Heart Fate

by Robin D. Owens

  Under his scrutiny she swallowed, stopped herself from pulling up the linens that were around her waist. Her breasts were bared to his view. She ignored her feelings of inadequacy and met his eyes. “Last night was wonderful.” She had a hasty flashback of them rolling over the bed, both moaning, and blushed. “I didn’t know that sex could be like that.” She looked aside. “I thought I’d never like sex. Thank you.”

  His brows went up and down. “Neither of us were thinking.”

  She giggled.

  “And I’d like not to think again,” he said. He touched her shoulder, traced her collarbone and down between her breasts. Keeping his eyes on her, his hand delved beneath the covers, traced her stomach, which clenched in anticipation.

  If she thought . . . she shouldn’t think. She should let her body rule. He stroked her between her legs . . . just . . . right. Her body dampened.

  She reached for him, set her hand behind his neck, and brought his lips to hers. She thrust her tongue inside his mouth as his finger entered her and all thought wisped away.

  His sex was hard, she felt it against her, thick and strong, and the thought of him inside her sent tingles from her breasts to her core. Her hips arched against the probing of his fingers, the maddening circle of his thumb on her most sensitive flesh.

  Physical delight. Her body and mind recalled how wonderful sexual climax was, and she was eager to find it again.

  She kicked off the linens and drew him down so she could feel his smooth, supple skin against hers. Let a yearning sound escape. Again she arched, twisting to caress his sex to show him that she wanted him. In her. Now!

  He chuckled, then gasped. His hands slid over her hips, held her still, and he plunged inside her.

  Pure bliss. She wrapped her legs around him, rocked with him, panting now, enjoying each slide of him in and out of her. Her hands clamped around his back, and the feel of his muscles bunching against her sensitized palms added another layer to the sheer pleasure inundating her.

  He slowed, and she whimpered in frustration.

  “Look . . . at . . . me,” he said.

  Her eyelids flew open, she hadn’t known she’d closed them, only felt the tension gripping her body, winding tight.

  She could only see the sharp contours of his face, his eyes, that were huge pupils with a rim of the darkest storm clouds.

  He stopped and though she writhed under him, she couldn’t make him move the way she wanted him to, needed him to. “Tinne,” his name came strangled from her throat.

  His grin was fierce, showing white teeth. “My name.”

  “Tinne.”

  “Yes, again.”

  “Tinne!”

  He withdrew to her very entrance, and his eyes went distant. He held himself, and her, on the brink of completion, their breaths coming to the same beat, their pulses matching. Pleasure built and built and built.

  He thrust inside her, and before he was completely hilted, she screamed in release and shattered with delight so great she thought she’d die.

  A while later she became aware that their breaths came ragged, and his weight on her was a muscled heaviness that should have scared her, but didn’t.

  The only comparison to T’Yew that she made was that there was no comparison. Tinne was her only lover.

  His eyes were closed now, but he rolled, and she was atop him. The movement nudged his sex deeper within her, and another orgasm rippled through her. She moaned and saw his lips curve in smug satisfaction that made her smile, too. She didn’t begrudge him any triumph. He’d done what she thought no man could ever do and taught her body to enjoy sex.

  She collapsed against him, her nose in his chest hair, and inhaled his scent.

  They lay there, together, and it was wonderful.

  “Blessings upon us, the sun’s returned,” the Residence said, voice bouncing around the room.

  Lahsin jerked, rolled off Tinne, grabbed the covers, and pulled them up to her neck, as if the Residence could see her.

  “It is past time for the Yule candle to be snuffed,” BalmHeal Residence said disapprovingly. “If you do not rise within a few minutes, the candle will not last until next year.”

  Tinne’s eyes met hers. Neither of them would be here next year.

  She struggled with huge emotions—having a new lover, the shadow of the past and of future Passage, leaving here. She shook her head, not able to sort through them.

  Tinne’s calendarsphere pinged into existence. “Breakfast with the Family in quarter septhour!” He winced.

  Lahsin studied him. “Does that expression mean you dread leaving or dread staying?”

  He caught her fingers, brought them to his mouth for a kiss. “I could never dread staying.”

  That sounded like something he’d said all too often to other women. The Holly charm was certainly strong and effective today. She drew her hand from his grip. “Don’t tell me lies, Tinne. You never have in the past, please don’t now.” To her horror, her throat had clogged with tears. Too emotional!

  “Do you want me to stay or go?”

  She was all mixed up. Didn’t want to think at all. “Will there be problems if you don’t show up for breakfast?”

  Another frown. “Yes.”

  Her breath left her in a sigh that even she couldn’t figure out. “Then, go.” It was easy to smile, to touch his handsome face, brush away a strand of silver white hair from his eyes.

  He got out of bed and looked around the room until he saw the door to the waterfall room. “I’ll be right out.” He ran a hand through his hair and cast her a glance. “You think on what you want to do.” Then he smiled at her with tenderness. “Whatever you want, Lahsin, I’m agreeable.” He picked up his colorful clothes.

  She stared at his fabulous body until he shut the door. Then she shifted, and her own body sent her signals from the sensual night, the slide of the sheets against her bare skin, the remembrance of shattering pleasure. She was still in a muddle when Tinne walked out. His hair was slightly damp, his clothes had changed colors from red and green to a shiny gold silkeen with silver trim. The color of the sun.

  He chuckled. “You haven’t moved.”

  She shook her head.

  “Let’s try a few questions.” His face sobered. “Answer with the first thing that comes to mind.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you want to continue your training?”

  “Yes!” No question.

  “Do you want to learn fighting?”

  “Yes.” This was a lot easier than thinking.

  “Do you want me to come tonight for training?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to stay tonight for loving?”

  She didn’t know. Her grip around the linens tightened.

  “I’ll continue to train you, Lahsin, never think I won’t.”

  She licked her lips, his gaze fell to them, and a slight flush came to his cheeks. She knew that look, now. It brought a response from her body, a tightening inside, an anticipatory pleasure. She answered without thought, “Yes, stay for sex.”

  A flicker of wariness showed in his eyes, then he nodded. “I’ll do that.”

  She smiled. “I’d like to drum tonight, too.”

  His stance eased. She had begun to notice things like that. “Training, then soaking, then drumming.” His grin flashed and took her breath, when had he ever looked so carefree? “Sex anytime after the training.” He strode to the bed, took her hands, and kissed them. “Later, Lahsin, sweet.” Then he ’ported away.

  Her mind was still considering soaking and sex.

  Lahsin smiled for a whole week. Each day she did more for the Residence and the estate, paying special attention to the landscape surrounding the Healing pool. The snow had melted, and no more had fallen.

  She’d passed her beginning fighting test and was solidly in the second level, deserving of her robes. She was learning drumming, too, through watching and listening to Tinne. He’d refused to formally teach h
er, saying everyone must develop their own talent. Hers was commonplace beside his, but it gave her an outlet for her emotions. For her anger. That was rising from the depths of her more often now that she felt secure.

  She was afraid of her anger, of how it might affect her in her looming last Passage, which hovered near like lightning ready to strike. So she released it in her training and drumming.

  She and Strother had developed habits—eating together, telling each other about their days. He’d been scouting Druida, and she’d asked him to keep an eye out for solitary places she might be able to teleport to and from. He’d been to the Turquoise House. When reporting that trip and his conversation with the House, his tongue had lolled in amusement.

  She wasn’t quite ready to leave FirstGrove, even to examine teleportation places. Not until after her last Passage when she’d be strong enough in Flair and truly an adult. But she read more of the newssheets every day, flipping quickly past the entire page that posted a reward for her.

  Tinne was wonderful. He spent most nights with her, but somehow he knew when she would prefer privacy after their soaking and left. Once he had to sleep in T’Holly HouseHeart.

  She gave thanks to the Lady and Lord who’d given her this sex partner. With him she began to experience and enjoy her own sexuality, though she hadn’t quite gotten up the nerve to explore his body as much as she wanted. And though he was open in bed, she hadn’t seen him as lighthearted as that first morning. He seemed to have withdrawn slightly from her as their relationship changed. Sometimes she caught him studying her and didn’t know what it meant. Did he think she might hurt him? Such a casual affair wouldn’t do that, and she was sure they could maintain their friendship after . . .

  After one of them Healed enough to be denied FirstGrove.

  Tinne felt like he was tottering on the edge of a crumbling cliff. He enjoyed being with Lahsin but knew it was unwise, the tenderness and caring he felt for her was too strong, too close to real love. He didn’t want a love that would rip him apart.

  He didn’t think that Lahsin knew her own emotions. She was physically open during sex, but kept their emotional link narrow. Furthermore, she didn’t seem to realize that she was having bad dreams. More than once, he’d found her thrashing beside him, whimpering, tears on her face. When he touched her to soothe, she pulled him into insistent lovemaking.

  The estimated time of her next Passage had come and gone. Tinne worried that meant her next fugue would be bad. That she was somehow not allowing it to come, that some secret inner shields kept it away. He wondered what might ignite it.

  The bond between them increased in power and intimacy. When they made love, the HeartBond unfurled between them. He was her HeartMate, but he guarded his heart and so did she.

  That night Tinne showed Lahsin a new fighting pattern, worked with her on defenses to side grabs, soaked, and had fabulous sex. He was still awake when she began to tremble and gasp. Ordering on a glowlight, he turned toward her, stroked her. Pretty Lahsin. Then he touched a blush rose nipple and watched it harden and smiled.

  Her eyes opened.

  He raised his hand from her body immediately, and when he saw her eyes widen in incipient fear, he put it behind his back.

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  “Don’t what.”

  She wet her lips but met his eyes, her own big and green. “Don’t stop. It feels so good.”

  “Lahsin—”

  Her gaze met his and clouded. “I have a HeartMate.”

  Everything in him stilled. “You had a bad dream, of him?”

  “No.” She pushed tumbled hair back from her face. “But . . . a HeartMate . . .” Her eyes were vulnerable, as if she was asking him to tell her what to do. He couldn’t. He wasn’t ready for this discussion, felt like he was on the brink, ready to fall.

  He bit back, “So do I.” Instead he ground out, “Do you want him?”

  “No!”

  He grabbed the bed linens, anchored himself. “Do you want me?”

  “Yes!”

  His gut unknotted with relief.

  “But shouldn’t I want him instead of you?”

  He lifted his brows. “Do you know him?”

  She frowned. “No. Not much, and he’s been as grumpy as BalmHeal Residence. I’m afraid he’s older.”

  He laugh-coughed at that, slid his hand into her hair, relishing the silkeen slide of it, gave it a little tug. “That’s usually how HeartMates work. The one who is older experiences Passage first and knows first. You’re young. He’s bound to be older. I’m older than you.”

  Her eyes screwed shut. “It would be horrible if he is as old as T’Yew. Horrible.”

  Tinne wanted off this subject as quickly as possible. He would let passion distract them both. He brushed her lips with his. He didn’t want to talk about this, was treading as carefully as he had when he’d been in quicksand. That led to a falling sensation, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on Lahsin’s lips, on her taste. Berries. She always tasted of ripe raspberries to him. He swept his tongue over her lips, and they parted. Taking the invitation, he forayed inside, and the depths of her mouth revealed more taste. Lingering orange juice— liquid sunshine—woman becoming aroused—his own body stirred, fast and hard—berries, berries, berries.

  She pushed at him, and he obligingly rolled away, onto his back, then she was the one leaning over him. Her hair brushed his chest, and he trembled.

  Her expression was still troubled. “Should we be doing this?”

  He allowed himself a snort. “You don’t want to?” Her little nipples were already tight, there was a slight sheen to her body, and he scented her arousal.

  “Yes. I do. I didn’t think I’d ever want sex, but you’ve been so wonderful.”

  His stomach twisted again. At least she hadn’t said what they had together was “just” sex.

  She pressed her lips to his, feather light, and he groaned. He hadn’t seen her coming. He’d closed his eyes without even knowing. When she withdrew he opened his eyes. She met his stare, her pupils wide, her lips red, then looked away. “It’s more than just sex,” she whispered.

  He reached up and curved his palm around her face, turned her head back so he could see those eyes he could drown in—fall endlessly in. “It’s not just sex. It’s caring.”

  She smiled, slowly, beautifully, set her hand on his shoulder, and tugged. But he had other ideas. He framed her waist with his hands, lifted and set her on his lower abdomen, a little above where he really wanted her. He felt her butt wriggle against him, and he let out a groan.

  She giggled.

  So he flung his arms out. “I am at your command.”

  Her eyes widened even more. She pursed her lips. “Really?”

  That one word told him how she had grown. It wasn’t a light, girlish question, but a low statement, rich in implication. He swallowed. “Yes.”

  “I get to explore you?” Her eyes gleamed.

  “Yes.”

  She rubbed his chest with her hands, scraped her nails over his nipples. He arched as the sensation went straight to his cock, thickening it. All his blood swept to his groin. But he didn’t need to think. Not with Lahsin.

  HeartMate.

  He didn’t need to listen to the whisperings of his mind, either. The wariness of his heart. All he had to do was feel, let his body enjoy.

  So he did. Her hair teased him. Her lips teased him. Her hands stroked and caressed until he was begging between ragged breaths.

  Then she licked him. All over. His control broke, and he set her where he wanted her, and she moved onto him, took him into her, and there was nothing but need and sex and climbing to the top of the mountain and falling exquisitely until he exploded into a thousand stars. He hoped when he landed it wouldn’t be fatal.

  Thirty-one

  The next day Lahsin did her regular chores in the morning, spent some time in the early afternoon in the stillroom, then decided to finally visit FirstGrove itself. It
was near the southwest bit of the estate, close to the south door. As she approached she felt the atmosphere change. The air wavered before her eyes.

  She passed through another spellshield, one she’d never sensed, couldn’t sense now as she turned back to try. Then she understood it wasn’t quite a shield. It was a spell that enveloped the grove, made from ancient traditions, emotions, rituals. A spell that came from the ground and the trees themselves.

  It was warmer here, the light brighter. She thought she saw a wayward sparkle of Flair. She breathed deeply, and the air was different, as if she drew in the essence of the trees. With another full inhalation she tried to identify the fragrance that tickled her nose, separate the scents of the various trees. She couldn’t.

  FirstGrove.

  Tall, beautiful trees of Earthan and Celtan origin. Trees that shouldn’t quite grow together. They formed a deep semicircle with a grassy area in the middle, one that must be dotted with wildflowers in every other season. In the center was an altar that radiated age and Flair.

  As if in a dream she walked up to it, touched the rough top.

  Passage swamped her, spiking her temperature, sending her nauseous to her knees. Bad. This was bad. This was the worst.

  This was the last. She knew it. If she survived this, she would survive Second Passage.

  Immediately she erected spellshields, felt herself surrounded by an impenetrable bubble. She strove to ground herself in the real world, tried to see the trees of FirstGrove. Failed.

  She didn’t know the place well enough. Had there been a stand of birch ahead, or was it some other white-barked trees?

  Again and again she tried to grasp reality, but it was futile.

  So she took a moment to regulate her breathing inside the altered reality and looked out on a rough dark green sea that spiraled to a whirlpool.

  With effort, she levitated her capsule, sent it slowly floating over the funnel. The vortex got darker and darker as it narrowed deep into the ocean, but at the bottom was a ravishing, glowing pearl.