"And T'Nar has a lot to learn about his all too human sister."
T'Mal's husky laugh made Dale smile.
"Too many loved ones have disappeared from your life, leaving no body for you to grieve over,” T'Mal continued. “In Shakar culture, the body must be viewed before death can be accepted. Without a body to grace the funeral pyre, the Shakar is trapped forever between this world and the next. Only by fire can his spirit be released to the afterlife. His family cannot grieve for him or pay homage to his spirit. His mate may never bond with another. His possessions are left to rot, untouched. Any who would do so are considered cursed."
"Humans on my world are not quite so strict, but we do have our customs and traditions surrounding death. Still, it would have been a comfort to have said good-bye. My last words to Raf were cold and hard. He died thinking I hated him for being a warrior."
"Raf del Jakar was no fool. He heard the words of your heart."
She couldn't hate Raf for being what she was herself. A warrior. Not a warrior in the sense of one who engaged in war, but a person who fought body, heart, mind, and soul for what was right and honorable. All the people she loved in her life were warriors—her father, Steven, Cathy, Thea, and Raf.
"Speak with this Prince Ash de Gar.” T'Mal's voice broke through her revelation. “Perhaps he will give you ease about your sister."
"My heart is already at peace. I'll always grieve for those I've lost, but I'll never again deny they were mine. Raf loved me. I can live with that knowledge and the loss. You are a wise man, T'Mal."
"I am not a man. I am Shakar. Do not forget again."
Dale chuckled. Though he said the words softly and without anger, Dale heard the male pique in his voice.
"Fur or no fur, a man is a man,” she told him.
His deep growl scattered the sailors before him as he stalked away.
Feeling suddenly free and lighthearted, Dale threw back her head and let her laughter ring out over the water.
* * * *
A week later Dale waited nervously in Castle Mar's great hall.
When they'd arrived and demanded an audience with Ash de Gar, a small, wizened man, dressed in flowing white robes frowned at their lack of respect. But he took their names and made them wait. Minutes later he returned with the palace guard. T'Mal pulled his sword, but one look from the old man's piercing eyes stayed his hand. He objected loudly when the old man requested that Dale go with him alone. Not sensing any danger she reassured T'Mal and followed the old man into the great hall.
Now, still dressed in her travel-stained clothing, and her back aching, she stood alone in the empty hall, waiting. Her stomach growled in hunger. Maybe she should have taken T'Mal's advice and found a meal and lodging before attempting an audience with Prince Ash de Gar. But impatient to conclude her business and get back to Thea, she'd pushed ahead.
Running her fingers through her hair, she looked around the hall. Large enough to hold a thousand people, the polished stone floor stretched from wall to wall. No columns broke the endless expanse. The walls rose over three stories high, soaring to an arched ceiling. Church-like stained glass windows, depicting what she assumed were images of battles and conquests of previous kings, graced the two opposing walls. The sun shone through the colorful pictures, throwing rainbows of light into the enormous chamber.
At the far side of the hall stood a dais, which held two large intricately carved chairs as well as a dozen other less ornate ones. The stone wall behind the dais seemed odd. A sliver of light seeped in along an almost unseen center seam. Curiosity had Dale moving closer to investigate.
The click of a door and the sound of firm footsteps on stone made her turn. Even across the length of the hall she recognized Ash. He wore a floor-length, purple velvet robe, delicately embroidered and studded with tiny crystals. A gold sash around his waist molded the robe to his lean body. The soft feminine attire should have looked ridiculous, but instead it accented his blatant masculinity. Sandy blond hair brushed the top of his shoulders and swung loose as he walked toward her.
Cathy had called this man her Mystic Warrior. At one time Dale had considered using him as a model for her sculpture, as Cathy had for her drawings. But Dale now realized that neither stone nor metal, nor pen and paper, could ever capture his power and grace.
She stood motionless as he stepped up to her. As with Raf, she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Pain lanced through her heart at the thought of Raf. She touched her belly. Though it was too soon to feel him, she could swear her son stirred inside her.
Ash held out his hands, then let them fall slowly to his sides as she ignored them.
"I did not believe Zard Akester when he said a woman called Dale Stuart-Taylor demanded an audience. But you are here."
She remained silent.
"Come. Sit.” He motioned her toward the dais and waited until she sat in the smaller of the two thrones. He seated himself in the larger and leaned forward. “Tell me how you come to be here."
Now that she finally faced the man who'd stolen Cathy away from her and sent Raf to his death, Dale found herself without anything to say. Anger and hatred no longer ate at her soul. Both Cathy and Raf had made their own choices. She held out the small shard of crystal.
Ash accepted the piece. “Remains of the Moon Crystal.” He looked into her eyes. “You came in search of your sister?"
"Yes and no.” Dale's voice felt raspy as she related what had happened since she'd last seen him and Cathy. He listened without comment or expression, though his gaze narrowed when she told him of Raf's death. “I'm not exactly sure why I've come to see you, but I know what's it's like to have questions without answers. When Cathy disappeared with you, the not knowing was worse than when Raf told me how she died. I felt you deserved to know how your friend died."
"But Cathy is..."
"Ash de Gar!” An angry voice interrupted what Ash was about to say.
They turned as a woman, a vision in white and gold, rushed across the hall toward them.
Ash sprang to his feet. Guilt and worry creased his mouth into a frown. “You should not yet be out of bed."
"Nonsense. It's been two weeks,” the woman insisted as she came closer. “I just had a baby, not major surgery."
Dale realized this must be the Princess Katrina, Ash's wife. Something about the woman's voice struck a chord inside Dale. Unsure of how to react to this interruption, she stood and waited.
The woman skidded to a halt a few feet from Ash. When he reached out for her, she smacked his hand away.
"How could you keep this from me?” she demanded, her warm, chocolate-brown eyes filling with tears.
"I was unsure of the truth. I wished to confirm her identity before you were disappointed,” Ash said.
"I'm a big girl. I can take disappointment. You had no right.” She turned toward Dale as she told him, “We'll talk about this later."
Dale almost felt sorry for the chagrined Ash.
Princess Katrina's brown eyes locked with a strange, almost hungry, intensity on Dale.
"Dale.” Princess Katrina reached out her hand. “Don't you know me?"
"Go slow, my love,” Ash cautioned.
Dale's heartbeat seemed to trip and slow as time stretched out between them. She swayed. Deep in her soul she knew this woman.
"Look at me, Dale. Really look. It's me. Cathy."
"It can't be. Cathy's dead. Raf saw her die—a sword through her heart—and he saw her body dissolved into nothingness by a bolt of lightning."
The woman's image wavered and blurred. For a moment Dale could see Cathy's impish grin and short, dark hair, superimposed over Katrina's golden beauty.
"Cathy?"
Then the vision faded along with the light. Dale felt herself falling. She heard Cathy's frightened cry as she tumbled into oblivion.
* * * *
"Go away. I'm still angry with you."
"Perhaps. But yours should not be the first face she sees when
she awakens."
"Yes, it should."
Dale stirred to the sound of heated whispers. She blinked open her eyes and saw that she was lying on a soft bed in a comfortably appointed bedroom. Ash and Princess Katrina stood next to the bed, arguing. Despite their words, the love between them was obvious.
A pang of loneliness made Dale's eyes burn with unshed tears. Twice in her life she'd glimpsed the heaven of love, and twice it had been snatched from her prematurely.
A flutter in her belly made her smile. Just gas, of course. It couldn't be her unborn son yet, but the feeling drove away self-pity. In her few short years with Steven, and her even shorter time with Raf, she'd experienced more love than most women did in a lifetime. And both men had left her with precious gifts—Thea and ... Zale.
"Zale,” she whispered. “Zale Stuart-Taylor de Jakar.” The name fit for their unborn son.
"You're awake,” Cathy said.
The idea that this lovely young woman was somehow her sister, Cathy, no longer shocked or surprised Dale. She held out her hand and smiled. “Hi, sis."
Tears streamed down Cathy's cheeks as she pressed Dale's hand to her face and sank onto the edge of the bed where Dale rested.
"Take it easy there, sis.” Dale sat up and gathered the now sobbing Cathy into her arms.
Ash looked on helplessly, his face tight with concern.
"It's okay,” Dale told him. “She'll be fine. Just some postnatal hormones."
"I am not hormonal,” Cathy insisted, her voice muffled against Dale's chest. “I'm just so happy,” she wailed through a fresh bout of tears.
Someone knocked on the door. Ash opened it and listened to the person's whispered message. He looked over at Dale, a strange expression on his face. The messenger stood waiting. Ash appeared torn, eager to follow up on whatever he'd just learned, but hesitant to leave his wife's side.
Dale smiled at him. “You can leave us alone. We'll be fine.” She lifted Cathy's face to meet her gaze. “We have a lot of catching up to do. And I have a new niece or nephew to meet."
Cathy sniffed and said, “N-niece. Her n-name is Erica."
Ash nodded and hurried out of the room.
"Guess now I really am your older sister,” Dale teased. On Earth Cathy had been five years Dale's senior, but in her new body, Cathy wasn't much older than her early twenties.
Cathy sat up, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I always said you had an old soul. I've missed you so much."
Funny, Dale thought, how easy it was to look past Cathy's physical appearance and see the sister she'd always known and loved. Blond or brunette. Tall or short. Lame or whole. This woman was Cathy, her sister.
They talked for hours. Each relating their lives since they'd parted. They visited the bathing chamber and talked more in the warm, steaming heat. Years melted away. Cathy summoned a servant and had little Erica brought to them. They both cooed over the adorable baby. Dale watched as Cathy nursed the infant and rocked her to sleep, eager for the time she'd nurse her own son.
The thought that Raf would never know his son tore at Dale's heart.
* * * *
A commotion outside her room woke Dale. At the sound of a loud crash, she bolted up in bed. She, Cathy and Erica had all fallen asleep together, but now she was alone. Outside the window, long shadows crept over the ground as the sun sank.
Someone shouted, the words unintelligible, but unmistakably angry. Another person, Dale thought it might be Ash, answered in a loud but calm voice. She couldn't make out his words, either.
She got out of bed and grimaced in distaste. She'd fallen asleep wearing nothing but a silky robe. The belt was missing and the robe refused to remain closed as she got up. Her hair was tangled around her head, and her mouth tasted like a spinner's lair smelled.
A shrill familiar shriek came from the open window behind her. She gripped the front of the robe together and turned.
"Ava!” Dale cried in delight. The last time she'd seen the bird it had disappeared down the mountain. Lost in her grief, Dale had forgotten about the creature.
Dale dodged Ava's excited greeting as the bird flew into the room, her broad wingspan knocking into lamps and catching on the filmy curtains and bedding. Her sharp talons ripped the material to shreds. Feathers floated in the air. Finally, Ava settled on the headboard of the bed and began preening her ruffled feathers, as if the room around her wasn't in shambles.
Dale had started toward the bird, when the door crashed open. She whirled around and froze. A dark shadow stood silhouetted in the light of the doorway. Her heart started to pound.
"I think you should wait.” Ash's voice came from behind the figure.
"No."
She clutched her arms around her middle at the sound of the all too familiar voice.
"Come away, Ash.” Cathy tugged the reluctant Ash back into the corridor.
The door closed behind the figure, leaving him and Dale alone.
Afraid to breathe and shatter this fragile dream she stood rigid. This couldn't be Raf. It couldn't be!
Chapter Nineteen
Raf stood in the shadow of the doorway and drank in the sight of the woman he loved—the woman he had clawed his way out of oblivion to return to.
Motionless, she stared back, her eyes wide and full of disbelief and fear.
He took a step forward. She gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth to smother the sound. Tears trickled down her pale cheeks. The long, silky robe she wore gaped open. The edges caught on the peaks of her breasts and hung there, fluttering wildly with her every breath.
He moved into the light.
"Raf,” she breathed out on an uneven whisper. Then her eyes closed and her knees buckled.
He caught her as she crumpled.
Resting his knee on the edge of the bed, he tried to put her down. While her body felt fragile in his arms, her grip on his shoulders was strong and determined.
He smiled. Whether she believed him to be real or imagined, his little tiguer would hold onto him tight.
Slipping his arm around her waist, he lay on the bed beside her. She buried her face against his chest and sobs racked her slim frame.
"Do not cry, Little Tiguer. I am here."
Abruptly, her tears stopped. Raf sucked in his breath when her chilled fingers slipped under his shirt and moved over his skin. He didn't object as she stripped off his clothing with frantic hands. When her tongue stroked over his collarbone, he groaned a silent thanks to Ash for insisting he bathe before seeing Dale.
The long trip around the mountain after the pass blew up, and the days and nights traveling just a step behind Dale and her party, had left little time for personal hygiene.
Her hand, now warm with passion, closed around the evidence of his desire. Eyes still squeezed shut, she tugged him toward her.
"Be easy, or it will end before it begins.” He took her hands in his and tried to soothe her eagerness. “Open your eyes. Look at me."
"I can't.” Dale shook her head. “I'm afraid that you'll disappear. That you're not real. That I'm only dreaming you're here."
"Touch me. Feel my heartbeat. I am real.” He placed her palm against his chest. Her fingers curled into a tight fist of fearful denial. “When the mountain exploded around me, I feared I would never again experience the completion I found in your arms. Then, after the dust settled and I was yet alive, I feared you would use the crystal to return to your world and be lost to me forever. To find you here is a dream. One I do not want to end too quickly. Share my dream. Open your eyes."
She opened her eyes, and they were bright with love as she gazed up at him.
"Oh, Raf!” She threw her arms around him. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks, and he kissed away the salty moisture. His mouth slid over her eager flesh, until her sobs turned to sighs of pleasure. Words were unnecessary as they came together in the universal dance of love.
* * * *
Something tickled Dale's nose. She twitched. The tickle didn't end. She
slapped at the irritation. Her hand landed against hard, warm flesh. Her eyes snapped open to meet Raf's laughing gaze. She flinched and looked around the room.
Sunlight streamed in through the window. A warm breeze played lightly with the shredded curtains. Head tucked beneath her wing, Ava perched on the footboard of the bed.
Despite their long night of passion, the resulting ache between her thighs, and Raf's hard body pressed against her side, Dale still doubted this was real. Afraid he might yet vanish, she couldn't bring herself to look at him. She toyed with the sheet.
"When I saw the pass explode, I thought you were dea...” Her voice cracked. “I thought I'd lost you."
"I said I would return to you. Do you doubt the word of a warrior?"
Warrior. Dale's flesh chilled. Raf was still a warrior. For a moment in time, she'd forgotten.
He'd come back to her—this time. But what of the next time and the time after that? Could she live with the fear?
Yes! After all her doubts, the answer was easy. The alternative—life without Raf—was too unbearable to consider. She'd tasted that hell. And though Raf might yet leave her as Steven had, she would grab onto and savor each moment with Raf.
"Of course, officially, I am no longer a warrior."
"What?” Dale jerked away to stare at Raf. “What the hell are you talking about? How can you not be a warrior?"
Raf's cheeks reddened. He ducked his head. “Prince Ash has asked that I serve as Ambassador to the Azul Mountain Shakar. I have accepted."
Dale placed her palms on either side of Raf's face and forced him to look at her. “And you're happy with this?
"Yes."
His eyes confirmed the truth of his words.
Relief coursed through her, but honesty forced her to add, “I was wrong to ask you to ignore your vow. When I thought you were dead, I discovered that I'm as much a warrior as you. If I hadn't seen Devros crushed beneath the rocks, I would have pursued him to the end of time to make him pay for your death. You don't have to give up being a warrior for me."
He cupped her hands beneath his own and moved one to his lips. The warmth of his breath against her palm sent a shiver of longing through Dale.
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