Heart Journey

by Robin Owens

  Raz hesitated, then answered openly. “She’s too old to be my HeartMate. Must be thirty-three at least. I think I felt the HeartGift thing when I was going through my own second Passage at seventeen. My HeartMate’s probably no more than three years older than I.”

  “Ah? You did say that you connected during dreams. Did you make a HeartGift, too?”

  He had, a tiny model of the lost starship, Lugh’s Spear, no more than ten centimeters long. Heat edged his cheekbones as he held her eyes. He lifted his glass, shifted his gaze from her eyes to his wine. “Your eyes are the same color as this wine and the coloring as rare. Lovely.”

  “Ah, springreen wine. A nice compliment, thank you.” She smiled and downed a mouthful. He sensed she did most things in her life lustily. “You know that the grapes for springreen wine prefer higher valleys and cool, steep slopes with plenty of sun, more mountainous locale than regular white or red wines. The grapes prefer a sweeter soil.” She smiled, showing white, even teeth, raised her brows. “I’m not that sweet.”

  She looked luscious to him. His pulse kicked up.

  “Your eyes are the blue of the Deep Blue Sea, gorgeous.”

  Again he felt heat in his cheeks.

  “But you’ve heard that all your life, I’m sure.”

  He inclined his torso, lifted his glass. “Always good to be complimented by a fascinating woman.”

  Her brows lifted. “Always good to be complimented by a handsome and smooth man. Very accomplished actor.” She sipped, kept her gaze on his.

  “I’m not acting.” He took her free hand, looked into her eyes with true sincerity, let a smile hover. “You are the most bewitching woman in the room.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Only because you don’t know me.”

  “Not only. Though you’re right, I know everyone else here and I do know why they are here—to party, to mingle, to be seen . . .”

  “I wanted to meet some of the people I watched on my holos the last few years.”

  He sensed that was true and untrue, which was even more intriguing. A woman returned to the city who watched holos, a deduction clicked in his head. “You have a fox Fam.”

  She laughed with more amusement. “Yes, Shunuk. He told me he met you.”

  “He wheedled breakfast out of me, and that Fam can eat.”

  Her body relaxed completely, the mask over her face dissolving, and Raz congratulated himself on a good job of putting her so at ease. To have her focused on him was another boost.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think I like that smile of yours.”

  He took her free hand and lifted her fingers to his lips. Her palm was warm, her fingers strong. He brushed a kiss on the back of her hand, liked the zing of attraction between them, let his smile broaden. “My very satisfied smile that I have exclusively claimed the attention of the most riveting woman in the room?”

  “That’s the one,” she said, and though her fingers tensed a bit, she didn’t pull them from his grasp. “So, I’m the new face and thus the new toy and object of conquest?”

  “No one, lady, would ever think you a toy, and it is a rare pleasure to be in your company.” That was the truth, too. The air seemed to sizzle around them. He enjoyed the sensation of blood rushing through his veins. He took a sip of wine again and the vintage was less dizzying than the woman. “You are more dazzling than anyone here, more pleasurable than drinking this fine wine.”

  A flush had come to her cheeks, showing peach under her golden skin, accenting the green of her eyes, her bright curls. He breathed in her scent of wild lavender, more . . .

  “You are a man who works with words. You have a very smooth tongue.”

  “I could show you better things to do with my tongue than to speak,” he said.

  Her breasts lifted in a deep breath and he wanted to put his hands there, his tongue in her mouth. He was becoming aroused, feeling the flush of desire. Not the place, not the time. Maybe later, if he was lucky, he could taste that mouth, smell the change in her fragrance as he kissed her and her passion rose.

  She pulled her fingers away. “Use that facile mouth of yours to drink your wine.”

  “It’s not what I want to taste.”

  Del stepped from the shelter of the arbor and gave a passing waiter her wineglass.

  Raz followed her. As she’d left the shadows for the lit room, he’d seen her face go immobile just for an instant—as if she was putting on the thin veneer of a social mask. She didn’t hide much of herself, certainly not as much as most people. Again he wondered why she’d come to the party. He drank the last of his wine a little too quickly to savor, then gave the waiter his glass.

  The musicians struck up a waltz and couples left the dance floor or went onto it. The first to match their steps were Cratag and Signet Marigold. Raz smiled. He turned to Del, offered his hand. “Do you waltz?”

  “Yes.” She put her fingers in his, pivoted, and placed her hand on his shoulder. The touch of her, the closeness, went to his head faster than the wine, was tastier, more delightful. He was taller and broader than she. He hadn’t quite realized that until she was in his arms, she had such an indomitable spirit—presence. Once again words escaped him without thought. “How old are you?”

  She threw back her head and laughed and he saw the enticing golden column of her throat. “I’m thirty-six, pretty boy.” The way she said it, laughing at herself, had him sweeping her around and around in a whirl. Her body was strong and supple and he thought he might be able to do anything with it. Her pale green gaze glinted with humor. “Eight years older than you.”

  He pulled her closer. “You can’t be,” he murmured into her ear, once again catching her fragrance—the scent of lavender that wasn’t the same in the city. He was a city man through and through, but attraction wove between them as she matched his gaze with that sparking green of her own. Her body pressed along his, warm, exciting. She was completely unlike any woman he’d ever known.

  And she’d be leaving Druida soon.

  Maybe she was safe to make love with. He looked down into her eyes and slid his hand down her back just above the curve of her bottom, feeling the flex of her muscles. Even if she wasn’t safe, he’d make love to her.

  As soon as they finished their dance, Del was asked by another man and accepted. She danced a few more times with men other than Raz, then excused herself. She made her way to the Marigolds to say good-bye, then to the Spindles to pay her respects and thank them again for the invitation.

  If she danced one more dance with Raz she might spontaneously combust. Best to leave him curious . . . she was woman enough to know that, and to know that passion was smoldering in him as well as herself.

  So she left with a wave to the room, blessing the cool outside air as it wrapped around her. Her driver was there, the glider waiting.

  She slid into the vehicle and the springreen wine made her head a little muzzy—enough to speak to the man about the state of the City, the rehabilitation of what had once been known as Downwind, and whether new maps would be a boon.

  The night had been good, nicer than she’d expected, and she’d make sure her dreams were better still.

  The party had turned out to be one of the best of Raz’s life, mostly because of the woman in red who had become a potential lover, Del Elecampane. True, Del had left after a conversation and a dance, but when she was with him, his blood pumped faster. He hadn’t managed to seduce a kiss from her; her eyes were too knowing. She’d gone without any promises to meet, though he was sure that she felt the same sweet zings of passion that he did.

  A very unusual woman, she had made no overtures, had not flirted. Had left him aching with arousal after she’d gone . . . and had challenged the hunter in him to pursue.

  He wasn’t the only one she’d danced with. She’d waltzed with Johns and they had looked good together, like a study in athletic grace. Damn Johns. He’d nipped Del away from Raz just because they were competitors, but two minutes later was laugh
ing with her. Yes, the hunt was on.

  Before the dullness of her absence from the party could set in, he’d received a couple of compliments on his work from people he’d admired, then an agent had hinted to him about a part in a new play by Amberose. Raz hadn’t been quite able to show simple casual interest, he’d pressed the man, who had smiled enigmatically, changed the subject, then slid away. Raz had seen him talking to Johns, who had gone as impassive as a rock face—a sign he was suppressing excitement. Another thing to compete for.

  Raz didn’t know which he wanted more, the woman or the part. He’d had another glass or two of springreen wine. Almost enough to affect his timing so that he remained too long. He liked to exit an event at the right time—leaving people behind charmed and wanting more of his company.

  But now he breathed the soft summer night air as he stood on the terrace above the side grassyard where about twenty gliders were parked in three rows.

  He inhaled the scent of full-blown roses trained over the terrace wall, and the heavy air made him yearn for one more whiff of Del’s scent. He glanced toward the gliders, grinned. He had his own, just like the wealthiest nobles, a gift from his Family, and he’d named her Cherry. She was parked at the far end of a row, a few feet before a tangle of forest.

  With three tuneful notes, he summoned her. Saw blurs of men tumble from his glider as she moved—someone had been on or in her! “Hey!” Raz shouted.

  “I told you these damn shields would take too long to breach. Should have just smashed it, searched, and run,” a low voice said, beginning to swear. The man should have known better than to talk in that pitch.

  “We had to disable the stun!” a smaller man said. He muttered something and the vehicle stopped, stands clicked down.

  Raz jumped over the low terrace wall, grunted as he hit the ground three meters below. The thieves weren’t running away. Noise of shattering glass came. Raz didn’t waste breath shouting.

  His glider was shrieking: “My virtue is threatened!” The old-time melodramatic phrase had seemed funny when he’d programmed the alarm, but now it fed his ire.

  The night of black and white was hazed with the red of his anger. Not this time. His home had been violated, his work area defiled, his property smashed. Putting some Flair into his leaps, he bounded down the rows of parked gliders to his vehicle.

  There were two people burglarizing Cherry. The smaller one was inside, rifling through her. He heard rips.

  Raz yelled as he hopped up on a large, old, Family glider parked close to his, jumped toward the large man with a flying kick to his head. The big guy got an arm up, threw Raz off balance. He landed, rolled, came up swinging.

  His knuckles connected with the man’s jaw and he grinned, hardly noticing the sting. The large guy swung back; Raz slid aside but caught a fist on his left shoulder that numbed his arm. He led with his right and got the man again. As the vandal stumbled back, Raz hooked a foot around his ankle and brought him down.

  More slashing noises behind him—the smaller guy! Raz whirled. “Open!” he yelled, realized the frame was bent too much for the door to rise. Reaching through the broken window, he grabbed at the other thief, caught fabric, and did some ripping of his own.

  He was yanked back and spun around by the big one. Raz jerked his head aside and the large man’s hand skimmed his temple, then he hit Raz in the stomach. He oofed out a breath, gasped, ignored the pain.

  “My virtue is threatened!” screamed Raz’s glider.

  “Hey!” someone yelled from the terrace—Johns. The sounds of footsteps running toward them and shouts from more people were mixed with other car alarms. “Back away, I have stun,” came from the Family glider Raz had hopped on.

  He kicked at the big guy, connected. The man fell back. Raz followed and pounded short jabs on the thief’s stomach.

  “Gotta go!” squeaked the man in the glider. He kicked Raz through the broken window, sent him into the big man’s fist. Pain shot from Raz’s cheek to rattle his brain.

  “No!” the first man said. “Get him and hold him. Play actor too damn much trouble. Who’da thought?”

  “Have a problem with actors?” Johns asked, grabbing the big guy from the back and throwing him aside.

  “I’m getting out of here,” the smaller one yelled.

  “Won’t get your gilt,” the big man snapped, panting. He slugged Raz on the left shoulder again. Raz punched with his right to the guy’s jaw.

  Yelling, the smaller man flung himself on them. They all went down. Raz’s head cracked against metal. He landed badly on Johns, whose breath escaped in a grunting whoof.

  “Gotcha!” The smaller man yanked at the larger, dragged him free, and they teleported away.

  “Uhhhn.” Raz sat up slowly, put a hand to his head. His lip was cut and bleeding and he thought his cheek was fractured.

  Johns lay flat and spit out words in short pants. “Sorry. Too late.” He groaned and it seemed to take all his breath.

  “You did fine.” Raz wiggled his jaw; it hurt, too. A dull throbbing came from his temple. “Many thanks, I’m grateful.”

  Sudden quiet descended, except for Raz’s glider. “My virtue has been violated,” Cherry said mournfully.

  Seven

  Del took a long waterfall, letting the hot water roll over her. She liked real waterfalls, too, but they were invariably cold. So she hummed and did a slick wiggle to shake off the energy of others. There was something to be said for civilization, since it provided hot waterfalls and steaming bathing pools laced with lovely fragrances upon demand.

  After stretching to loosen muscles she hadn’t used lately but that had been put to the test when dancing, she hit the bedsponge and leaned against fat pillows propped against the headboard. Sighing in contentment she drifted into a meditative trance.

  First she thought of Helendula and her chest tightened. How could she love the child so quickly? Except to her, the little girl seemed to embody all the best traits of Del’s Family. Curiosity, happiness with what she was given, generosity, love.

  Just how generous and loving was Del herself?

  Loving and generous enough to walk away and leave Helendula with the Blackthorns?

  No. Not totally.

  Helendula was an Elecampane and should learn Elecampane traditions. In fact, Helendula was now Del’s Heir. This house and everything else would belong to Helendula if something happened to Del—and much of the Elecampane knowledge could be lost. Including the way to the HouseHeart and the small flame of sentience being born in that sacred space.

  Del hadn’t thought much about Elecampane traditions. Because G’Aunt Inula knew everything, more than Del. How much of her own heritage was lost now?

  Probably not a lot. Inula would have kept meticulous records and a Family journal off-site of her own home. She’d come to check this house once a week and would have updated a journal here.

  Del faced the question of selfishness. Did she really want to take care of Helendula, change her life for the child? A part of her echoed yes and she was pleased at the answer. She wasn’t totally selfish and self-absorbed then. She could change her life to fit Helendula into it, take shorter jobs or city jobs until Helendula could come with her . . .

  Despite herself, her life was changing. She’d have fought against it harder if she hadn’t had a child to think about. She hadn’t thought about having a child so soon.

  Part of her wanted Helendula, maybe even a stable base camp instead of complete freedom to wander the roads. Perhaps a nesting instinct was activated when HeartMates connected.

  Most of her wanted to continue as she had been, rising with the sun, searching out new places, making them known on papyrus for others. The whole world used her maps, and that was a real achievement. She wasn’t ready to stop her travels yet.

  Lately she’d yearned to go east, beyond the far edge of the Deep Blue Sea, the huge inner ocean of Celta to the Bluegrass Plains. There had been tiny communities from Druida City to the weste
rn half of the continent since the disastrous landing of the starship Lugh’s Spear. In the last few decades people had been moving east instead of north or south. The Bluegrass Plains were verdant and Celtans had more knowledge and Flair than ever. That was where the new cities would rise, Del felt it in her bones.

  Even as her thoughts spiraled out to that idea, she yanked them back to Helendula. Should she take the child away from Straif and Mitchella Blackthorn, uproot her once again?

  If Del wanted the Elecampane Family to go on, she should claim Helendula. Somewhere along the way through all this mess, Del had decided that she would grieve if she knew she was the last of her Family. Grieve for the future more than the past. Each person and Family had unique gifts to contribute. Helendula would be no different.

  But the child was loved by the Blackthorns. Was claiming the girl just because she was the last of Del’s Family selfish, too? Del winced. She thought so, yet she couldn’t let the Family vanish; that was beyond her. No solution now, the matter of Helendula would have to wait another day.

  Now she could consider the matter of her HeartMate, Raz Cherry. Her lips curved and sweet delightful desire sifted through her.

  He was gorgeous. She loved his coloring, the auburn hair and coppery skin, his blue eyes. More, she liked watching him move. His voice was mellow, with a nice range, didn’t offend her ears.

  She had it bad.

  She wanted him bad.

  And she wanted him to need her bad.

  She unfolded her legs, thumped the pillows, and lay down. One last thing before she reached for Raz—and surely he’d be done with the party, now? He wouldn’t be with anyone else, would he? Jealousy stabbed. She was sure he’d felt the same attraction that she had. But men did stupid things.

  Hell, women did stupid things, too.

  All these feelings involving Raz, since she’d strengthened the bond between them. How he felt about the woman, his friends—that Trillia and St. Johnswort and Balsam—she felt that now. She hadn’t anticipated that, didn’t like it much.