Parallel Heat

by Deidre Knight

  Although Sabrina hadn’t authorized this first contact between the Madjin and their protected tonight, they had always been taught to improvise on an ad hoc basis. What other recourse had they been given, based on the unexpected meeting in the bar? None. So what if the elders’ timetable for initial contact was still a good two years out; the Madjin were needed, now more than ever with Jared having taken his human wife. So no matter what objections Sabrina might raise tomorrow, he stood by this plan.

  Dillon took another series of wrong turns, a true waste of time in Marco’s mind. So he muttered against the seat, citing the precise location of the secluded mountain cabin where their king made his earthly home.

  ‘‘Holy hell,’’ Scott cursed from the front seat. ‘‘What’s even the point?’’

  Thea leapt over the seat that separated them, straddling Marco. ‘‘You tell us who you are,’’ she shouted, digging the barrel of her weapon into his back. ‘‘Right now!’’

  ‘‘My name is Marco McKinley,’’ he stated calmly, feeling her tight thighs flex around his body. ‘‘Personal protector and guardian to the king. J’Areshkadau Bnet D’Aravni is my sovereign, same as he is yours.’’

  For a long moment silence hung heavy in the vehicle’s interior, with only the sound of Thea’s rapid breaths punctuating the quiet. At last she asked in a much quieter voice, ‘‘Then who is Marek Sheakai? Why did I hear that name in the bar?’’ Thea cocked her pistol, shoving it between his shoulder blades.

  For a moment he concentrated on her, on the feel of her lithe, compact body atop his rangy one, on the awareness of her scent filling his nostrils, nearly intoxicating him. Gods, she was an amazing woman—but completely off-limits to someone like him.

  When he failed to answer, she drew in an unsteady breath. ‘‘Tell. Me. Why,’’ she demanded, accenting each word with a jab of her pistol.

  Finally he answered her question, in a voice so low only she would hear. ‘‘I have no idea why you heard his name, Lieutenant,’’ he said softly. ‘‘But trust me when I tell you that he’s dead, and he hardly matters tonight.’’

  ‘‘He matters to me,’’ she breathed.

  ‘‘A dead man,’’ he repeated. ‘‘Let’s leave it at that, but you may call me Marco. And I am your protector too, my lady. I serve all the royal families.’’

  ‘‘You said you served Jared—that you’re his personal protector.’’

  ‘‘That’s true,’’ he murmured against the seat. ‘‘But if you know the Madjin, you know we serve you all.’’

  ‘‘Prove it,’’ she said, pressing her palm into the small of his back. Every cell within his body reacted, a cascade of heat showering to his extremities. ‘‘You prove it now, before we get to Jared.’’

  He could think of nothing except the feel of her fingers splayed against his body. His simple flannel shirt seemed nothing more than a ridiculously thin membrane, a flimsy barrier between their two flushed bodies. He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting shut. He knew what she wanted to hear; it was a sort of first-level proof to any of the royals they served, something no one outside the Madjin Circle could possibly know.

  He would give Thea Haven the proof she wanted. ‘‘R’thasme siet falne,’’ he murmured reverentially. He’d not uttered those words since the day they’d inducted him into the Circle, and the hair on the nape of his neck bristled at his own quiet pronouncement. For a moment, she said nothing at all, though he sensed a kind of tension release from her body.

  ‘‘In All’s name,’’ she finally muttered. ‘‘You’ve been telling us the truth. You’re exactly what you claim to be.’’

  ‘‘Unless I’m lying,’’ he teased in a low, growling voice. ‘‘And then we’re all damned to hell.’’

  ‘‘Marco McKinley, I still have a gun,’’ she said, pushing the barrel into his shoulders again. ‘‘Madjin or not, you’ve got a lot of questions to answer.’’

  ‘‘At your service, Lieutenant Haven. Completely at your service.’’

  If only he didn’t wish to service her in such wicked, impossible ways, he thought with a miserable sigh—and if only he could rid himself of his raging, painfully obvious hard-on before they arrived at the compound.

  ‘‘Okay, Jared, I admit it,’’ Kelsey said, pulling the sheet over her breasts. ‘‘I have no clue what this letter really means. What’s this ‘Beloved of Refaria’ stuff? And how could this guy possibly be telling the truth? I mean, time travel . . . a letter from the future? It’s insane.’’

  He paced the room, stripping out of his bulletproof vest. ‘‘Hasn’t everything between us always been slightly insane?’’

  ‘‘Don’t even go there.’’

  ‘‘But you get my point, love,’’ he insisted, stepping closer. ‘‘There are many things about my life here on Earth—and what I’ve told you about life on Refaria—that defy logic as you’ve always understood it.’’

  ‘‘This letter flies in the face of everything I know as a scientist,’’ she said, waving the sheet of paper at him. ‘‘Time travel is possible—at least in theory—but nobody on my planet has come close to harnessing that kind of power.’’

  He took the letter from her hands. ‘‘That you know of.’’

  ‘‘That we know of, yes.’’ She felt unsettled beyond description. Why was it that with every passing day her new husband managed to further unravel the fabric of her world?

  Jared settled his hip on the bed beside her. ‘‘Naturally I’d like to dismiss the authenticity of the document,’’ he said evenly. ‘‘But there are too many aspects that beg serious consideration. For one thing, the reference to that prophecy about the Beloved of Refaria, and another because the author knows about the mitres data within your mind—’’

  ‘‘Other people in your camp know about that.’’

  ‘‘No,’’ he said simply, ‘‘they do not. Only Thea, Scott, and Anika possess that knowledge.’’

  She chose her next words carefully, tucking the bed-sheet beneath her chin as she thought. ‘‘Maybe it’s all some kind of ploy to divide us or something. What makes you so sure Thea wouldn’t have done this?’’

  ‘‘No, not Thea. Not ever.’’ He shook his head in vehement denial. ‘‘She’s unfailingly loyal, most particularly to me.’’

  ‘‘But she loves you, Jared—and you did choose me. That could shake even the strongest relationship.’’

  ‘‘It wasn’t her,’’ he barked, and Kelsey couldn’t help but smart at his defensive tone.

  She persisted, ‘‘Then what about Scott? Or Anika? You’ll have to question people whose loyalty you’ve never doubted before. Some of your people are dead set against me, Jared. We both know it—just think about the elders, and how they erased our memories of each other. There’s no way you can be sure that someone—someone loyal—wouldn’t try something just to separate us a second time.’’

  ‘‘I must ask myself what logical purpose a letter like this would serve,’’ he reflected aloud. ‘‘How would it divide us—how would it misdirect me? I cannot see any such outcome from taking the letter seriously.’’

  ‘‘Except that you want to send me back to Laramie.’’ She shoved him in the chest with her open palm. ‘‘Right when it’s actually possible that we could conceive a child—the heir to your throne. That’s one hell of an outcome.’’

  He grabbed at her hand, wrestling it against his own chest. Her argument had merit, especially given his approaching infertility. If they were to part ways right now, it was quite likely that he might never cycle again, which could mean the end to his line after nearly a thousand years of unbroken succession. It could mean the end to their dreams of a family and children and a life together—apart from the war. Gods, it was unfair, being asked to make such impossible decisions!

  Leaping to his feet, he paced the room again and gestured toward their bed. ‘‘Only we know what happens between these sheets, Kelse,’’ he argued, feeling his pulse skitter wildly. ‘‘Only we know what’s st
arting here, between us, this . . . this uncontrollable need.’’ He halted beside his wife, gazing into her beautiful blue eyes, and the flecks of gold in them electrified his entire body. At once the letter seemed less important, as did the strategy of sending her far away; those thoughts were replaced by a far more significant compulsion: the urge to mate. Now!

  Wildly, he tugged his T-shirt over his head, and stood before his wife wearing only his uniform pants. With a wicked grin, he noticed how she licked her lips at the sight of his bare chest, her gaze flicking up and down the length of him. They were newlyweds, in some ways barely known to each other; every time she got a good look at his muscular body, he saw how it pleased her—which always, without fail, satisfied him to the very core. He felt warm heat flood his cheeks.

  ‘‘You like what you see, don’t you, mate?’’ he purred at her, unsnapping his pants with an easy flick of his wrist. He took another step toward her. ‘‘You like my body very much.’’

  ‘‘Jared!’’ she cried, half laughing, half urgent. ‘‘We’ve got to deal with this.’’ She gestured toward the letter in his hand.

  He allowed his pants to slide to the floor, pooling at his ankles so that he stood before her in all his naked, proud glory. His prominent erection leaped at the knowledge that they would come together again in mere moments. She would be his, again. They would mate. Again. And again and yet again. He growled his pleasure at the simple thought of joining with her that way.

  ‘‘Jared,’’ she protested softly, appealing to his higher nature, but there was only one thing his D’Aravnian self could think of at the moment. Mating. And mating some more . . .

  Good grief, Kelsey thought. Now that the man is at the edge of his season, all his earlier shame about his mating urges has fallen away completely. It was apparent that Jared was about to toss the letter aside and ravish her, a thought that caused her own body to quake with a fevered wash of desire.

  His eyes narrowed hungrily and he blew out a hot breath, reaching a hand to stroke his proud, hardened length. For a moment he stood gazing at her, slowly touching himself, even as he devoured her with his black gaze.

  ‘‘You were saying?’’ he whispered, sliding one knee onto the side of the bed, edging much closer toward her. ‘‘Something about’’—he gasped slightly—‘‘that damned letter?’’

  She gulped, steadying her thoughts. ‘‘Jared, they could know about this,’’ she tried to answer evenly. ‘‘About your mating season. Somehow they could know that it’s finally happening.’’

  ‘‘Only we know, love,’’ he murmured dangerously, climbing over her. ‘‘And I know that this need is becoming more intense with every passing hour.’’

  ‘‘Then don’t send me away!’’ She slammed both fists against the mattress, fully aware that she sounded more like a petulant child than the queen of any realm.

  He responded by mounting her, so quickly she hardly had time to anticipate the motion. In the space of a moment he had her pinned beneath his large, bare body, allowing their warm skin to slide together. ‘‘Just once,’’ he panted against her cheek, nipping at her flesh. ‘‘Before I call the meeting. Just one more time, wife—or I swear this fever will take me forever.’’ His voice was alien then, strangled, containing a mixture of rough awe and genuine fear.

  ‘‘Just once,’’ she agreed thickly, feeling his swollen shaft already pressing against her opening. ‘‘Just one more time.’’

  Kelsey flexed and bucked beneath him, digging her fingernails into his shoulders, scrabbling at his throat. Jared’s core heat had begun to blaze like ten angry suns. Must slow down, he cautioned himself, fully aware that he might Change any moment if he weren’t careful. And his human wife would never survive that. It was one thing to reveal his true nature to her, to allow her to gaze upon him as she’d done once before, but not this. Not his Change, not in the middle of this kind of intimacy.

  Gasping, he stilled inside of her, wrestling to master his whirlwind of sensations. He buried his head against her shoulder, sucking in burning, furious gulps of air, and she stilled beneath him, sensing his momentary confusion. The truth was his two halves were locked in a brutal battle for dominance. His Refarian side was solid and corporeal—but his D’Aravnian nature was far more mystical and prone to dominance. That man was one of fire, a being of heat and blazing fury and intensity. And that was the man who begged to make love to his mate right now. Impossible! he cautioned himself, but still the heat kept on expanding within his abdomen and chest, filtering down his back and shooting straight into his loins like an aggressive, scorching arrow. Unstoppable! Utterly unstoppable!

  He pulled apart from her with an unsteady exhalation. ‘‘Kelsey! W-we must cease!’’

  ‘‘Not now, no, Jared.’’ She blinked up at him as if in a daze. ‘‘Not now, please . . . not now.’’

  He rolled off of her, shaking his head. Damn it all, but his whole body was quaking: his hands, his legs, his fingers. Burying his face in both hands, he was about to explain the Refarian facts of life, how dangerous his natural self was to her human body, but was interrupted when, across their bedroom, his comm began to beep. He’d discarded his uniform hours ago, but had never bothered removing the communication unit from his sleeve.

  ‘‘In All’s name!’’ he muttered, sliding over her and marching toward where he’d left the thing. Nobody ever bothered him this early in the morning, no matter how early he might wake.

  ‘‘Bennett,’’ he barked into the piece, ready to dress down whoever among his soldiers had interrupted such a crucial moment with his bondmate.

  ‘‘Commander,’’ came Scott Dillon’s urgent voice, ‘‘we need to meet with you as soon as possible, sir. There’s been an incident.’’

  Chapter Five

  Upon entering the meeting room, Jared was surprised to discover the cause for Lieutenant Dillon’s urgent transmission: two strangers who were seated at the large meeting table. Flanked by Scott and Thea, the two men were under heavy military guard. Jared immediately assessed the scenario: This room was where he and his elite officers strategized, planned, and masterminded their attacks. It was not, however, a place where they ever—under any circumstances—brought outsiders.

  Scott and Thea each gave him a crisp salute, which he returned, and they then assumed a parade rest stance. But he hadn’t served by either soldier’s side for so many years without being able to recognize the tension visibly apparent in their demeanors.

  ‘‘Tell me of our visitors,’’ Jared commanded coolly, striding to the center of the room. ‘‘Who comes to see us at this late hour?’’ His gaze never left the two strangers seated at the table.

  Thea took a step in his direction. ‘‘They’re Madjin, sir,’’ she answered, then quickly added, ‘‘That’s what they claim.’’

  Jared folded both of his arms across his chest. ‘‘I see.’’ He leveled the dark one with his hardest gaze, instinctively sensing that he was the leader of the two. ‘‘And what do you say now that you’ve come into my camp?’’

  The man inclined his head, never daring to look Jared in the eye. ‘‘That, just as the lieutenant says, we are your sworn servants from birth.’’

  ‘‘I don’t suppose you need me to point out that the Madjin vanished long ago.’’

  ‘‘We’ve been’’—the dark haired one turned slightly toward his companion, but the other man kept his eyes down—‘‘waiting for this time, my lord. We’ve been training, honing our skills.’’

  ‘‘You don’t expect me to believe that the Madjin would ever run from battle?’’

  ‘‘No, my lord. Not running,’’ the dark one said. ‘‘Preparing. Waiting. Biding our time until the right moment. Guarding you from . . . a distance.’’

  Jared couldn’t contain a snort of disbelieving laughter. ‘‘Were you watching from a distance when Veckus captured me? Were you there those three days when he beat me within an inch of my life?’’

  A brief spasm of pain contorte
d the dark one’s face. ‘‘No, my lord,’’ he whispered. ‘‘Even we can not protect you when you insist on participating in aerial combat.’’

  Beside him, Scott Dillon chuckled low. ‘‘Well, now, these boys really do know you, Commander.’’ Jared felt his face flush hot.

  Jared leaned his palm on the table until he pulled his face close to them both. ‘‘For what possible purpose would you have gone into hiding?’’ he insisted. ‘‘Tell me that—make me believe you—and I’ll accept that the Madjin have returned.’’

  ‘‘We have but one purpose, my lord and king: To put you—once again—upon the throne of Refaria,’’ the leader answered, inclining his head low and spreading both palms open on the table until his forehead nearly touched the polished wooden surface. The man couldn’t bow, not in his seat, but Jared understood his posture nonetheless. It was that of a most loyal Refarian servant.

  ‘‘I don’t believe you,’’ Jared countered evenly.

  ‘‘That is your prerogative, of course, my lord,’’ the man’s companion interjected. ‘‘But we do serve you. Completely.’’

  Jared’s thoughts went to Sabrina, his beloved protector, who had been more a parent to him than his own mother had been; or his father, for that matter. She had raised him until he was ten years old, nurturing him, training him, teaching him. When she had vanished shortly after his parents’ murders, a part of Jared’s heart had died and grown cold. It had stayed that way for far too many years to count. Sabrina, why aren’t you here now, my teacher?

  What the strangers claimed was beyond the realm of possibility. So what purpose did their lies serve? And how did it, perhaps, relate to the mysterious arrival of the letter?

  ‘‘Tell me your names,’’ he demanded, something eerie chilling his body. ‘‘Each of you.’’

  The leader of the two remained with his forehead pressed almost flat against the gleaming table, and in a confident voice proclaimed, ‘‘I am Marco McKinley, personal protector to J’Areshkadau Bnet D’Aravni. I am Madjin, forevermore.’’