by Autumn Dawn
She narrowed her eyes, and then risked a peek over her shoulder. She did a double take and stared. “It's a trick,” she said after a moment of strangled silence.
Raising his brows, he went to the balcony and threw open the door, letting in the warm night air. “Go outside and look at the trees. Feel the warm wind. Look at the sea below us. Were you anywhere near a sea when you camped?"
She glanced at the three moons through the huge window, then at the open balcony door. She didn't move.
He left the door open and moved away. “It's no less true if you refuse to look."
Slowly she rose and edged to the door, keeping a wary eye on him. She stepped out on the balcony and looked out for long minutes. When she came back in, her eyes were haunted.
"Water?” he offered her when she dropped back onto the couch.
She stared at the refreshment tray, then gingerly picked it up and took a sip.
"It's been a long day for you. You can stay in the spare room for tonight. It has a private bath and a lock on the door. No one will disturb you. If you would like to rest now, we can talk more in the morning.” She didn't look as if she could take much more, and he needed to think.
She looked at the water in her hands with a lost expression.
Guessing it was an improvement over her trying to climb the walls, he summoned a maid and sent her to prepare the spare bedroom. After giving more orders to his staff, he sought out his guest. She was watching him with wary tension.
"Your room is ready and the maid drew a bath for you. She's left fresh clothes for you on the bed and will show you the room. If you need anything during the night, you have only to ask. Would you like to take the tray with you?” She hadn't eaten a bite.
When she stood up, but said nothing, he retrieved the tray and took it to her room, leaving it inside. She didn't enter the room until he left, then she slammed the door and locked it.
"So much for a truce,” he muttered ruefully.
Feeling tired, he paced over to the balcony and looked out, though he didn't exit the room. Somehow he felt he'd better keep an eye on her door, lest she disappear again.
Had it really been twenty years since her disappearance? So much in his life had changed. She'd been so young when they'd been betrothed, but if she hadn't been lost, they would have already been wed for six years now. If he'd only known she was alive...
It didn't matter now. There were things that had to be done, arrangements to be made. For a moment the thought crossed his mind that she would have been better off left alone, but he shook it off. After all those years of searching, of seeking answers, he couldn't just leave her in the woods. As hard as it might be for them both, he was going to make this work.
Chapter 3
The next morning didn't start much better. Rihlia emerged from her room very early, looking as if she hadn't slept. Maybe she'd hoped to escape while he slept, for she didn't look happy to see him.
"Good morning,” he said pleasantly, noting that she'd put her freshened clothes back on, though he'd guess she had less layers on underneath. She'd put on the lighter boots he'd ordered for her. It was a tiny start, but encouraging nonetheless.
In the morning light, he could see that her natural eye color was brown, the same as the hair she'd pulled back into a tail. It had been longer as a child, but many things had changed since then.
He'd seen the maid go into her room and come out with the untouched tray. “Would you like some breakfast?"
She said nothing, but slunk like a prisoner into the dining chair he pulled out for her, leaning away when he slid it back in.
"I didn't know what you were used to, so I ordered a variety of things.” He said the blessing, then dished a little of everything onto her plate. Normally he would ask what she wanted, but nothing about today was normal.
She looked at the spiced rice on her plate, then poked the curled vegetables next to them. “What is this?"
"Fern heads."
"Ferns.” She didn't sound impressed.
"I believe you're familiar with apples,” he said, pointing to poached fruit. “They're cooked in wine and honey. The juice next to you is a native berry—you used to love it.” It was hard to be patient. She'd once treated him like a beloved brother, and now she thought he was trying to poison her over breakfast. It was almost more than he could stand.
She shot him a look and went back to staring at her plate. “What's this sausage made of?” She looked hideously suspicious and a little green. “You don't eat people, do you?"
His eyes widened. “What! You can't be serious.” When she just looked at him warily, he snapped, “It's an animal. A grazing beast called a deerhare.” When she still wouldn't eat, he demanded, “What's wrong?"
She considered him. “How do I know this isn't drugged?"
Frustration made him sigh. “Would you like me to taste everything for you? Better yet...” He switched their plates and cups, then handed her his roll. Then he topped off her plate and dug in, ignoring her.
Keeping an eye on him, she finally picked up her spoon. She must have been hungry because once she started she quickly finished everything in front of her in mere seconds.
Relieved to see her fed and feeling less like an ogre, he gestured her over to the sitting room as the servants cleared the table. When they were alone again, he retrieved a folder from his desk and placed it on the low table in front of her, taking one of the chairs opposite. “This is your dossier. We've completed a fingerprint analysis, voice scan and DNA test. You are Rihlia, daughter of Rhapsody and Crewel Sotra. When you were a child, we often called you ‘Wiley One,’ or ‘Wiley,’ for all the mischief you got into. Obviously that name was the one you used when you crossed worlds.” When she said nothing, he asked, “How did you come up with the last name, Jayems?” The question had been burning him.
She looked away, focused on nothing. “The orphanage gave it to me."
"Orphanage?” Somehow he'd never pictured her in such a place. There'd never been a question that she was loved, and he'd thought she was dead. They all had. The thought of her in such a place chilled him. What other indignities had she suffered while they'd given her up?
"The place where they raise children who have no family. Unwanted children,” she said sarcastically, as if he needed a definition.
The bitter edge hurt him. “You were wanted,” he said intensely, leaning forward. “You were taken from us. I searched for days myself, trying to find you. There was nothing to be found, no scent or sign of you, and now we know why."
Her face was closed. “So? Now you know where I was. Put me back."
Disturbed by her lack of emotion, he said, “You belong here."
She said nothing.
Lost, seeking a way to reach her, he asked, “What do you do in your world?"
"I'm a clerk in a hardware store."
He puzzled that out. It didn't sound too enthralling. “Do you enjoy it?"
She shrugged.
"Do you have a lover?"
"No!” she said vehemently. “I have a life. I was enjoying it."
Relieved, he said with less intensity, “Do you have many friends?"
"Some. Enough."
"And this roommate you mentioned...?” When she remained silent, he decided she needed more facts. “We moved to this world to avoid humans. Our kinds never mixed well. We killed each other. Humans fear us. I assume they're the ones that taught you to fear yourself."
No response. Normally that wouldn't bother him, but this wasn't the ordinary sort of inquest. Her feelings mattered to him. “This friend of yours would turn on you if she knew who you were."
"You don't know Jasmine!” she exploded, killing him with her eyes. “She's not just a friend, she's the sister of my heart! She was raised with me, went to school with me ... she even stayed in Alaska just to be with me, and she hates snow! She's the closest thing to family I've got, and you're not going to talk trash about her.” Then she added grudgingly, “Besides, she's got my dog."
He smiled. “A dog is not a problem; if that's all you want. Your friend is.” He thought for a moment. “We can fake your death."
She blanched. “Don't you do that to her! She has no one else. If she thought—” she broke off, apparently to unwilling to finish the thought. “You don't know what it's like to be alone."
"You're not alone.” He leaned forward, putting intensity into the words. She would never be alone again if he had his way.
It only made her angry. “I am! Was ... listen, I'm talking about Jasmine right now. I won't let you hurt her like that."
He settled back in his chair. They were on familiar ground now. He had a bargaining chip, and he waited to see what she would suggest.
It didn't take her long to offer a deal. “Let me see her and explain, and I'll ... I'll promise to listen to what you're saying."
"You're already listening. You can't help that."
She blew out a breath. “I won't try to escape if you let us talk."
"You won't run off regardless. There are dangers in the woods around here, and I'm not about to permit you to charge off heedlessly into them.” There were political dangers aplenty inside the Citadel, too, but she didn't need to know about those yet.
He didn't need to add that he had the manpower to make her stay where he put her.
Her eyes narrowed. “I'm not going to marry you over this."
"That's not an issue we'll bargain over.” That was an issue he'd tackle after he'd gotten to know her better. They had enough to deal with at that moment. “As I said, I don't hurt women. That includes forcing them to share my bed. If you find yourself there, it will be because you choose to go."
She flushed and avoided his eyes. She muttered a curse.
He raised a brow. “If that was meant to remain private, it didn't. My ears are as sharp as yours.” Ignoring her evil look, he said, “This is what I'm offering: a new home, a new world and a family who loves you. All I want in return is your willing cooperation. Be pleasant. Try not to view us as the enemy."
"And you'll let me talk to Jasmine?"
"I will."
"And you won't hurt her?"
"I won't, though it's not a promising beginning that you would have to ask."
She looked at him hard. “I don't know you."
"But you will try to keep your promise?"
"I will keep my promise."
"Thank you. When did you expect her?"
Chapter 4
She had to give him credit—Jayems did not push. Other than insisting on calling her Rihlia, he was all that was pleasant. He didn't crowd her or try to touch her as he took her on a tour of the Citadel. He didn't comment when she looked at the guards with wild eyes, nor did he try to comfort her. He treated the guards with indifference unless he dealt with one directly. Those interactions were matter of fact, with various degrees of familiarity depending on who it was, not that she could tell what was said. All those who were changed used sign language, a fact she took keen note of.
"Why can't they speak when they're a werewolf? Is it part of the curse?” she finally asked.
"It's not a curse, girl,” he said with frown, as if she were talking about the ability to walk. “It's part of who we are. Being unable to talk is just another part of the change, like being fast and strong. We also can't mate, for that matter, and we're a little color blind."
"I never noticed,” she muttered.
He looked at her speculatively. “How often do you change?"
Darkness filled her eyes. “Twice, I think. Maybe three times, when I was really little. Whenever I couldn't help it."
"Couldn't help it? When you lost your temper? What do you mean—twice a month?"
"In my life.” Her mouth was a flat, grim line.
He stopped walking. “You only changed three times in your life.” He was staring at her as if she'd just announced that she was gay.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah,” she admitted, shamed to remember the times she'd lost control. She'd worn sunglasses everywhere when she was a teen, trying to shield her eyes. They'd been banned in class, of course, so she'd perfected the art of blanking out in school. Her peers had all thought she was a perfect freak. Thinking back, she couldn't believe even Jasmine had befriended her, unless it was because Jas was even more lonely than she'd been.
"How did you...” He seemed to be searching for a neutral phrase. “Er, how do you bleed off the hormones, then?"
"Hormones?"
He looked at the sky, then around at the trees. They'd stopped just shy of the exit to a courtyard. “The emotions and needs that build up in your body when you cannot or do not change for some reason. We're not like humans—we have a physiological and psychological need to change at times, or we grow sick. It's the way we're designed. How did you manage?"
Seeing they were close to a bench, she exited, crossed the grass and sat under a shady tree. She fixed her sight back on the gray Citadel walls and tried not to think. “I signed up for every sport known to man. I drank, smoked, got stoned and made out. Eventually I gave up on the drugs and laid off the booze—they made me more likely to lose control. After that I just exercised until I dropped and had a string of boyfriends. Eventually I gave up on that, too. Too much frustration. I could never complete...” She trailed off with a glance at him. “Mostly I had nightmares."
A shiver ran through her, thinking of those. Some nights she awoke with black hairs all over the bed and clawed sheets. In the orphanage she'd learned to sleep with the sheets over her head no matter how hot it got. As an adult she'd had a lock on her door.
The nuns at the orphanage had thought she was possessed. She still remembered them crossing themselves against her.
He took a deep, slow breath. “Now that you're here, it's safe to change. You no longer have to suffer."
She just looked at him.
A muscle flexed in his cheek. “You will change, in your room if you must. I don't want you getting sick."
She looked back at the walls, tuning him out.
Jayems squatted down in front of her and looked her in the eyes. His were hard and glowing gold with emotion. “You are not a monster. You have needs. Now that I know what you went through, I'd be shot before I ever let you go back.” His tone was quiet and final.
Fear froze her to the bench. She couldn't help it—he looked like her nightmares.
He drew another slow breath, and gradually his eyes darkened to normal. He blinked and seemed to regain control. “Come. I wanted to show you our kitchens."
Careful not to upset him again, she walked at his side, keeping a measured distance between them. Not friendly, but not too rude. She didn't want to see those eyes again.
Too her surprise, there was a man holding a beast outside the kitchens. About the size of a pig, it had a body like a cross between a large kangaroo and a deer, with hoofed feet. The head had a distinctly jackrabbitish look about it, and the ears were long. The body was dull brown with white markings on its legs, belly and tiny, tufted tail.
"This is a deerhare,” Jayems explained. “You know him better as sausage."
She grimaced at him as the handler led the animal away. “Ugh. Do you always introduce your guests to their breakfast?"
"Only when they think we're serving infant instead,” he said dryly, opening the kitchen door for her.
The kitchens were huge and immaculate. Entire rooms were devoted to baking, butchering and processing vegetables. There were sinks and stoves in each room, as well as various kinds of pantries and cold storage. The staff was polite, though they only stopped what they were doing when directly addressed. It was hard to believe the amount of food they processed in a day.
"The Citadel is vast. The kitchens supply all the food for our garrison, my personal household as well as their own families,” Jayems explained. “There are many young apprentices here, learning how to provide for their own families. It's not just a kitchen, it's also a classroom."
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br /> "Wow.” Wiley thanked a young man who handed her a tiny tart, then took a bite. Warm citrus curd and buttery shell melted on her tongue. “Mmm! Where do I sign up?"
Jayems grinned. “You're welcome to take lessons here in the kitchens, or I'd be happy to arrange a private tutor."
Unwilling to acknowledge that she'd be there long enough to attend the lessons, she made a noncommittal sound in answer.
As she snacked her way around the kitchens she acquired knowledge of many new foods, and of a surprising array of familiar ones. Food being a subject dear to her heart, she couldn't stop herself from asking questions.
"We brought many seeds and plants with us when we came; others are natives to this planet. Some of the plants didn't thrive, but others loved their new home.” He gestured to a monstrous parsnip on a cutting board.
"Tell me brussel sprouts didn't make it,” she begged.
"Never heard of it,” he said with a smile.
"Sweet.” Even drowned in cheese sauce, she'd never been able to stand brussel sprouts. Martian heads, they used to call them.
He led her out another door and into formal herb garden, smiling at her exclamation of pleasure. “The pride of our kitchens,” he said, gesturing to the knot garden. “We have fifteen varieties of thyme alone."
"Cool.” She bent to sniff a hedge. “Mint! I love this stuff in cocoa."
The herb garden led into the orchards. It was long past noon by the time they'd toured the vegetable gardens, greenhouses, seen the berry plot and done a quick walk through the livestock area. Tired, but in a pleasant mood, she let him lead her back toward the Citadel.
They'd nearly reached the entrance when they met up with a group of three young ladies and a matronly sort. One look at Jayems and the young ones were all shy smiles and giggles.
Wiley rolled her eyes. Those girls were all around her age—old enough to have more sense. Granted, Fallon was good looking in a brutal sort of way, but anyone could see he would be a totally dominating husband, completely unsuited to any woman with a brain.
It didn't stop the giggling trio, who looked like they spent half their day preparing to wow men. Their hair trailed in elaborate braids down their backs, as if a maid had spent at least an hour on each of them. They wore subtle makeup, expertly applied, and their perfect nails had surely never seen hard labor. Grecian-style gowns of flowing silk adorned perfect bodies, and all of the girls were pretty.