by Trisha Telep
A knock sounded on the door. “Tricia, I have your coffee.”
She didn’t answer, hoping Christian would think she was asleep and leave her alone.
“I know you’re awake.” The door opened. Christian stood in the gap, the masculine angles of his body silhouetted against the hall light.
Her treacherous heart lurched. They had never been in a bedroom together. Although they’d been inseparable during the six weeks of her stay in France when she was eighteen, he had always been a gentleman, never taking advantage of her.
“I don’t want coffee. Go away.”
He ambled in and placed the mug on her nightstand, then switched on the bedside lamp. “A hot drink will do you good. You haven’t eaten anything since you arrived at the chateau this morning.”
“I’ve already cleaned my teeth.”
Christian sat on the edge of her bed and she made a performance of dragging the covers higher to show she was annoyed. He placed a hand on the pillow on either side of her head and leaned closer. Tricia froze, trapped in the flare of green fire in his eyes. Twenty years dropped away and her body tingled in expectation. “I won’t come to France with you.”
The corners of his lips tucked up as if he were trying not to smile. “I’d forgotten how stubborn you are.” He ducked his head and pressed firm, warm lips over hers. Her eyelids fell at the silky slide of his mouth. Even as she pledged not to touch him, her palm curved around his stubbly cheek. She’d dreamed of this endlessly, before she met her husband, while she was married to her husband, and after the poor man left. She’d always blamed their divorce on her infertility. In truth, it had more to do with her attitude. Her husband had never replaced Christian in her heart. She doubted anyone ever could.
Christian kicked off his shoes and stretched out on top of the covers at her side. His fingers traced her features with a feather-light touch. “I’ve missed you every day since you left, mon adorée. After I lost you, I spent weeks in cleansing fire to kill the pain. When I emerged I was younger and stronger, but my heart hurt as much as ever.”
“Why didn’t you come to find me?” After they’d parted, she’d prayed every night that Christian would realize he’d made a mistake and come after her.
“I thought I was doing the best thing for you by letting you go. I wanted to spare you the sort of experience you had tonight. My world is full of danger.”
Tricia closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his, felt his lips brush her neck. She breathed in the uniquely French fragrance of the sun and rich earth tinged with ripening fruit that clung to him like a memory of perfect happiness.
“What shall I do, Christian? Returning to the Institute is out of the question now.”
“Come to France with me, mon amour. We’ve been apart too long.”
She sucked in a breath, revelling in his fragrance, while images of Chateau Montgatine, the vineyards and gardens flickered through her mind. She would have Christian and a beautiful place to live. But how would she feel in twenty years when she was sixty and looking her age? How would Christian treat her then?
“I’m not sure,” she whispered, not wanting to voice her concern because she knew he’d just brush it aside.
“Let us talk of this tomorrow when you’re rested,” he said softly against her ear, his fingers stroking tantalizing circles on her neck and shoulder. “Sleep now.”
The feel of Christian’s arms around her gave her the security to relax. Time drifted and she was nearly asleep when he tensed beside her. The warmth of his body withdrew. She blinked and pushed up on her elbow to squint into the darkness.
In the moonlight, he stood like a statue staring at the door. “Do you smell that?”
Tricia rubbed her eyes, disoriented. Then the bitter tang of smoke reached her nose and the fuzziness of sleep fell away.
Four
“What the hell?” She jumped out of bed and raced towards the bedroom door. Christian grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt. “My bag is downstairs with my credit cards and driver’s licence.”
“They’re replaceable. You’re not.”
Smoke trickled in under the door and rose in a grey wispy curtain like a ghost. Tricia pressed a hand over her nose and stumbled back, the taste of burning plastic on her tongue. Christian strode to the window, unlatched it and peered out.
Tricia pressed up beside him, flutters of terror in her chest when she felt the heat rising outside. Flames licked out of the downstairs windows.
“Merde! We’re trapped.”
“Surely you can’t burn?” Tricia asked through the sweater she’d pressed over her nose.
“You can.” His jaw clenched. “There’s only one way out. Dress warmly.”
“Why.”
“Just do as I ask. Quickly.” The urgency in his voice stimulated her into action.
She yanked on her old sweat pants and jersey, then turned to him.
“Socks, shoes, gloves, hat,” he barked.
She frowned to herself but rooted through her drawers to find what she needed. The smoke had thickened, stinging her eyes and making her cough. Christian guided her to the window so she could breathe cleaner air. He pushed yet another sweater over her head, dressing her as though she was a child. Maybe he thought all the clothes would cushion her landing when she jumped out.
“Stand back.” He raised a foot and kicked out the window frame, sending wood and chunks of masonry crashing to the ground.
Tricia had wound a scarf around her face to filter the air and shield her eyes. As she squinted through the weave, Christian’s black jacket seemed to melt away and something bright and glittering took its place. He reached for her, but she stumbled back in confusion, bumped into the nightstand, and sent the lamp crashing to the floor. Strong hands gripped her, pulled her to the window. She coughed, her chest aching as she struggled for breath.
Christian dragged her against his body. His torso was covered in something hard and shiny and her gloved fingers rubbed over a pattern on his chest. He stepped out of the window. Tricia braced to fall. Instead, the smoke disappeared, and the city lights faded to be replaced by stygian darkness.
Cold scraped razor sharp across the small areas of exposed skin around her eyes and neck, drove icy needles into the marrow of her bones. She shivered, her teeth chattering so hard her jaws cramped. Her skull ached as though in a vise. Her eyes froze shut; her breath jolted in short painful snatches of arctic air. She tried to press tighter against Christian, but she couldn’t reach his heat. His arms held her close, but his body was as hard and cold as ice.
A scream echoed in her head but only a pitiful whimper passed between her chilled lips.
Just when she couldn’t stand the pain any longer, the air expanded around her. Her feet touched ground and the warm scent of night in the Loire Valley trickled into her nose.
Her legs folded beneath her, but Christian’s arms were suddenly warm and strong. He caught her up and laid her on a bed before bundling covers around her. “You’ll be all right, mon amour. You’ll be all right.”
She heard a door open and Christian shouted. “Remy, we need cognac.”
Tricia’s body trembled with cold but at last she managed to crack open her eyes. All she could make out were blurred colours. The rushing sound of water blended with the thud of footsteps. A knock on the door. “Chris, mon ami? You are hurt?” Monsieur Benoit’s voice.
“I had to bring Tricia through the ether. We need to warm her quickly.”
She huddled in a shivering bundle beneath the bed covers. When she tried to speak her lips cracked and she tasted blood.
“Shh, Tricia. Shh.” The bed dipped at her side and a glass pressed to her lips. A burning trail of brandy ran down her throat, until she had fire in her belly and a spinning head.
She managed to open her eyes enough to see him bend over her to pull off her shoes and socks. Then her sweat pants disappeared.
“What . . . ?” she whispered.
“Warm water, m
y little butterfly. That will do the trick.”
He peeled off her gloves, then pulled the two sweaters over her head, leaving her naked. He scooped her into his arms and swept through to the bathroom. Tricia hadn’t heard Monsieur Benoit leave, but the bath was full and the butler nowhere in sight.
Christian lowered her into the oversized tub of bubbly warm water. Her eyelids fell. A sigh of relief hissed over her lips as the gentle heat chased away the last of the chill.
“You didn’t suffer frostbite, thank goodness.” At Christian’s words, she opened her eyes to see him step into the tub with her. He’d stripped to the waist, keeping on his black trousers.
He settled at her side and gently rubbed her arm. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much.” Her head lolled back and her eyelids drifted down. She had dreamed of such a scenario. Suffering the painful cold might be a price worth paying to feel his hands on her body. He massaged up her arm, then shifted to her other side.
Languid heat coursed through her veins and spread across her skin. Her breasts became heavy, her nipples tight and tingly. She knew exactly where she wanted him to massage next.
He leaned his back against the side of the round tub and lifted Tricia to sit between his legs, her back pressed against his chest. He worked his fingers over her neck and shoulders. Her head flopped forward. The chill long forgotten, she lost herself in the wonderful sensation of Christian’s hands massaging her muscles. “Pure bliss,” she whispered in a husky undertone.
The regular movement of his fingers paused, then continued more gently. “Are you recovered, mon adorée?”
“Mmm.” Tricia wriggled her bottom back snug into the vee of his thighs. Twenty years ago she’d been innocent and taken her lead from him. She wasn’t eighteen any more. She placed her palm on Christian’s thigh and squeezed the firm muscle.
“Tricia.” His breath whispered across her neck, sparking nerves beneath her skin. She didn’t know if she would stay with him, but she had dreamed of making love with him so many times; she had to take this opportunity.
She rose, water and bubbles cascading off her body, and stepped out of the bath. The room was warm. She didn’t cover herself but stood naked in invitation, waiting for him to follow.
Christian climbed out, his wet trousers clinging to his skin. She feasted her eyes on the sculpted muscles of his torso, his lean hips and powerful thighs.
A lopsided grin settled on his lips. “I’d forgotten you are . . . more experienced now.”
“Twenty years will do that for a girl.”
His hand rested at her waist and pulled her a step closer to him. He stroked the long dark strands of wet hair from her face. He angled his head and kissed her with slow, thorough exploration until she was light-headed and breathless.
“Does this mean you’ll stay with me?” he asked against her lips.
Tricia leaned back, ran her hands over his chest, and looked up into the green-gold flames burning in his eyes. “That depends how good you are in bed,” she teased.
Five
Tricia lay in the centre of Christian’s bed, tingling with anticipation while he eased his clingy, wet trousers down his thighs.
He stretched out beside her and trailed his hands over her curves as if learning her shape. “You’re more beautiful than I imagined.”
Pulling him closer, she pressed herself against him. His mouth claimed hers in a tender kiss while her fingers explored the silky skin of his back. His face was the epitome of youthful masculine beauty, but he had the well-muscled body of a mature man – a tantalizing combination.
She had yearned for Christian for so long; being here with him in his bed was like a dream. She wanted the moment to last forever, but she was as hungry for him as he was for her. Their eager hands teased and claimed with frantic need. He shifted on top of her with a growl of desire and she wrapped her legs around him, urging him to hurry.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders as pleasure shimmered through her, sweeping away her fears and worries until nothing mattered except loving him.
After they had finished making love, he collapsed on his back beside her, breathing hard. She snuggled up to him, little aftershocks of pleasure racing through her. “The Duke of Buckland is out of luck.” She imagined a scowl on the duke’s arrogant face and smiled. “Will you tell him you’ve claimed me?”
Christian rolled on his side to face her and kissed her finger-tips. “I haven’t claimed you yet, mon amour. That’s something different.”
“So the duke would still take me from you, even though we’ve made love?”
“Let’s ensure he doesn’t have a reason to try.” His gaze roamed her face and he ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. “I’ll never give you up again, Tricia. I shall claim you now.”
“You haven’t told me what’s involved in the claiming yet.”
“I’ll bind you to me in a way that means I’ll be able to sense you, keep you safe. You’ll be marked as mine, untouchable by any others of my kind.”
Tricia shifted uncomfortably. “Sounds as though you’re about to hang a tag around my neck with your phone number on it in case I stray.”
He chuckled. “The connection between us will go a lot deeper than that. You have a dormant gene that the claiming activates to attune you to my energy.”
Tricia was no biologist, but she knew that every cell in her body contained genes. “You’re talking about something pretty drastic here, Christian. You’re spooking me.”
He slid his fingers into her hair and kissed her. “I promise you there’s nothing to worry about. The experience is special . . . intimate. Something I’ve only ever shared with one other woman.”
Right now, she did not want to hear about the other woman with whom he’d shared this special intimate thing. “Just tell me how you do this transformation.”
“Simple. I bathe you in my fire.”
“Whoa.” Tricia pulled back out of his grip and reflexively snatched the sheet to her chest. “No way.”
Christian sat up and angled his head, assessing her. “You’re frightened.”
“Any sane person would be.”
“I won’t hurt you. My fire renews.”
“Your fire’s hot. Don’t try to tell me it’s not because I watched you melt that pyramid at the Institute. I felt the heat from across the room.”
Christian sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I would never hurt you. You’re going to have to trust me on that.”
And there lay the rub. He had already hurt her so badly he had shattered her teenage confidence and left her broken-hearted. His definition of hurt didn’t tally with hers. And it sounded as though once he’d claimed her there would be no going back. He’d have some kind of psychic tag on her for the rest of her life.
Tricia rose from the bed, tugging the sheet with her to cover up, and walked to the window. Dusk had fallen. The scent of evening flowers filled the air while tiny bats circled the terrace below.
“I need to claim you to protect you, Tricia. I suspect whoever set the fire at your home will pursue you here. The followers of Set and Anubis hunt our women and kill them when they can.”
“Great. So if the duke doesn’t take me some nutty pagans will try to kill me.”
“I’m afraid they’re more than nutty pagans. Apart from Ra, Set was the most powerful of the old gods. He’s evil incarnate and he arms his followers with powers that challenge even the Sons of Ra.”
Tricia plopped down on to the window seat and stared at him. “Are you telling me the Ancient Egyptian gods are still alive?”
“A few, but you only need to worry about Set and Anubis.”
“Oh, great. Well that’s all right then.” She rolled her eyes.
“Now you understand why I sent you out of my life to protect you, mon amour.”
“Actually, I don’t. If I’m a target, you should have at least warned me.”
“They only found you because you drew attention to yourself.�
��
“Well forgive me for wanting a job and a life.” She turned her back on him, her heart pounding with indignation.
A rustling sound warned her he had climbed off the bed. His hand settled gently on her shoulder. “After I sent you away, the odds of you encountering another Son of Ra or of touching a ben ben were close to zero. Will you keep punishing me for a choice I made with the best of intentions?”
Tricia squeezed her eyes closed and let her head drop forward. Was she being childish and vindictive? Did she want to hurt him for a decision he’d made twenty-two years ago?
She rose and turned into his waiting arms. He eased her head against his shoulder. His warm hand splayed soothingly on the small of her back. “Remy knows the touch of my fire. He’ll confirm it doesn’t hurt.” His lips brushed her ear. His hand on her back pulled her closer; the evidence of his arousal pressed against her stomach. “Come back to bed with me, mon amour. We’ll discuss the claiming tomorrow.”
In the middle of the night, knocking intruded on Tricia’s sleep. Drowsy with the languor of sexual satiation she barely roused at the sound of Remy’s urgent words.
“I’ve been called to Egypt,” Christian whispered. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
But when Tricia woke the following day, Christian hadn’t returned.
She had warm croissants and hot chocolate for breakfast in the kitchen but didn’t ask Remy about Christian’s fire. She’d realized that men like Christian and the duke were unlikely to harm the rare women who carried their magic gene. She was more bothered about being tagged like a dog and losing her independence. Christian had spoken about the claiming as if the process was romantic, but the Duke of Buckland, for all his arrogance, might have been more honest. Once one of them claimed her, she would effectively become their property.
After breakfast, Tricia wandered the familiar path through the garden to the vineyards, meandering along the dusty trail between the neat rows of grape vines to the edge of the River Loire. Memories tumbled back of strolling hand-in-hand with Christian. Years ago, she’d thought love was the answer to everything.