She pulled back to stare into his eyes. "Did you make me forget?"
"No, Kelsey, but one of my people obviously did." He could think of only a few Refarians capable of erasing a memory bond, and he recalled that one of them had been on board the cruiser that summer he ventured here to Earth. The summer he had been coming of age. "And I will learn who did this."
"Was it because I'm human?"
He rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. "Because they wished to protect me." He sighed. "It's always been the same with my people." He used his limited intuitive ability to grasp within his mind, seeking whatever remnants of memory still remained. He knew he could use his bond with Kelsey—the same damn bond he was supposed to break—to search out her memories as well.
With that thought came another, as the present rushed back with perfect clarity: Kelsey was not a child any longer, nor was he on the verge of his awakening. She did, however, contain data lodged deep within her mind that put both her life and his rebellion at risk. Who and what he was had already caused her enough pain, and he refused to cause her any more.
"Kelsey, it's been a long few days," he said softly. "I will walk you to the main cabin so you can rest."
"It's still early . . ." she protested, but he leaned low, brushing a kiss against her cheek.
"I have some people to see." Yes, he would meet with his elders in the coming days, but it was more than that. If tonight had convinced him of one fact, it was that he couldn't hurt her—not any more than he already had—by revealing the bond he'd created with her the night of his crash. Especially since he'd become convinced that it would have to be broken for her own protection. If his subjects had lied to him and forcibly robbed him of his memories of Kelsey even in their youth, those same servants might do even worse to her now if he sought to truly make her queen. No, he had no choice but to break their ties completely, lest an even worse fate befall his beloved human.
Chapter Eight
The stranger searched the landscape with black eyes. Eyes that had seen bloodshed and warfare rip this very parcel of ground apart. Eyes that knew this dark earth, stained red with the blood of humans and aliens and hybrids alike. But back in this past, the lake still reflected the azure sky like a child's dream. Standing within the mitres' chambers, he stared out through the portal at the shimmering images of an Earth long vanished, except in his memories. Until now.
Moving through inter-dimensional space as one might step through a sliding door, he left the mitres in his wake, stepping fully into pre-war Earth. A bitter smile pulled at his lips. They'd called what they were engaged in then a war—they all had. What simpletons they'd been. They'd never conceived that the horrific events to come would make such an idea laughable, ridiculous: They'd been like children playing war games, nothing more.
The stranger's smile transformed to a scowl as he thought of the man who had caused the war's escalation. Jared Bennett, their supposed leader, had called the blight down upon them all. That was why he had to pay with his own blood—and why Jared had to be stopped now, he thought, squinting up at the snow-covered Tetons. Drawing the clean mountain air into his lungs, the stranger stirred the hatred in his heart, allowing it to fuel his intentions. He would not acknowledge his ties to this land, to this very place, nor would he acknowledge the memories. No, his mission had brought him back ten years into this past, and he would remain focused on that, he decided, walking out of the woods and into their present.
"She waits, my lord," Anika whispered in a low voice, pressing Jared toward the back stairs that led to his quarters. His chest constricted in anticipation; like yesterday, today had seemed interminably long while he suffered through war council meetings, including one with the elders in which it required everything within him not to accuse Aldorsk of treachery.
Taking the steps two at a time, he found himself in the lower hallway, surprisingly anxious. The day had provided ample time to question his sanity for allowing their bond to continue, but at last the night had come—again. Another night with Kelsey, only he wasn't sure he could be so strong this time. The urge to complete their mating was physically and spiritually overwhelming, and growing stronger with every day their bond remained intact.
Pausing outside his own room, he hesitated, lifting a hand to the pine door. For a moment he sensed her energy radiating into his fingertips, then farther into his body. Only with a bondmate was such a thing possible. The effect on his Refarian senses was so sharp that his eyes watered in reaction. Without waiting another moment, he pushed open the door.
There, by his hearth, she sat on silken, jeweled floor pillows. Crimsons, azures, rubies. He'd never seen the opulent items before now, and it was easy to guess where they'd appeared from. He was certain that Anika and her twin sister, Anna, had given his chambers a royal makeover. Unlike his traitorous elders, the pair was obviously more than eager for him to fully bond with Kelsey.
Jared closed the door behind him, leaning back against the heavy wooden frame in a momentary effort to collect himself. Kelsey glanced up in surprise, her fair skin bathed gold by the firelight. "They said I should wait here," she said, her voice husky with promise.
"They were most definitely correct," he said, decisively closing the distance that separated them.
Kelsey watched as Jared shrugged out of first his coat, then his pullover sweater. For the briefest moment his shirt rode upward, revealing an abdomen even more taut and muscled than she had expected. The sight was luscious, and she ached to reach out a hand and stroke his warm, bronzed skin in appreciation. He never seemed to notice, walking right past her toward his dressing area. "Would you like a glass of Scotch?" he asked. "Nothing like a drink by the fire."
"Sure," she said, barely suppressing her surprise.
"Very sorry, but I have no ice or water handy," he said. "Will you take it straight?"
"Of course." The notion that Jared had immersed himself in human ways enough to have discovered whiskey was incredibly endearing. Apparently some cultural things proved no problem at all. He returned, bearing the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. With a flourish, he poured a drink for her, and it struck her that he was attempting to court her in whatever way he had discovered was common in human culture. Then, after pouring his own drink, he sat beside her on the lounge pillows. It seemed that sitting on the floor was customary for his people, especially as they relaxed.
He settled in front of the fire, one hand loosely holding his glass, the other planted on the pillows between them. Out of the corner of her eye, she kept watching that other hand, wishing it would edge closer to her. For a painfully long time neither spoke, until she began to feel her face flush hot, and she searched desperately for something to say. That was when he tossed back the rest of the whiskey with a quick shot.
"I wish to touch you," he told her, without a trace of shame or self-consciousness, as he dropped to his knees in front of her. "I wish you to touch me as well. I wish it very much."
She swallowed hard, and nodded her acquiescence, wishing she could find her voice.
"Kneel," he urged, taking her hand and drawing her upward. "Here, like I am doing. Face me." She found herself forming almost a mirror image of him. "Ah, yes," he whispered, slipping his hand around the back of her neck. His long fingers combed through her hair. "Just as I suspected. My awakening memories only make you all the more beautiful."
"Are you remembering more?" Kelsey had been fighting to retrieve her own memories all day, but so far she could only touch shadowed thoughts within her mind.
"Bits," he answered, his expression growing serious. "But not enough to satisfy me." Then he smiled and said, "I think only you can do that, Kelsey."
Feeling suddenly shy, she avoided his piercing gaze, and glanced around them at all the jeweled pillows. Kelsey had the feeling that she'd landed in some prince's harem. "This place is amazing," she whispered, pointing around them.
"Ah, my people," he said, dropping his head. "They spoil me too much."
"How?" she asked as he pressed his lips close against her throat, kissing her there.
"They know how I love a warm fire at bedtime," he said.
"That's hardly spoiling." She panted as his strong arms wrapped about her waist.
"It seems," he said softly in her ear as they tumbled together onto the lush pillows, "that one or two of my people know precisely how I feel about you. They laid all this out for us."
They rolled onto their sides then, still touching and exploring every inch of each other. Reaching a tentative hand to stroke his cheek, Kelsey outlined the small scars there. For the first time she noticed lines around his eyes, too, which surprised her—almost as much as the traces of silver-gray that the firelight caused to gleam in his hair.
"How old are you?" she asked, and he glanced upward, surprised. She ran her fingers through his bristling hair. "I see a little silver there," she teased.
With a deeply self-conscious gesture, he lifted his hand as if he meant to shift his appearance, but she stopped him. "No, don't change it," she said. "It's lovely."
"I didn't want to be dishonest," he admitted with a hesitant smile. "So I kept the gray. I wanted you to know about our age difference."
She wondered if perhaps he was a great deal older than she'd assumed. Maybe his species aged on a different timetable altogether. "Just how old are you exactly?" she asked, bracing herself for some shocking revelation.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling in contemplation. "Old enough to know that I can't afford to feel the things you bring out in me. No warrior can."
"You're still a man." She watched the emotions that played across his serious face.
He cut his eyes sideways, meeting her gaze. "I am thirty."
"Geez, Jared!" She began to laugh, relieved. "I thought you were going to tell me you're, like, four hundred years old or something. That's only two years older than I am."
"But they have been hard years." He rolled back onto his side to face her, examining her intently. "Destructive, aging years, Kelsey. Very aging years."
She sensed that there was more—something important about his age, or their differences, that he was withholding from her—but she also understood not to push him. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he drew her close to his side. "You do know me, Kelsey," he answered, almost as if he'd heard her thoughts. "Already better than most in this camp."
"I want to be closer."
Graceful as a wildcat, he accepted her invitation, rolling her on top of him. Her strong thighs closed around his, and she felt his coiled power beneath her hips. And that wasn't the only thing she felt. Oh, boy, not by a long shot.
A slow, devilish—and decidedly human—expression formed on his features. In fact, he seemed quite pleased with himself. And with his size.
"Is that honest, too?" she teased, rocking against him.
"I do not understand this humor."
"Like the silver in your hair," she explained. "Is this"—she paused, lifting up so she could caress the hard ridge that jutted from within his jeans—"all you?"
His lips parted, his eyes drifted, shut, but he said nothing at first. Then, after a quick reply in his native language, he groaned. "All Refarian, all me."
She outlined the bulge, rubbing it harder, and noticed that his body seemed to tense in reaction. "Poor human men. But lucky, lucky me." She laughed, growing more intense in her stroking. In response, he cried out loudly in Refarian, and while she couldn't understand the words, they aroused her nonetheless,
"What does that mean?" She sighed, arching her back.
"I said, it's important that my anatomy meet"—he paused, eyes sparkling as he unsnapped the fly of her jeans—"all human requirements."
In reply, she dared to slip one palm beneath his shirt, feeling the flushed heat of the flat, muscled abdomen she'd glimpsed earlier. "You'd know that answer better than I."
Lifting his hips in invitation, he purred, "Quite compatible, I am certain." His dark eyes narrowed to catlike slits as he tugged on the zipper of her pants.
She reached a hand to cup his cheek, feeling the bristling of his beard stubble, the warmth of his skin. He blinked beneath her examining touch, but did not squirm or flinch. That was when she realized what he had done: he'd put himself in the prone position, allowing her to be the one in control. This couldn't be an accidental choice, not with a warrior like Jared who no doubt planned his every move. No, he wanted her trust. And he wanted it badly—badly enough to risk assuming the vulnerable role in their first genuinely physical encounter.
Their eyes locking, she began to shiver uncontrollably. Between the way his body had begun to tease her into a fevered state, and her uncertainty about what he was truly inviting her to do, she couldn't seem to stop the trembling. Then, quiet as a Sunday-morning snowfall, she heard him in her center. Heard his words. Feel me! Touch!
And if she hadn't been sure of the invitation, he gave a slight, affirming nod, urging her to continue. Sliding both palms farther beneath his turtleneck, she found the rough casing of body armor and gave a little cry of frustration. He made several quick motions with his wrist and it fell open, exposing his chest, his stomach, his body. He shrugged out of his turtleneck, then discarded the body armor, revealing a golden-brown chest dusted with only a few silken hairs. Those trailed low on his abdomen, threading their way downward into his jeans, suggesting a predefined path of exploration like a well-lit runway at night.
But she chose the opposite direction, caressing his warm chest with both hands, feeling his nipples bead with arousal at her touch. The longer she caressed him, the more his chest heaved with uneven breaths. He licked his lips, swallowing visibly, his moody eyes drifting shut. For some reason, she recalled her first image of him from a week before: the blazing wall of power, erotic, bright, burning. Nothing like the much more physical man she straddled and stroked at the moment.
"This isn't even your body," she whispered, staring down at him. It was such an eerie feeling, this overpowering attraction—but to what? To whom, really? His dark eyes fluttered open again, fixing on her. Studying his handsome face, she continued, "Or, it is your body, but it's not your only body. Is that it, Jared?"
His black eyebrows narrowed. "It's one of my bodies," he answered in a soft voice, his chest rising and falling visibly. Beneath her hand, she could feel his heart's staccato, frantic rhythm.
She kept her open palm positioned right there, over his heart like a pledge. "Who is the golden one?" she whispered. "The one you showed me... that night?"
He slid his own hand over hers. "Me, as well."
"Are there others?" She had to know, had to understand this man who had touched her very soul.
He hesitated, watching her with a wary, guarded expression. But then something in his face changed, softening. "Many others, Kelsey."
"Then how can I possibly know you?" she cried, feeling tears burn at her eyes.
Grasping her strongly by the waist, he steadied her, saying, "This is me, Kelsey. Me." His dark eyes searched her face, begging for her trust "You see me. You feel me. Why does the form matter?"
"Because it does," she said, touching his face, outlining his strong cheekbone, then trailing her fingertips along the straight line of his nose. He had a beautiful, ruggedly formed face, and it literally caused her breath to catch as she touched it in appreciation. "It matters completely to me."
Words that he'd heard before, spoken by another woman in another time on another planet: the memories swam to the surface, causing a sharp stab of pain behind Jared's eyes. He blinked, trying to focus on the woman he held now, one whose eyes were open, accepting, who did not judge a man for choices he'd been forced to make. But she does not even know of those choices. He pressed his eyes shut, fighting the flood of images: of Lahrae's long black hair spilling down to her hips. Images of a young warrior who longed to love her, but feared his feelings more than the war he found himself fighting. If only he'd understood then why he’d feared l
oving Lahrae. That because his first love, Kelsey, had been traumatically stolen from him along with his memories of her, his deepest psyche had been afraid to love again. He’d guarded his heart from that time on Earth years before, and had kept guarding it until he’d found Kelsey again now.
"What's wrong?" Kelsey asked, caressing his cheek. "Jared, I don't want to hurt you."
I don't want to hurt you, love. I do not. Lahrae's voice, Lahrae's words in their shared Refarian language. The refrain of a woman who yearned to love a man who refused to be loved. Until it was too late. A man who had already loved once, but been made to forget. No wonder he had been unable to love Lahrae.
"I just want to see you," Kelsey whispered in a hoarse voice. He allowed his eyes to flutter open, and found her blue-eyed gaze fixed on him. "That's all, Jared. To see you."
His answer came out more gruff than he intended. "You have seen my core selves."
"Core selves," she repeated, searching his Refarian features. "How many are core?"
Maybe if he could make her grasp his dual identities, she could understand him. But he did not answer, and instead released a guttural sound, one that instantly caused her to shiver atop him. "This is me," he growled, and he felt the fire between them grow cold as he rolled her off of him. She spilled awkwardly onto the pillows beside him, sprawling there with a soft gasp of surprise. "You'd best learn now that I am not given to sentiment."
She turned on him, clutching one of the pillows against her chest. "I don't believe that," she insisted, her voice rising in anger. "You're crazy if you think I buy that for one minute! It goes against everything you've told me since I got here."
Staring at the ceiling, half praying for guidance, he made a simple grunt of displeasure, but said nothing more. One week was damned fast—too much control, too much power given into this alien woman's strong hands—and it terrified him.
"I do not like this hold you have on me," he snarled at her, rubbing his hand along his jaw. "It is too powerful for a stranger," he argued. Yet he, of all people, understood that they'd ceased to be strangers years ago. And in the past week, his actions had shattered every remaining barrier between them.
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