up to a week to see this tournament, and to see the skill of those under Jayems’ and Keilor's command. The measure of their warriors was the measure of their strength, and this exhibition was much more than just entertainment. The only prohibitions placed on the men had been no shifting, which had surprised most of them, since the Haunt always fought shifted, and minor injuries only. Speculation had run wild over the first command until a rumor had sprung up that Jasmine wouldn't recognize the warriors in Haunt, and she wished to remember the exploits of her favorites. After that all murmuring had ceased, and the cadets walked around giving each other sly looks, each more sure than the last that the Sylph would wish to remember him.
Jasmine didn't need to know any of that. For her, this was only a day of excitement and thrill, and Keilor intended to make certain it was a day she would long remember.
Nervous and bright eyed, she stood up in the pavilion and looked down over the banner draped guard rail to the regimented soldiers below. “I wanted to thank you all again for the gifts you sent when I was ill.” One corner of her lips tilted up, “It was almost worth being so sick if it meant I could look at such beautiful plants and flowers. And those candies!” she shook her head, plainly awed. “I think I'm ruined.” The cadets were forbidden to even smile, but the audience chuckled. Jasmine took a deep breath and straightened. “Boys will be boys, I know, or men will be men, but for the sake of your mothers, guys, please be careful out there today.” She grinned wryly. “I'd hate to make enemies of half the Haunt population.” More laughter. She raised her fist over her head. “May the best man win!” The crowd roared in approval, and she laughed, looked down, and sat.
The games began.
With a roar like thunder, riders burst out of the gates to the left of Jayems’ pavilion, charging straight tow
ard the black blocks of cadets. Jasmine barely had time to note Keilor and the commanders moving the far side of the field, leaving the sub-commanders to handle their units. A single shouted command from five different throats caused the ranks to whip out their knives and turn en mass to present a solid wall of resistance to the oncoming hoard. Jasmine barely had time to wonder at the folly of facing horsemen—or stagmen—with nothing but knives when with a zap!, a hundred blades suddenly elongated into three foot lengths of blue light.
"Light sabers!” Jasmine gasped, her eyes enormous.
Jayems’ eyes flicked to her briefly. “Energy blades. Blue Death.” He returned his attention to the fray.
Faced with a solid wall of lightning, the riders sheered off, shouting blood curdling war cries and tossing glowing white balls into the mass of soldiers. Unless struck from the air with a sword, dazzling white light exploded where they hit, coating the soldiers with glowing powder. Only one grenade struck, and those soldiers immediately removed from the field.
"Acceptable, for cadets, though Keilor will have them doing drills for a month.” Jayems murmured.
The riders made two more passes with the bombs, and one more struck, narrowing the field by five more men. The riders, all men with red insignia and red sashes, condensed into a menacing wedge with a fierce looking, dark haired warrior riding point and immediately shot itself into the squadron. Jasmine gasped as the living missile impaled the square of soldiers, forcing the box of warriors to burst open.
"Mathin the Mad,” Urseya breathed reverently from Jasmine's left. “Every mother's daughter would give away their wedding night for a chance at him."
Jasmine's eyes opened wider and she watched the fierce soldier with even more interest.
There was much to see. With a snarl of animal bloodlust, Mathin cut his way through men who outnumbered him ten to one, and those men were definitely resisting. Plainly, merely outnumbering a man like Mathin and the warriors who rode behind him was not enough to ensure victory, or to even offer the hope of it. In minutes the field was reduced by half, and some of the men were being helped off the battlegrounds.