Heart Secret

by Robin D. Owens

  “The kitten is keeping Artemisia company. He likes her very much.”

  Garrett hissed out a breath as he straightened his cramped leg. “Yeah, well, of course. She’s the only other human around.”

  “But your Fam loves you.”

  “Uh-huh.” Damn that hurt, enough for his eyes to start stinging again. “Can you call her in?”

  “You need help! Artemisia, Garrett is awake.”

  Too late to spare his ears from the stentorian announcement out of speakers that the whole block must have heard.

  And suddenly she was there, teleported into his room, her thinner face lined with concern. She’d lost weight, too, but she didn’t look grim. Nope, she looked gorgeous.

  “You’re awake,” she said.

  “Yes, and hungry.”

  “Of course.” She went into the sitting room and got two bowls of clucker and noodle soup.

  While she was gone, he’d struggled into a nightshirt and had wiped his face with a wet cloth that had been next to a basin on the bedside table.

  She put a tray on his lap, then took her bowl. His mouth watered and the kitten, who’d teleported into the room, hurried up to sniff at Garrett’s meal.

  He pulled it closer. “Mine.” A word cats understood very well.

  “You just had some food, kitten.” Artemisia frowned.

  Not enough, some milk from My dam, and other food was DRY. His stubby tail lashed.

  “This clucker soup is imbued with Healing Flair and energy.”

  Want some.

  Artemisia lifted her brows at Garrett. “It shouldn’t harm him. I have a dish in the dressing room. Do you want to give him some broth?”

  The cat sat expectantly, ears forward. Of course he does.

  Garrett didn’t, but also didn’t want to appear churlish. “Sure,” he said, eating fast. He felt the zing of energy, the soothing as the broth slid down his rough throat and into his stomach.

  He was glad he got noodles this time.

  But she didn’t tip any soup from her bowl or his; instead she got some more from the no-time. Made Garrett wonder what might be in there. Probably not steak.

  Still, he was stronger when he was done, and as soon as she removed the tray, he set his jaw and struggled into pants, then used his Flair to help him stand, more, to walk the length of the room.

  She hurried back and offered her shoulder.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I’ve done this before.” He didn’t want to recall waking alone and walking through the mountain clinic littered with the dead. Better to remember the whole place going up in flames a week later, cleansed.

  He made several circuits of the rooms. Artemisia’s bedroom smelled more of her than Healing chemicals—secrets . . . a hidden garden? He didn’t know. But by the time he returned to bed, he thought he’d gotten his strength and balance back. When he woke again, he’d be fine, he was sure.

  He settled back against pillows. She didn’t leave but took her chair, leaning back and closing her eyes as her lips moved in a prayer. When she opened her lashes, her emerald gaze met his and he saw a true smile from her. “We made it,” she whispered.

  His turn to raise his brows as he shifted, petted the kitten on his lap. “You didn’t think we would?”

  “Yes, I really did.”

  “It wasn’t easy.” He didn’t want to think of the days and nights past, the memories, the old and new suffering.

  “No.”

  Dragging in a deep breath, he said, “It’s over. Finally.” He wouldn’t let the idea that nightmares might return bother him.

  She nodded solemnly. “I hope so.” Her jaw firmed. “We should learn from this and the whole epidemic will finally be ended.”

  “Artemisia, please join Garrett on the bedsponge,” TQ said.

  “What!” she asked.

  “I wish to suction all of the Iasc microbes from these rooms into the sitting room and seal it. The spell is much like a whirlwind spell. You will need to hold on to each other.”

  Garrett’s pulse picked up. When she sat next to him and he wrapped his arm around her waist, he vaguely remembered them touching, body to body. When? And why? Medical necessity, he supposed. Too damn bad.

  “What about the food in the sitting room no-time?” he asked.

  “I am having specialties delivered tomorrow morning for our celebration,” TQ said, then, “Kitten, are you anchored?”

  YES! All the cat’s claws were hooked in the cover. Garrett curved his fingers around the kitten’s middle.

  The wind started. Artemisia grabbed Garrett with both arms. He liked that.

  “Focus on the mural,” TQ said.

  The scene of the sacred grove flashed on the opposite wall.

  Whee! the kitten cried.

  For an instant Garrett could have sworn that there was no air in the room. All went freezing for half a second, then unbearably hot, then freezing again. The door to the sitting room slammed, and when he glanced that way, foam filled the cracks around the door.

  Sealed for sure.

  Artemisia gasped, then coughed. She tugged against his hold and he let her loose. She got up to pour some water for herself and Garrett. He missed her presence in his bed, but drank gratefully.

  Tilting his head at the grove mural, he said, “A very beautiful spot.”

  “Yes, it is,” she said, and he got the idea she knew it. He wouldn’t ask. Instead, he translocated two silver slivers from his duffle at the end of the bed and sent them rolling with skill, not Flair, over his knuckles.

  She smiled. “Wonderful.”

  “Getting back to normal,” he said.

  “Yes.” She sighed.

  He forced words from his throat. “I haven’t thanked you for being here and helping me. So, thanks.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Just doing my job.”

  He grunted. “Not a nice job.” He sucked in a breath all the way to his gut; some muscles still ached. “Thanks again.”

  She inclined her head. “You are quite welcome.”

  Good, courtesy was done, but he wanted to give her more. He took her hand and slipped the silver coins in it, curled her fingers over them. “Please, take these. A token of my . . . gratitude.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled and it was the most carefree he’d seen. “I’ve never had magic coins before.”

  “Not really magic,” he said.

  She chuckled. “I’m sure I can’t manipulate them like you do.”

  “If you want to appreciate my party tomorrow, you should sleep now,” TQ said.

  A mulish expression pouted Artemisia’s face. “But we just got up and I wanted to spend a little time with Garrett.”

  “It’s the first we’ve been alone and healthy in a few days. We should have a moment of quiet celebration right now,” Garrett said. He couldn’t deny her. Not this, weakened, minute. The simple pleasure of her presence enveloped him.

  A pleasant fragrance swirled into the room and Artemisia gasped; her eyes went wide at the wafting scent.

  Rusby gave a tiny mew and turned limp.

  “The Healing and strengthening broth works best if you sleep after eating,” TQ said. “You should be asleep in one and a half minutes, Artemisia. Two for you, Garrett.”

  She stared down at him wildly. “TQ drugged us.”

  “Dammit.” Garrett put no force into the word. Only shallow breaths. He stroked the tiny body of the kitten with his finger. “Did you hurt him?”

  “Absolutely not!” TQ said, then went on. “The kitten is fine, and both you and Artemisia are weary. You both have suffered disturbing dreams. The incense will calm you and is guaranteed to promote excellent sleep with pleasant dreams, as well as the Healing and strengthening.”

 
“How could you!” Artemisia demanded.

  “It is best for you.”

  She stiffened. “There are rules, you know. About sentient Residences and Houses drugging their people.”

  “I know the rules!”

  Score one for the Healer, she’d irritated the House. Good, serve it right.

  But when TQ spoke again, it was in his smooth and silky voice. “And the rules state that I cannot harm my occupants or release a drug that will have effects lasting longer than six point eight six septhours. This dosage will wear off no later than six point eight five septhours at the most, taking into consideration your masses and your state of health—”

  “Fine line, there, TQ,” Garrett said. Artemisia started to sway. Would she fall on his bed? He wanted her to.

  No. He didn’t. “Better get to your bed.” He made a pushing motion. To keep his hands from yanking her down, he picked up the kitten and set him on a pillow on the far side of the bed.

  “What?” she said, then her expression crumpled into hurt. “Go to my bed. Oh. Yes.” She drew herself up, panting slightly, keeping her own breaths light. She headed toward her bedroom . . . weaving.

  “This is wrong of you, Residence.” Her voice was thick.

  “And I cleared the use of this drug in this amount with Lark Holly,” TQ said, quietly smug.

  “Huh!” Artemisia flounced. To Garrett’s riveted horror, she began to strip. Her tunic was first, thrown on the floor in the middle of his room. Then she said a Word and all the seams of her trous split and they fell. She paused to step out of them and he saw nicely rounded legs, then focused on her dimpled rear. His mouth dried. She wore beige pantlettes that looked flesh colored. Her ass was also round, good handfuls. Her waist was narrower than he’d thought under all that cloth.

  He swallowed hard.

  When she got to the doorway of the dressing room, she dropped her underwear. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, hoping for more than a quick, silhouetted peek of full breasts tipped with rose-colored nipples.

  Then she turned to face him and his gaze went to the joining of her thighs, whisked up the curve of her stomach to her breasts. His mouth might be hanging open, but since no thought was in his head, he wasn’t sure. All his blood had gone to his groin and he was damn annoyed that he was wearing soft, loose trous. He wanted her, wanted her to know he wanted her.

  “G’night, Garrett,” she said and dove for her bed.

  He caught a flash of tender, dark pink sex. His shaft strained.

  Darkness clobbered him.

  * * *

  The next morning, Garrett woke and stretched and felt the best he had in a long time.

  Even before he opened his eyes, he knew one of the reasons was that he felt the energy of his HeartMate fizzing toward him from the next room. Soon he and Artemisia would be released to leave . . . after TQ’s celebration. Garrett didn’t want a celebration and he couldn’t wait to leave, except he and Artemisia would part ways.

  Fourteen

  Garrett was ready to return to his life, without Artemisia. Really. Meanwhile he could enjoy her energy, even the peacefulness of their bond—the much larger bond between them. He was sure that it would fade if he pinched it tight. As he had all the years before except for those times of Passage to free his Flair when he couldn’t control the depth or breadth of the link.

  Passage was the last thing he wanted to think of. Those dreamquests were as rough as the damn sickness he’d survived—for the second time. Three Passages and two bouts of Iasc sickness. That could make a man believe he’d suffered enough for the rest of his life.

  If he was lucky, the year he’d lost Dinni would be the worst of his life and this time period would rank second. That was a cheerful enough thought for him.

  He lingered in bed because Artemisia still slept and he didn’t want to rise and wake her. When he got up, he’d have to accept the fact their days together were over.

  How did she look asleep? She was quiet, wasn’t restless. He’d known, somehow, even in the deepest part of the sickness, when she was awake and near or asleep.

  Now that he thought back, her sleep hadn’t been easy.

  Again he stretched, testing every tendon, every muscle, popping joints. He felt a little creaky, but one workout should put him back into good shape. His mind drifted to sex as exercise and he got up and headed straight for a cold waterfall.

  As soon as he stepped back into the bedroom, wrapped in a large towel, Artemisia entered the dressing room from her door. She wore the pretty silkeen robe that Lark Holly had given her. For putting up with Garrett? Probably. The robe shimmered and clung to her curves, and he knew she was naked under it and had to swallow hard. The silver gray color accented her deep green eyes. Her thick black hair was caught up with sticks on the top of her head, showing her lovely neck. Her beauty took his breath.

  When she nodded as she passed, he thought she must have forgotten how they’d said good night, but when he looked around, he saw her clothes had been tidied away.

  Then the door to the dressing room, which had been open the whole time he’d been there, closed firmly.

  His body had stirred again, but other, deeper feelings had fired through him, more than simple gratitude, bordering on affection, as unwelcome as the sickness. Hands clenched, he willed himself to calmness, using an image of Dinni—small and sprightly and athletic. And then he felt as if he’d besmirched her memory and his own honor and dammit all!

  “How long will you fight your attraction to your HeartMate?” TQ asked, sounding merely curious.

  “Forever. I don’t want her.”

  “Because you lost a lover,” TQ said. There was a pause and Garrett noticed a spritz of fresher air coming from the ceiling. Summer flowers, something that he might smell outside. Which reminded him of his so-called kitten Fam, whom he hadn’t seen this morning.

  “Where’s Rusby?” Garrett folded the towel on the bed. Like all the linens, the cloth was prime, soft and absorbent. A pity it would be destroyed. But not a waste since he’d enjoyed the feel of it. Move on.

  He dressed in clothes that had been sterilized—tunic and trous, boot liners and boots. Not nearly as luxurious as what he was surrounded by but they were his own, even if they didn’t smell like him.

  Garrett went to the window and looked out at the back grassyard. There were cats, but not a spotted kitten. “TQ?” Garrett prompted.

  TQ stayed silent for a minute, then said, “I have consulted all my human psychological data and it states that a person holding strong to a grief—obsessing—is not mentally healthy.”

  “Stay out of my mind.”

  “I could report this to D’Sea, the FirstFamily GrandLady mind Healer. I have permission to do that for any of my occupants since I don’t have a steady Family.”

  “As if the Families who live in the intelligent Residences aren’t all crazy.”

  “They are the FirstFamilies! The descendants of the colonists who funded the trip to Celta, the ones with the greatest Flair!” TQ sounded shocked.

  “That’s what makes them odd. Four hundred years of privilege.”

  “All humans have problems.” TQ was stiff.

  “All sentient beings have problems,” Garrett said. “From what I understand, there are some pretty strange Residences, too.” He thumped the doorjamb. “Like a House-becoming-a-Residence seeming to grow emotionally like a human.”

  “If you are saying that I do not have the knowledge to speak to you about HeartMates and HeartBonding and love—”

  Garrett heard the waterfall shut off. He didn’t want Artemisia walking in. “That’s my business, and so far I’m only hurting myself.” A question prodded. “Has she spoken to you of HeartMates? We connected during our Passages.” Much as he hadn’t wanted to.

  There was a creakin
g wood sound Garrett suspected was TQ laughing. “She has said nothing.” The House continued politely, “Do you want me to ask?”

  Heat crept up his face. “No.” He lifted his voice, “Where’s my Fam? My . . . clever . . . kitten?”

  No answer, but there was a suspicious wiggle in his duffle bag at the end of the bed. “What’s going to happen to my possessions, TQ?”

  “The clothes you wore while you were ill have been deconstructed and sent to the Noble Death Grove.”

  “Ah-hmm.”

  “I have sterilized and decontaminated your sleight-of-hand tools in your bag and the bag itself.”

  “That’s good.” He nodded to Artemisia as she came in, her voluminous hair slicked down and falling to the middle of her back. He wanted to see it unconfined, so he distracted himself by asking, “And the Healer’s pillow?”

  She gave him a bland stare. Yeah, he was avoiding calling her by name again, so what? Did she think that just because they’d spent three miserable days together, they were close? He’d thanked her already. He shifted so his clothes settled better. They were a little large.

  “Yes, TQ, what of my pillow?” Artemisia asked as she went into her bedroom and rustled around, packing. Garrett wanted to turn and watch her, so he didn’t. Yes, he was obsessive in ignoring her. He accepted that and had no intention of changing.

  “There are no signs of the illness in the pillow. I have a gentle decontamination cycle I will use to ensure you carry no contagion. And your new robe, of course, is pristine.”

  “No contagion at all this time, TQ?” asked Garrett. The past crowded in on him again. He’d been forced to take a lot of sick people up to a mountain quarantine clinic for fear of contagion, and the sickness had spread from the HealingHall that had turned them out. And the clinic. And the Smallage estate.

  “No person carried any cell of the Iasc sickness from here!” Pride rang in TQ’s tones.

  Garrett heard Artemisia’s relieved sigh . . . and her movements as she dressed. He stopped himself from visualizing.

  “None of you have any microbe of sickness. Nor will you have when you leave.”