"Are you there, Kira?"
"Yep."
"I've made your favorite."
"Clam chowder?" Her stomach flopped. Even clam chowder failed to spark her appetite.
"Not just any clam chowder, but a special recipe from a new cookbook."
"Special?"
"New England style, dear, the real New England style. Let's see, it calls for clam juice, minced clams, potatoes, bacon, onion, pepper and milk. Or one can use half-and-half if they prefer."
Kira tapped a pencil on the desk, lost in ambiguous thoughts. Was it her turn to speak?
"Kira, are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm okay, Mom. Fine, that sounds fine. What time?"
"Say sevenish?"
"Seven it is, see you then."
She didn't care if her mom served the south end of a jackass, but she hadn't seen them in two weeks and knew they were worried about her. And the thought of returning to her dismal apartment tonight didn't excite her.
Leaping onto the desk to lick her face, Kissa seemed delighted about the invitation. "We've been invited for dinner tonight—clam chowder. I bet it's you're favorite too."
On the way to her doctor appointment, Kira's thoughts were scattered and desolate. Balion's words stormed through her mind, On my sacred oath, I will find ye. "Where are you, my Light-Prince, champion of my heart, soul of my soul?"
At first, she thought the nausea a physical manifestation of her travails through time travel. As the days droned on, her symptoms worsened and she realized the time for her monthly cycle had come and gone, long ago come and gone. She passed it off as an aberrant result of the drama, including her broken heart. But the time had come to recognize the symptoms, the need to empty her stomach every morning and the swelling of her breasts. The truth hit her with the potency of a brick slamming into her head. She was expecting a child.
Kira looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror frequently. Her hair was still copper; her eyes a deep shade of violet. Everything remained the same, except for a subtle plumpness to her slender body and a pearlescent glow to her skin that wasn't present before. Her hand shook as she picked up the phone to call Dr. Benton's office. A kind soul, the man had brought Kira into the world and had nursed Gran through her last days on earth. What would she tell him? She couldn't opt for the truth―that the father hailed from another century, lived in another world. Elation and terror struck at the same time. She would raise the child alone, the terror part. How wonderful it would be if the babe looked like Balion, the elation part. She sent a silent prayer skyward with an acute sense of peace, a part of the Light-Prince would be with her every day now for the rest of her life.
Doctor Benton's lobby loomed ascetic and austere before her. Her knees shook. Perhaps she should have told Eva, asked the woman to accompany her. She regretted her decision not to tell Eva once she was lying on the examination table while the doctor's cold fingers poked and prodded her most private parts.
"There can be no doubt, Kira, you are pregnant."
You are pregnant... you are pregnant. The terror part evaporated. Fear lay in her past, not in her future. She had lived through the worst of it, The Scarlet Angel, the Pantherinae, Umargo's near annihilation of Locke Cress. The thought of raising Balion's child alone no longer terrified her.
"When?" Her voice shook. "When is the baby due?"
"I believe you're about two months along." With a gentle hand, he lifted her into a sitting position. "Are there any plans to marry the father?"
Sure. As soon as I can figure out a way to transport myself to Locke Cress. "No, it isn't possible."
"I'm sorry to hear that. "
Her newfound courage spoke. "Have no doubt, Dr. Benton, this child will be loved beyond measure."
"Should I call your parents, help you break the news?"
"Thank you, it isn't necessary. I'll tell them tonight when I visit."
"Okay, Kira, I'll see you in four weeks." With one hand on the doorknob, he turned around. "If anything comes up in the meantime, call me and I'll work you into my schedule."
"Wait!"
His gray eyes searched hers. "Yes."
"You knew my Grandmother, Elizabeth."
"Quite well. A fascinating, intriguing woman." Sorrow marked his features. "I did my best to ease her discomfort at the end." He paused. "Too bad you never had a chance to spend time with her. You would have enjoyed her outlook on life, and death for that matter."
"My mother has kept her memory alive."
"I was honored to call her my friend."
"What color were her eyes?"
The sorrow was replaced by a wistful expression. "A color one could never forget, similar to yours."
"Purple?"
"Not purple, much more than just purple." He closed his eyes. "Have you ever seen the gentian that grows wild along the coast?"
She nodded.
"Add a dollop of pale blue and you have your grandmother's eyes." He smirked. "She often said―"
Kira knew what he was about to say. It hadn't been a dream. She had met her grandmother on some spiritual plane. Now she had a profound appreciation for earthly life, knowing Gran waited for her in the afterworld. "Time will tell."
"Why, yes, that's what she said all the time. She never said no or yes, always, time will tell."
Kira couldn't help the tears pooling in her eyes. "Thank you, Dr. Benton, for sharing that with me."
"My pleasure, dear." He opened the door. "Don't forget to make that appointment before you leave."
Kira dressed and stopped by the receptionist's desk to make her appointment before leaving. The heavy mantle of fear seemed lighter. The Gods had blessed her, her God, Balion's gods; she didn't know which and didn't much care. It wasn't all for naught, this magical, mystical world they'd shared for however brief a time. She would have Balion's child, a testament to the timeless love between them.
* * *
Several hours later, Kira parked the car in front of the ancient gate, plucked Kissa from the carrier, and walked up the steps of her parents' house. The moon shone bright. She stopped to gaze upon Sirius and wondered if he stood gazing upon the celestial object while remembering their last night together. For a brief moment, the desperate longing returned. Memories of Balion were like a disease she couldn't rid her body of. Her hands flew to her abdomen and she remembered her vow to discard the haunting visions.
The entry, lit by a single candle on the sideboard, loomed dreary as she closed the door behind her. To the left, candlelight suffused the dining room, a result of her mother's romantic nature. The woman would need more than candles after Kira told her she'd be a grandmother in seven months.
She tried to imagine what her mother would say or how her father would react. Her heart accelerated into rapid beats. They had always supported her through life's peaks and valleys. Her father was her biggest champion, her mother a pillar of strength. They had spent hours discussing her travel through time, including every sordid detail about her trip to Locke Cress. Minus the X-rated details. But they could read between the lines, wouldn't be shocked to learn she'd shared intimate moments with the Light-Prince. Wasn't it written all over her face whenever she spoke of him?
She called out to them and released Kissa from the cage. "Hello, the guest of honor is here. Anybody home?"
She spied the note on the table. Gone to Wickford. Forgot dessert. Will return shortly. Her mother's writing.
"Great," she mumbled. "Invite me for supper and disappear."
She tossed her coat across the back of a chair and headed for the library. Her father's collection was eclectic and varied. Alphabetized by author name, she bypassed Austen. No Pride and Prejudice for her, no weepy love stories to remind her of the emptiness in her heart. She pulled A.J. Quinnell's latest from the shelf—a perfect choice, something violent and mercenary, a book to hold her interest and rid her mind of the poignant memories of the Light-Prince.
A rustle from the corner stopped her heart. De
ar, God, someone was in the room with her. Narrowing her eyes, she searched the dark corners. A terrified gasp left her lips when a tall, muscular form rose from a chair and stepped into the dim light.
Her heart pounded against her rib cage and next his name fell from her lips on a strangled moan. "Balion."
In a noiseless stride, he came to her, all power and manly heat. Dark with passion, his eyes cut through the empty space between them. Not a word left his lips as he pulled her into his arms and devoured her mouth. He backed her up until her knees hit the sofa. He pushed her onto the cushions and joined her with his hard, hot body. Heaven help her, was it a dream? Knowledgeable fingers found her breast through the filmy fabric of her blouse. He stared into her eyes with infinite patience, releasing every button until her breasts were exposed. His tongue curled around one hard, erect nipple, eliciting a low moan of pleasure from her throat.
Dear, God, don't let this be a hallucination.
Continuing his provocative exploration of her body, he slid his hand down her jeans and caressed the taut skin of her belly. He slid her zipper down and rolled the pants from her hips. Removing them from her ankles, he tossed them across the room. Sapphire eyes burned with a fiery heat and pierced her soul like a fine-edged blade.
His hands worked with increasing feverishness as they glided up her thighs, seeking her warm, wet sex. A moan of anguished desire broke from her lips as he entered her with those magical fingers. Her body trembled and much to her delight, so did his hand as he caressed and tormented her. A flood of dampness spilled from her womb, sheathing his fingers in hot, slick moisture.
With his sensual mouth inches from hers, the temptation was too great for her to ignore. She twined her fingers in his hair and pulled him to her, basking in the taste of him. Her soul-starved senses cried out her hunger and her mouth uttered his name again and again. Undulating beneath him, he withdrew his fingers and straddled her.
She responded wantonly, her arms clutching him, terrified to think in a moment he'd be gone. She didn't want to discover it had been an illusion, some sickening form of mind-torture.
His fingers traced the outline of her lips, and finally he spoke, his voice clear, so real, tears streamed down her face. "Ye are mine, forever and I am yours."
"But how did you―"
He discarded his clothing and silenced her with another kiss. Her mind reeled from the delicious assault. She felt his hard member nudge her entrance. Soon he'll be inside me again. Lord help me, not soon enough.
There were no words of adoration this time, no tender acts of love as he plunged into her, hard and deep. Her hands began an exploration of their own and slid down his back and next, over the taut muscles of his buttocks. She clutched and pulled, trying to pull him closer, deeper. Their joining was fierce, urgent, lacking any of the tenderness or patience it held before. Kira was drowning in him, caught up in a tidal wave of ecstasy. Her body drenched in perspiration, her body arched up to meet his, but still Balion did not stop. He set upon her like a hawk devouring its prey and she exalted in it.
Caught in a maelstrom of steamed heat, she floated like space dust and tumbled to the earth faster than a renegade star. Crying out his name, her climax came in an intense onslaught. With one final plunge, Balion collapsed on top of her.
Her tears flowed in the aftermath. He spoke again, so softly, she wondered if she imagined it. "On my sacred oath, I said I would find ye."
"Yes." She turned to him and studied his face as if to memorize every feature all over again. "What now, my love? I can't bear the thought of losing you again."
He ran his hand over her belly. "Ye carry my child?"
She nodded and searched his eyes. "Are you displeased?"
"By the Saints, woman. I have never felt such joy."
"But you have a kingdom to lead; you are sovereign now."
"Aye, and one day we must return."
She sighed and traced the erotic line of his lips with her thumb. "You said we?"
"Without ye and our babe, I fear I would not be a good king." Another question hung on her tongue, but he silenced her with a finger to her mouth. "I do not have all the answers ye seek. Is it not enough to know I have found ye again and we shall not be parted?"
"Yes," she whispered. "More than enough."
Long minutes later, he lifted his body from hers and dressed her with infinite tenderness. He fastened each tiny button with trembling hands and probed the depth of her eyes as if he couldn't believe she was in his arms again. She prayed this wasn't some sick act of sorcery. He was here in the flesh. The Light-Prince of her dreams had come for her.
A chant filled the room, a sonorous incantation delivered on the lips of an angel. "I have sent ye across the wine-dark waters to this place, and here ye will find your destiny."
"Thank you, Grandmother," she said, her throat clogged with emotion.
The front door opened and voices drifted down the hallway, her mother's and next her father's. They were laughing of all things, enjoying some private joke.
Their faces awash with joy, they stopped under the archway of the library door. Kira lifted her head. "But how did you know he would come?"
Her mother's lavender eyes sparkled. "Dust and moonlight, dear, dust and moonlight."
***
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The Fairy Bargain
by Blaire Edens
CHAPTER 1
FayeLynn stared at the plastic wand in total disbelief.
Two pink lines stared back at her. When she’d taken the first test, she’d told herself it was a mistake. A bad test. But now, after the second time, the reality of it slammed into her, making it difficult to breathe.
The only time she’d ever had a one-night stand and now she was going to pay the price.
Her dreams of art school, becoming an animator, moving to Tokyo—they all whooshed by in a dizzying blur.
She leaned back against the cool tile of the wall and flushed the toilet again. She’d already been in here too long, and she hoped the extra flush would give her manager, Charles, the idea that she wasn’t feeling well. In reality, this was way worse than a stomach virus.
This was life-changing. Life-shattering.
She’d bought the box of two tests from the Bottom Dollar on her way to work. She didn’t want to take them at home in case they were positive. Her dad still thought of her as his little girl and he was going to be incredibly disappointed in her when he found out she was going to be a single mom at twenty-one. By taking the tests here, she’d have some time to think about her options and tell her dad when the time was right, if there was such a thing.
Shit.
She stared at the pink lines again. Still positive.
FayeLynn tucked the test back into the box with the other one and threw both of them into the metal waste can. She tossed some crumpled paper towels on top of them. After reapplying her lip gloss and washing her hands, she headed back into the crowded café where she worked. Even though it was nearly two o’clock, the location of the restaurant meant it stayed busy all day. With all the tourists tromping through Asheville, they did a steady business from open to close, especially in the summer.
“You okay?” Charles asked as she tied her apron.
“Yep,” she mumbled, unable to meet his eyes. “Just a little unsettled.”
Charles was an older fellow, somewhere between starring in a Viagra commercial and The Big Sleep, and he’d bought the Butterfly Café after he retired from his job as an engineer in Detroit. The nasally accent still grated on FayeLynn’s nerves, but as a manager, and sometimes surrogate grandfather, Charles was golden.
“Sure?” He placed his hands on her upper arms.
“Sure,” she replied. Unable to trust herself to meet his eyes, she slid loose and walked past the counter and into the dining room. “Table four needs me.”
She finished her shift on auto-pilot, unable to think of anything but those pink lines on the pregnancy test. Several hours later, her work finished, she took off her apron and tossed it in the laundry bin.
“See you tomorrow, Charles,” she called on her way out the door.
“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on with you,” he said to her back. “Maybe I could help.”
She didn’t look back at him; she couldn’t. “I’m not sure anyone can help.”
***
The last of the late summer light was fading into gray.
Alvin Fairchild was sick of sleeping on the ground. It was hard and cold and not his style. At all. Before he’d been tossed out of the palace, he’d never slept on anything less than the best bed covered with the finest linens.
Totally out of his comfort zone, he’d been thrust into Asheville, North Carolina with nothing but the clothes on his back and the ability to look like a regular human. He used one of his special talents—the gift of being able to see a person’s future by touching the pulse point on her wrist—to make enough money to eat. At least Asheville was that kind of town, where psychics and tarot readers were not only accepted but encouraged.
He pulled his tattered parka from the backpack he’d dug out of the trash a couple of weeks ago. After placing it under his head and tucking his arms inside his T-shirt, he tried to get comfortable. He’d considered moving closer to the French Broad River where he could at least hear the sound of the water churning downhill toward the piedmont and onto coast as he slept, but the tourists weren’t as well-heeled down there and he needed to survive.
As an exile from his world, the one with fabulous sheets and silk suits, Alvin wanted to go home. He’d spent the last six weeks trying to figure out how, but so far, he’d only made enough cash to eat and buy the occasional pair of socks from the Salvation Army store on Birch Street.
Tonight, getting comfortable was proving more difficult than ever. Even though it was warm during the day, with this elevation, the nights were still way too chilly for his taste. He should be thankful his father hadn’t banished him to Cleveland or Detroit. He had no idea how the people in either city would respond to fortune-telling.
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