All his identity was wrapped up in his position as HollyHeir, FirstSon of the Hollys. Without relation to his Family, he had no being. Numbness had worn off. Denial was over. T’Holly, his father, had disowned him.
Pain and anger ravaged him. Who was he? He fell to his knees. Lark whimpered in her sleep. He turned to her, saw the spill of her black hair against pale bedlinens. His heart tightened and muscles loosened. His head dropped and he sucked in lungfuls of air. This is what came of not finding his balance, his core. He thought it was something he could live without, but now he was lost. He didn’t know who he was.
Another small cry from Lark, and she flung out an arm as if to reach him. She hadn’t been able to. He hadn’t been able to let her initiate the HeartBond. Too hurt and stunned, all his natural shields had been up. He, in turn, had hurt her. But she had accepted his rejection, as she’d accepted and survived rejections before. She knew how to work through such hurtful events. He didn’t. He failed at that, too.
Who was he?
Through slitted eyes he saw the thick golden channel of energy exiting his heart and tied to the small woman on the bed. She sighed and rolled over and silver sparkles frothed from her to him. They reached his chest and warmed his torso.
His sense of self was in shards. He didn’t know himself outside the role of HollyHeir. Time to learn.
“I am Holm. I am a trained fighter. I am honorable.” He knew that much. He breathed it in and out and steadily.
Who was he? He looked at Lark and bubbles of desire fired from his body to hers along their link. He was a man who had won his HeartMate. He planted one foot on the ground, pushed up, feeling the action of tendon and muscle, the good use of physical effort in the simple act of rising to his feet to stand head high and shoulders back.
Despite all odds, overwhelming odds, tragic choices, he’d triumphed in the most important fight of his life. He was a man who’d won his HeartMate. More, after her previous rejection, she’d formally claimed him aloud and publicly, making her own choice to put him first in her life. She lay there, ready for him to claim, physically, mentally, emotionally. Totally. And he would when he reformed some idea of who Holm was.
The sweat that had chilled his body dried warm. He went to the waterfall and let the feel of liquid pour over him. A luxurious waterfall in a luxurious room in a luxurious suite in a luxurious FirstFamily GreatLord Residence. The Residence built by a strong, honorable man whom Holm had fought beside. A man Holm called his best friend. T’Ash.
Holm was a man who had won his HeartMate and had a powerful GreatLord as his best friend. As he dried he let his view widen. . . . He had another friend, once a brother, called Tinne, and a friend once a cuz, called Straif. He had his MotherSire T’Apple who’d accepted him as a son of the Family. Holm Apple. He winced. It could be worse, he supposed, Holm pick-your-own-name-belonging-to-no-one.
When he placed his wet towel over the dryflow and turned to the door, two orange tabby kittens surveyed him. One with blue eyes, one with green. The blue-eyed one carried a dirty boot-liner of Holm’s in his mouth. It seemed Meserv needed a little extra reassurance in a new place, too.
He’d earned a Fam, too. Holm really wasn’t too shabby a fellow.
The kittens sniffed in unison, and he knew their thought before he heard it. We all have fine fate.
“Yes,” he said. He wasn’t dead. He was Holm and he was alive with his HeartMate, housed by his best friend. He could start over. “Yes.”
You thought very loud. Meserv yawned and the liner he carried fell to the floor. You done thinking now?
“Yes.” If he wasn’t, he’d think quieter.
Good. We all had BIG day. Today probably BIG, too. Time for bed.
Holm thought that was a great idea. He grinned.
Phyll lifted his nose. I did very well as First HealerCat.
Meserv gave a subvocal growl. I helped Heal my Lady, too. Holm grimaced. He supposed Meserv still considered D’Holly his Lady in cat terms, even though in human terms Holm was renounced.
I was better, Phyll said, trotting toward their closet. I may need to Heal more today. I will get plenty of rest.
“Grrrrr,” rumbled Meserv softly, then stopped, cocked his head, and followed his brother, grinning. We are going to Gael City. Lots of good solar sailing there, I heard. You may be HealerCat, but I will be FLYING CAT, and that is LOTS better.
Phyll sniffed.
Holm shut the bedroom door behind them.
He smiled and a touch of watery, cold thought tickled his mind. Frowning, he examined the room. In one shadowy corner sat an aquarium. Clam.
Holm crossed to it, probed. Clam was well. He liked his new quarters, the change had stimulated him. Holm sighed in relief.
The oyster glowed with an aura Holm sensed was pride. Slowly Clam opened. Holm stared. Inside the oyster was a tiny pink-colored heart. Even in the dim light, it looked more like a human heart than the stylized puffy valentine shape, but tenderness suffused Holm. The gift, when it was grown, would be perfect for a Healer.
Clam suffered an irritant inside of him to mold into a jewel that Holm requested.
Holm was touched.
Lark whimpered in her sleep.
He sighed. He thought he could open himself, thought he’d welcome the Heartbond. Instead he’d been too afraid to trust her. Everything seemed to have happened too quickly. He couldn’t let his shields down.
She was his HeartMate and it was just as terrifying as he’d feared. His love had claws and teeth that could rip him apart—would rip him apart if she perished, even though they weren’t HeartBound. Look how the injury of his Mamá had affected his father. Holm shuddered.
Glancing over, he wondered if he could establish the HeartBond. Loving her physically was easy. If he could just take the last, ultimate risk . . . No, she looked exhausted. The day before was just as emotionally draining for her as it had been for him. She’d lost her brother, but had reconciled with her father. Odd how circumstances had played out.
He crawled back in bed and held her close, savoring her warm softness.
But when he fell asleep, the nightmares invaded.
Thirty
Holm awoke the instant they lay in the sweet grass of the center of the Great Labyrinth. They. He’d taken Bélla with him. He swore under his breath. How was he going to explain this?
His irritation must have flowed through their bond, because Lark opened sleepy eyes. “Holm?” she asked.
Her eyelids fluttered, then she focused on the towering Ash tree above them. Her hand went to the ground and tangled in tall grass. Eyes widening, she sat up. She looked at him, then down at herself. Finally she stared across the horizon to the circular rim of the crater that rose around them, then up to a sky full of stars and waxing twinmoons. “Holm?” she squeaked.
He didn’t think he’d ever been more mortified in his life. Heat crawled from his feet clear up to his forehead. Since he’d been able to see her flush, he had no doubt she observed his. She opened their connection to the fullest and sorted through his emotions. He gritted his teeth.
“It’s obvious you know where we are, and how we got here in such a state,” she said.
Inhaling, he tried for his most charming smile, tried not to think of guilt or failure or any other negative emotion she might sense.
“Ah,” he said, standing to dust off grass bits, leaves, and a petal or two. At least he hadn’t ’ported with a weapon.
He licked his lips. “We’re in the Great Labyrinth.”
Lark stared at him and reexamined their surroundings. “I haven’t been here since I was a child, before my first Passage, as is the custom. This place is unique.” She looked inquiringly at him.
Holm didn’t know what to expect, some outrage or upset or distress, an emotional outburst another woman might have made, the grand dramatics of his Family—of the Hollys, he corrected. But she wasn’t a Holly or another woman. She was his lover, his HeartMate, and a woman accustomed to
dealing with emergencies. Nor did she radiate the pain and hurt of earlier, as if she’d accepted the hurt, dealt with it, and gone on.
“Holm?” she prompted. “Do you want to tell me why you ’ported us here?” Her eyes lightened suddenly, and she smiled. “Is it a Holly HeartBond night tradition?”
Now he felt a rude lout. As he searched for words, she narrowed her eyes and tested their link again. Understanding showed in her gaze, and her expression took on a hint of the Healer. He was in for it now. Better for him to tell the truth.
“I nightported us.”
As she crossed her arms, plumping her breasts, a spurt of desire zipped through him. He wondered if he could distract her.
“No,” she said. “You can’t distract me.” Again she smiled. “Yet.”
She scanned the landscape, stretched, and when she spoke it was in the same serene tone. “Nightporting and the Great Labyrinth. I’d say you’ve withheld a few secrets from me, GentleSir.” Lark slanted him a look. “Now, I know that we both are very aware of my shortcomings, they revealed themselves in terrifying starkness during our time together. But you”—she rose and tapped a finger on his chest—“have been hiding things from me.” She blew out a breath and stalked around the tree to survey the labyrinth. “Just like a man,” she muttered.
When she returned, she angled her head. “I’m your HeartMate. Tell me.”
He shifted.
Her lips compressed. “Do you want me to guess, to make up a story, to diagnose?”
“No.”
“Ha! You can’t even get your tongue around words.” She frowned and her gaze roamed over him with a disturbing intensity. She was becoming more the Healer every second.
“I was aware,” she said slowly, puzzling it out, “that you had what I perceived as a mass of knotted emotions. An inner wound. But I let all the exigencies of our situation distract me.” She stepped close, close enough that he could smell her, feel her body heat. She put her hands on his shoulders and tipped her face up at him.
Her expression was open, unguarded, sincere, and it showed loving concern. He could only flush again.
She sighed and wrapped her arms around his back. Resting against him, she sent affection and caring through their link. When she spoke, her breath tickled his chest hair. “Nightporting is an unconscious method of dealing with personal problems. Nightporting to the Great Labyrinth signals that your subconscious knows you have concerns that must be resolved. The Great Labyrinth is a perfect meditation tool, forcing one to walk out, and just by following the path in a steady walk, the rhythm and the innate pattern is impressed upon the mind and heart, helping you to understand your own needs.”
“Huh,” Holm said. It sure hadn’t helped him, and he’d spent a lot of time walking that damned circular rising path to the rim of the crater.
Lark’s lips curved against his chest, and he wanted her to kiss him. In fact, if she moved her head a few centimeters, she could suck his nipple. . . . She sent a twist of cold energy instead, dampening his arousal.
“You aren’t going to talk to me. Hmmmm. Let’s try questions.”
“Can’t we just start walking out of here?”
“Your pulse spiked. You don’t want to talk about this.” She stepped back and he hated the cool air that flowed around him, the loss of her touch. She held her palms up and concentrated. Bright gold glowed in her hands. She brought them together and aimed the tips of her fingers at his heart. He saw the large rope of energy then. The bond between them.
“Holm,” she said. “I am your HeartMate. How do you expect to hide anything from me? I knew much of the reason you rejected the HeartBond”—her voice cracked a little—“was that I had so long and consistently rejected you and our connection.” Warmth poured from her to him, tingling through his veins with a gentle caress. “But it was something more, too. You were hiding your perceived faults from me.”
She tilted her head. “Everyone has faults. Everyone makes mistakes.” She laughed. “Lady and Lord knows you’ve experienced mine. My cowardice. My fear of being hurt again, the ease with which people manipulate me, my old bitterness for Nobles, my—”
Now he stepped forward and placed a hand over her mouth. “Hush. You are wonderful. That’s why we didn’t know we were HeartMates earlier. Why we didn’t sense each other during our Passages. Because I had to grow to match you, my Bélla.”
Lark’s surprise flickered through their tie. “Hard to believe.”
Holm grinned. “You flatter me. But it’s true. Until Tinne and I went on that trek across the continent, I wasn’t ’mature’ enough for you.” He avoided thinking of the boghole, what happened, Tinne’s explanation the day before.
“Ah-ha! Got it.” Lark rubbed her hands. “That wound surfaced and I’ve got it.”
He felt a tug inside. It hurt, like a cramped muscle being massaged.
“Sit down,” she said.
Since she continued to draw on the tangled mess of his guilt and failure and it hurt, he folded to the grass. His breath roughened and sweat dotted his forehead as she worked at the gnarled mish-mash of his emotions.
She sweated, too. Her face strained. “I’m hurting you. I’m not a MentalHealer. Perhaps—”
“Do it!” he snapped. “You have your fingers in it, just do it and let me suffer in peace.”
With raised eyebrows, she turned back to the job. A few moments later the hurt subsided. Her hands seemed to smooth his emotional tangle flat. She stroked the now-straight threads and sent them back for him to absorb. Then she plucked at them, and knew him.
Holm flopped back on the cool ground and closed his eyes. She’d leave him now.
“Don’t be a stup,” she said, echoing Tinne’s words. “We’re HeartMates. Do you think I’d walk away from such a joy? There were times in my apartment that I wanted to scream from the loneliness.” Now she echoed Tab’s words.
Tinne and Tab. Both better men than he. Both wiser. As she was.
“Oh, Holm!” She sat beside him, pushed the hair from his forehead. “Perfection. The golden boy. The HollyHeir.”
He winced.
“You thought you always had to be perfect, to live up to the highest standards. You couldn’t make mistakes. You couldn’t fail. That was not allowed.” She chuckled and he felt offended. “Not such a terrible flaw, lover.”
Her endearment zinged through him, arousing him instantly.
“What a beautiful body you have,” she said, running her hands across his collarbone, measuring the breadth of his chest. Her index finger traced one scar, another, a blaser starburst, and he trembled under her hands. She ignored the blatant thrusting of his sex, but he wanted nothing more than for her to touch him there.
“What are these scars, Holm?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
She lifted her hands from his body. He groaned.
Tilting her head, she smiled down at him. “What are your scars?” she asked again, like a teacher.
He just panted.
“Are they badges of honor?” Her voice held faint censure.
Yes. “Maybe,” he said with a thick tongue.
“Lessons?”
His mind functioned again. He lifted and dropped a hand. “Some, probably.”
“Mistakes?”
He winced. He didn’t want to talk. Especially not about perfection or problems or nightporting. “Yes, a couple are mistakes.” He hunched a shoulder. “You train, you make mistakes, you get scars. Marks. That’s all scars are, marks.”
“They don’t make you less of a fighter? Sometimes you even learn from them?”
He sighed, seeing where the exercise was going. “No and yes.”
Lark played with the hair on his head. He’d rather she played with it lower, much lower.
“Just like life, Holm. Everyone makes mistakes and sometimes they leave marks. But that’s all they are, marks. Are you terribly afraid of getting more scars on your body?”
Holm stared at her. “
Only if it will displease you.”
She smiled, one unlike any he’d seen. The black cloud of the feud that had shrouded them had vanished. They’d lost relatives, they’d both changed. Life would never be the same, but it could be good.
“Your body is beautiful, despite the marks. So is your character despite any of your perceived failures. Why should you be afraid of making mistakes?”
Disappointing his father. Not living up to the standard of a Noble FirstFamilies GreatHouse Heir. But those reasons were gone. And they weren’t the reasons of a mature man. But they were reasons that had been tied up in his identity.
Lark bent down and licked the lovebite on his neck. His body roused to attention.
“I adore you. Look how you survived the blows of yesterday. Now that you’ve shown your true inner strength, I admire you more than ever before.”
“Yes,” he said, “lick me. Feel free to demonstrate your admiration.”
She laughed, then pressed her open mouth to his, and their tongues dueled, probing, thrusting, until her skin heated and her breath came ragged and he knew she desired him.
Lark drew back, her eyes dilated with passion. She cupped her hands around his face. “I love you just as you are.”
He lifted her over him, and she brought him inside her. They both moaned with delight.
She set the pace, riding him, her mind and emotions open, moving on him to maximize their pleasure. And as they climbed, as their bodies plunged together and she demanded his passion, she demanded something else.
She leaned close until their lips met, her breasts sliding against his chest. You don’t need to be perfect, she sent the mind-whisper to him. I want to hear you say and KNOW unto your bones that YOU DON’T NEED TO BE PERFECT!
His heart thundered.
Her words breathed into him. They infused his blood, settled in his marrow, pulsed at the base of his shaft, tingled in his every nerve, twined around sinew and muscle, then throbbed with every beat of his heart until he believed, truly believed as she did. I don’t have to be perfect.
He knew when all her thoughts dimmed, when all she focused on was the friction between their bodies, the ecstasy of having him pump into her, caress her on the inside, the length and breadth and strength of his shaft and how he gave her pleasure.
Heart Duel Page 34