She choked on a laugh. “Anytime.”
He moved fast. Yanked the sheet from between them. Rolled and speared inside of her. Desperate pleasure twisted tight inside her. Only a little bit away from ecstasy.
But he didn’t move.
She had a feeling that he was going to make her lose control first, and she didn’t care. “Cratag.” She clamped her hands on his shoulders, tried to arch, to make him move, to take the delight just out of reach.
“Yes. My name. Say it again.”
“Cratag.”
“Again.”
“Cratag, and third time’s a charm!” she cried.
He laughed, and it was enough to push her over into shattering, a thousand pieces of her being swept away and tumbled about and then slowly melding together once more. To find that he was watching her with glinting eyes. “You are so very beautiful,” he murmured. “And never so beautiful as now.”
She chuckled, felt him still thick and steely in the depths of her. “I thought the same thing about you, this morning.”
His brows rose in surprise. “Surely not.”
“Surely so.” Her hands had fallen to the bedsponge. Now she lifted them and let her fingers trace the well-defined muscles of his arms, slid her fingers to his chest, caressing a scar on the way, and put her thumbs over his nipples, rubbed.
He shuddered and penetrated her a little more, and she loved it.
“So,” she said throatily. “Are you going to fiinish this business?”
A wariness came to his eyes.
“What?” she asked, feeling that despite everything she was going to lose this moment.
“It isn’t business, is it?”
Tsking, she set her hands behind his neck and lifted to brush a kiss on his mouth. “Of course it isn’t. Nothing of business in this. We have no business between us.” She angled her head and kissed him again, and when she stopped her head was muzzy and she was breathless. “Only pleasure.”
She kissed him once more, opened herself to all of him, her emotions and her mind to the bond between them. Only caring, she sent telepathically.
He put a hand under her neck, and she let her head fall back. He shook his head. “I have never had such a lover as you.”
She smiled. “I can say the same.”
“Look at me.”
She’d closed her eyes, luxuriating in the feel of him. So she opened her lashes and stared into his eyes. They were dark now, the deep violet of evening turning to night. He flexed his lower body and the power of him moved inside her—his body, his will. She sensed a need from him that she didn’t understand; then it was hidden and gone as he stroked and both of them lost clear thought and only felt.
Once again he stopped just as she was teetering on the edge of release. She sucked in a breath and narrowed her eyes at him. “Just what game are you playing?” She meant it to be a demand, but it was more of a gasp.
His jaw flexed, and she realized he was at the edge of orgasm too. “I heard.” He took a shuddering breath then continued. “I heard that if a man and a woman, uh, stay together, uh, sexually . . .” Red was actually tinting the broad line of his cheekbones, “they develop a deeper bond.”
She blinked up at him. She hadn’t ever heard that, but it was certainly an interesting idea. Not the time to ask D’Marigold ResidenceLibrary about it. “Closer than the link we already have between us?”
He cupped a hand over her left breast. “It’s a physical link between us, our bodies. Our fle sh will always know the touch of the other.”
She liked the notion. “Are you asking me to stay in bed with you all day?” she teased.
“Yes.” He bit off the word.
She twined her arms around his neck, used a bit of her renewed Flair to mold the bedsponge into a more comfortable shape beneath her, since she was going to be under Cratag for a while.
Sooner or later during this day she would make him lose control and visit a very enjoyable revenge upon him with some of her own games. So she smiled.
And she did do that sooner.
And later.
She had spent the day entwined with him, exploring him. Letting him explore her with hands and mouth. He learned all her tastes, and she learned his, became expert in what drove him crazy with lust. It had been a marvelous day, and probably the worst idea he’d ever had. How was he ever going to get her out of his blood and brain and mind and heart now?
Why had he done it? He’d wanted . . . he didn’t know what he’d wanted or what he’d thought. His mind had been fogged by pure desire.
They had discovered a fully stocked no-time close to the bed, full of good food as well as a couple of strange selections like six flavors of mousse. They’d experimented with them all.
There had been extremely brief toilet breaks and much longer bathing breaks and a session or two under the waterfall. He was glad he had the stamina that he did, and could only guess that her dancing had given Signet the stamina she had.
Finally, the Residence and their Fams had insisted on seeing them for a “civilized meal,” and they had dressed for dinner. Signet looked almost as good in clothes as she did without. Her color was good, and whatever energy she had depleted in the early morning with Avellana in Passage had been renewed by the time she’d awakened him.
He bowed as he met her outside her door. She had dressed in cloth of gold with an orangish copper trim around her sleeves, tunic hem, and trous cuffs, every inch the GrandLady. He didn’t think he looked so bad either. He wore one of his best tunics and trous suit, formal with a lot of fabric gathered at wrists and ankles, in the Hawthorn colors of purple and gold. Deep purple complemented his coloring more than the lighter shade that T’Hawthorn and Laev wore, and he knew he looked as good as the Hawthorn tailor could make him.
As they walked down the stairs a slight frown crossed Signet’s face.
“Problem?” he asked.
She glanced at him, fllushed a little.
“Ah, this morning before we conducted our great experiment—which I believe turned out to be true, by the way—I was wondering if you felt whether Laev Hawthorn also underwent Passage last night.”
It hadn’t occurred to him, but that was a reasonable deduction to make. “I felt nothing from him last night.” Now that he thought back, that wasn’t quite true. He’d felt pulses of giddy elation through his bond with Laev. Maybe that had helped keep him sane during the dark and scary septhours of the night. Couldn’t have hurt.
Signet sighed, bringing him back to the moment, and they went into the kitchen.
Dinner was excellent, with an atmosphere of easy affection between them all, human and Fams. Beadle sat and grinned at Cratag, announcing that he no longer feared the night. He hopped into Cratag’s lap and licked his chin. Eyes sparking, Beadle thanked Cratag for allowing him to explore outside. The link between his Fam and himself had deepened, too.
After the meal, Cratag accompanied Signet to the theater and watched a comedy and laughed a lot.
Later he made love with Signet, and then they fell asleep.
It was the most perfect day of his life.
Cratag trained alone in his morning session. He’d greeted the Hazels noncommittally when they’d arrived, but was still irritated at how they’d treated Signet. As if she was a servant of their House, at their beck and call. Yes, they were concerned parents, but they had known Avellana was through Passage and safe through their shared link. Now they were smoothing their unreasonable demands of Signet by complimenting her over tea . . . that she had provided.
Maybe he was thinking of his status in the T’Hawthorn Household, too. He checked in with the Family guards every other day. All was going smoothly, but he was beginning to feel more disconnected from the Family he’d worked with and fought for and considered himself a part of.
Maybe T’Hawthorn was feeling Cratag’s dissatisfaction through their Family link, because he’d sent a gift over to D’Marigold house for Cratag. A brand-new top-of-the-pyr
amid fighting simulacrum. Of course T’Hawthorn hadn’t called it a gift, but a new addition to his household for the guards that Cratag should check out.
The magically crafted humanoid was as large as Cratag himself, so he didn’t have to pull any punches, and he was getting a better workout than any he’d had since he last took on the Hollys in the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon. Even better because the simulacrum had random patterns of Flaired fiighting, and Cratag was beginning to know all the Hollys’ weaknesses. As they might be learning his own, so the humanoid was excellent for training.
Maybe Cratag was grouchy because he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep the night before . . . as he would have expected to. He’d been plagued by disturbing dreams that he couldn’t quite remember—except he’d been someplace where everyone had spoken a different language than he. The problem was, they were all people he knew and cared for—Signet, Laev, Vinni, T’Hawthorn, Hanes . . . and Avellana just studied him with cool eyes.
One of his old “outsider” dreams that he hated. Another weakness.
He’d just “killed” the construct when a dark mental spear of energy hit him and he fell.
Another Passage fugue of Laev’s, hopefully the last. Cratag rolled to his back on the mat. He thought D’Marigold Residence commented, but he could only choke out an unintelligible sound. They were both bonded to Signet, and she’d sensed what was happening, so she could answer the Residence. That was the last complicated thought he had. He just lay and suffered.
This was the worst. Like being back in bad dreams.
Oppressive darkness all around, streaking flashes of Flair he didn’t understand, Laev’s murky emotions. Another time when Cratag stood and watched and did little. He knew Laev battled his inner demons . . . his own faults and fears and guilts, and Cratag suffered with him.
The door to the training room opened and shut, and Cratag scented his lover’s floral and spice fragrance before she sat beside him, took one of his hands between her hot ones. Linked with him, and it was as if she wrapped arms around him, stood just behind him, leaning against his back. He reveled in her touch.
That was a mistake.
Through Cratag’s bond with Laev, the youngster felt the surge of Cratag’s tenderness for Signet. That diverted Laev from his guilt, but plunged him into another strong emotion—l ust.
They all groaned together, and through a red haze of desire, Cratag felt Laev move, go to his workroom, and start feverishly sculpting a block of marble, making a HeartGift. That lasted an eternity, and once the HeartGift was created, Cratag sensed Laev’s yearning, aching confusion. He wanted to touch his HeartMate as he had previously, should have been able to find her, link with her, especially now he knew who she was . . .
What? That thought of Laev’s jolted Cratag back into a little detachment, into Cratag instead of Cratag-Laev.
“What’s going on?” Avellana’s voice was too high.
She was a distraction to Cratag. He wanted to get a better feel for Laev’s emotions, his thoughts, something important was happening.
“Cratag is linked with Laev HawthornHeir as he experiences Passage,” Signet said.
“Oh.” There was a little silence, but Cratag felt the girl come closer, and cats’ purring roared in his ears.
“Do I look like that?” Avellana sounded worried, disapproving, other stuff Cratag couldn’t sort out.
“I don’t know. I’m with you in Passage,” Signet replied.
Du sniffed. You look and smell much worse. Passage lasts much longer. Not pleasant.
Cratag was aroused, and he was embarrassed and distressed that the girl might notice. He should let go of Signet’s soft hand, but he couldn’t make himself do so.
Rhyz yowled from a few meters away. We are off our schedule. Time to go to the craft room. You are making a holo of Me for Me. We did not work on it at all yesterday.
Saved by the cat.
“I’m going with Rhyz.” The girl nearly ran away.
Good.
Signet said, “That’s fine. Rhyz, please let me know if she needs anything.”
“Yesss,” hissed the cat.
Cratag sensed them leave. The purrs revved again, one furry body pressed his side, Beadle. Another cat walked back and forth over his ankles, which he hated. Du.
The darkness and brightness and uniqueness of Laev’s thoughts were receding, too, until there was a shout of triumph from him as he awoke . . . finished with his Second Passage at last.
A migraine pounded Cratag into unconsciousness.
Twenty-five
Signet bit her lip, torn between staying with Cratag and going to Avellana. Her duty to the child and a FirstFamilies contract warring with her concern for her love, her lover.
Beadle hopped onto his chest, part of which was showing through his training tunic, and curled up, smiling at Signet. I will stay with My FamMan.
She nodded, “Thank you.” Reluctantly she released Cratag’s hand. He’d been cold, then hot. She hadn’t entered the link he had with Laev. She’d have been intruding on a private connection, but she’d dimly sensed the boy’s flu ctuating emotional storms, had been with Cratag to support him.
Slowly she rose and glanced at Cratag. His temples were beaded with sweat, his body subsiding to normal. The lust he’d felt she had felt, too, but her clothes had hidden her arousal. She was sure Avellana hadn’t noticed Cratag’s lower body. The girl had stared at his gray, grimacing face. The physical evidence of Passage had frightened the child who had only awoken clean and tidy in her own bed with her Family around her.
Signet rolled tense shoulders. Beadle would look after Cratag, and. . . . “Residence, once I’ve left the room, secure it so no one can enter.”
“Yes, Signet,” the Residence replied.
She hesitated, glancing at a big simulacrum that was disturb ingly featureless. Signet wondered who Cratag might like to best in a fight. Who he might ever consider a personal enemy. She came up with no one.
She had no terrible enemies herself, so she chose the worst man she’d heard of. “Simulacrum? Can you look like the late GrandLord Ioho T’Yew?” She wouldn’t mind pounding on a likeness of that one herself.
“Yes.”
So she walked up to the construct and touched it, sending it Flair, then watched the features form into haughty nobility with a cruel twist. Resemblance enough, though she would never have envisioned the lord in training clothes. “Guard Cratag until he dis misses you.”
Its body flexed once before it took a defensive stance. She didn’t know if it was more or less disturbing now that it had a real face. Shrugging, she left to do her duty.
But she had learned one thing through her connection with Cratag.
He was definitely her HeartMate.
She’d think on that soon, but right now she had boots to make.
Avellana was busy creating her holos and didn’t look up or greet Signet when she entered the craft room. Signet raised her brows and crossed to study the bright light that was ready to be bent and tinted into shapes, but recognized nothing. She stood a couple of minutes, but Avellana kept quiet, so Signet crossed to the door off the craft room that led to her cobbling room. She opened the door and left it standing wide. From the corner of her eyes she saw Avellana hesitate, glance her way, then turn back to the holo.
Signet suppressed a smile, the girl loved watching her work, because it was a treat. Signet didn’t often allow anyone in her private areas. She studied the cubbyholes full of rolled leathers from various animals dyed different colors. She knew what she wanted . . . some old celtaroon, the toughest leather on Celta. It still showed a hint of the natural orange stripes. The natural blue had faded to a shade of gray. The snakelike creature had been huge, so the quality of the leather wasn’t as fine, but the size should make an excellent pair of boots for Cratag. Tinting celtaroon would be a challenge, especially since she usually used that leather for Marigold footwear, and the natural orange wasn’t a detriment.
But she wanted to make Cratag a special gift just because she loved him, and give him a gift that would remind him of her.
She took down the celtaroon skin and eyed it, just enough for a full pair of boots without making separate shafts for the uppers and vamps for the foot area. With a little Flair, she could make each boot from one piece and harden the sole until it would be the last part to wear out.
As with all her leathers, the celtaroon skin was already prepared. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on Cratag. She’d stroked his feet and muscular calves during loveplay more than once, measuring them, setting the size and shape of him, the depth of his arch, the width of his toes, into her memory. Now she held the leather and formed it with her mind. The insoles would be perfect to fit his feet with extra layers of permamoss and wool. Winter-spring boots.
If he stayed—and she’d use all she had to keep him—she’d make him lightweight, breathable summer boots, and ankle dress boots, and thigh highs, and tap shoes . . .
“You’re making something for Cratag,” Avellana stated.
“That’s right.”
“You and he are lovers.”
Signet froze, turned deliberately, keeping a slight smile on her face. “That is private between Cratag and me. Something I’d prefer to remain private.”
The girl was looking at her with wide eyes, but nodded. “I told my mother and father, and mother said it was a concern.”
“Is it?” Hot words came to Signet’s tongue. She suppressed them. Her smile faded, and she gave the girl a straight look. “Both of us are very aware of your welfare. You will not be harmed in our care.”
Avellana continued to nod. “I know. I would not have survived Passage without you, Signet.” She came up and hugged Signet. A tight knot in her stomach eased. Avellana said, “I feel different inside my head. I think better. I am not as afraid of new and different things.”
Signet kissed Avellana’s cheeks. “Thank you, that’s a wonderful compliment.”
Heart Change Page 23