Forbidden (The Djinn Wars Book 6)

by Christine Pope

  So she let him pull her into his arms, and didn’t dare look up into his face as they began to move slowly to the music. It felt good, though — felt far better than she wanted to admit to herself. And she’d always loved this song. It must have been the wine, but she found herself softly singing along.

  “Just remember, darling, all the while

  “You belong to me.”

  Then, to her mortification, she realized the music had stopped, that Aldair was staring down at her with an inscrutable expression on his features. At length he said, “You have a very lovely voice.”

  Blood rushed to her cheeks. “No, I — ”

  “You do. Far more pleasant than the woman on the recording.” He glanced over at the jukebox and then looked back at Jillian. “Why have I not heard you sing before this?”

  Despite herself, she couldn’t quite keep herself from grinning. “Well, it’s not exactly as if I’ve had much of a chance to sing lately.”

  “True. I should give you more opportunities.”

  The warmth in his voice was impossible to miss. Jillian knew she should do or say something to defuse the situation, but damned if she could think of anything. Realizing that the jukebox remained silent, she ventured, “Um — it’s kind of hard to dance when there’s no music playing.”

  “True.” He paused then, blue eyes still fixed on her face. “Perhaps the time for dancing has passed. We have been dancing around one another, don’t you think?”

  Not sure how to respond, Jillian could only allow herself a single cautious nod. That seemed to be enough for Aldair, though, because he let go of her hand so he could raise his own to push back a loose strand of hair from her face. Then he moved his hand downward, ever so slightly, so he might cup her cheek.

  A shiver went through her. That curiously gentle touch was enough to send heat flaring along every limb. His eyes still watched her, as if gauging her every reaction. Was he waiting for her to protest, to pull away? She knew she should. She should do something to stop him.

  Somehow, though, she couldn’t find the strength to do anything except stand there.

  “Ah.” One syllable, an acknowledgment of something she hadn’t wanted to face.

  Then he bent and placed his mouth against hers.

  Sweet fire, racing all through her body. It had been so very long since she’d felt anything like this, waking parts of her that had felt dead for the past two years. His tongue touched her gently, tasting of wine and something else, perhaps only his own exotic djinn flavor. She didn’t know, and right then didn’t much care, only wanted him to keep on kissing her.

  But he shouldn’t be kissing her. This was wrong — so wrong. She wasn’t his Chosen. She wasn’t anyone who would have ever caught the eye of a djinn. And how could she let him embrace her like this when it had been his people who destroyed all of mankind?

  Who had killed Jack.

  With a gasp, she thrust herself away. Shock and anger flared in Aldair’s eyes, but she knew she had done the right thing.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I can’t. I just — I can’t.”

  And with those words she fled from him, running as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did. But she bolted out of the Mine Shaft and out onto Main Street, wondering when he was going to give chase, and what she should do when he caught up with her.

  He didn’t, however. She ran all the way home, then hurried inside and went to her room and shut the door. Her entire body shook, and she grasped the corner of the dresser for support as she attempted to catch her breath. The silence of the house around her rang in her ears.

  Why hadn’t he pursued her?

  Chapter Eleven

  For a long, long moment, Aldair stood in the middle of the bar at the Mine Shaft tavern, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had to do that, because otherwise he knew he would have taken to the air, would have made sure he got to the house before Jillian did, so he might confront her over her foolishness.

  Then, when the angry beating of his heart had subsided somewhat, he crossed over to the table where they’d sat and lifted his wine glass so he might drain the meager remnants at the bottom. Not satisfied, he reached over for Jillian’s abandoned glass and drank the little bit of wine it still contained.

  Still not enough. Well, he was in a bar, after all.

  One of the bottles hidden under the counter sailed out and landed in his outstretched hand. No need for a corkscrew; he merely made a twirling motion with one finger, and the cork spiraled up and out of the bottle, landing on the floor.

  No need for a glass, either. Aldair raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long swallow. This wine wasn’t nearly as good as the one he and Jillian had shared at dinner, but then, savoring its vintage wasn’t the reason he drank now.

  He had been so sure of her. Just the look in her eyes, the warmth in her smile as she gazed at him. And then when she had reached over to lay her hand on top of his, he had seen the gesture as more than simple sympathy for the perceived loss of his Chosen. He had truly thought Jillian had intended to send him a subtle signal that such contact was welcome for her.

  And she had agreed to dance with him.

  For a few exquisite moments, he had held her, felt the warm curves of her body pressed against his. Her voice, too — that had been a surprise. Sweet and soft and low, just as lovely as she herself was. All in all, he had had no reason to think she didn’t want him just as much as he wanted her.

  The damnable thing was, he could almost swear she had been just as lit with desire. Something had stopped her. Misguided loyalty to that damnable husband of hers? Right then, Aldair thought it a good thing that this paragon, this Jack, was already dead. Otherwise, Aldair would have been tempted to kill him.

  Very well. He had miscalculated here, and would have to think of the best way to approach Jillian all over again. He would not have called her shy, but clearly there was some part of her that she kept well hidden. Otherwise, she would not have given all the signs of attraction, and then backed away as soon as he acted upon them.

  Patches, who had been sitting off to one side the entire time, came over and leaned his head against Aldair’s leg. Although he would have thought that being bothered by a dog was the last thing he wanted right then, still he bent down and stroked behind Patches’ ears, glad of the chance to think of something besides this last disastrous encounter with Jillian Powell.

  “Women,” he muttered, and Patches looked up, expression hopeful. Well, there was a little steak left over.

  He went back to the table and sat down, then set the wine bottle in front of him. The dog watched these movements closely, waiting for his chance.

  “Here you are,” Aldair said, feeding a morsel of leftover ribeye to the dog. That offering elicited some fierce tail wagging. Good that Patches at least could enjoy the remainder of the evening. “Any advice?” he went on. “For clearly I don’t seem to know what I am doing.”

  More tail wagging, and Aldair fed some more steak to the dog. What was Jillian doing at this very moment? Hiding in her room, relieved that an angry djinn hadn’t come chasing after her? Or did she wonder precisely why he hadn’t made any pursuit?

  He had wanted to, but until he could think of exactly the right thing to say, such an effort would only be an exercise in futility. Also, right then he didn’t want to admit that he had elicited her sympathy by telling her a series of lies. Yes, it was true enough that he had no attachment to Katelyn Fonseca, his supposed Chosen…but what he had neglected to mention was that their attachment had been severed long ago. It was not his exile that had caused their separation, but his pursuit of revenge. She had been captured by Khalim’s men, but he had not bothered to rescue her. Indeed, he had allowed her to be taken by Ali, Khalim’s cousin. Why worry about her eventual fate, when at the time Aldair had been so certain that he would have Jessica Monroe soon within his grasp?

  These unpleasant truths were ones he had no intention of divulging to Jillian. Now she wa
s only skittish and perhaps a little frightened, not sure what she should do about her attraction to him. Because Aldair knew she was attracted. She simply couldn’t quite accept the fact.

  But if she knew of everything he had done…if she ever learned the truth…then that attraction would vanish as if it had never been. And he would not allow that. Yes, his true goal was still attempting to find a way that he might live freely in the world, and perhaps also to finally get his long-delayed revenge on Jasreel.

  Now, though…now Aldair began to realize that he wanted very much for Jillian to share that life with him. Surely once she heard how he had been treated, how his miserable half-breed of a brother had ruined his life, she would understand. She would stand with him and lend her strength to his.

  If, of course, she ever intended to speak to him again.

  The only sign of Aldair’s return was the slight creak of the stairs as he walked up them. She hadn’t heard the front door shut, or heard him moving around on the ground floor. Actually, she rather thought he was coming up the stairs in the usual way because he wanted her to know he was home. Otherwise, he could have simply zapped himself into his own room.

  She’d taken off the heavy necklace he’d given her, had climbed into one of her borrowed tank tops and yoga pants. And she’d lain down in bed and closed her eyes, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not with her heart still racing, her blood still pounding in her veins. Not with her heart and her body so at war with one another.

  Would he knock on her door as he had the day before, attempt to speak with her? Or would he realize she was a lost cause and go straight to bed?

  Jillian didn’t know which would be worse.

  She barely dared to breathe as she lay there, listening to his heavy footsteps. They paused on the landing for the longest time, so long that she almost got up herself and went to the door, just because she didn’t think she could bear the suspense any longer. At last, though, he moved away and his door shut — but softly, as if he didn’t want to make enough noise to wake her.

  Shit.

  The opportunity lost, she rolled over on her side and stared at the closed door a few yards away from her. She could see it very clearly because of the bright moonlight pouring through the thin curtains at the window — the bronze finish of the door’s round handle, the various “eyes” of the knotty pine. Every detail seared into her brain as she lay there for what felt like an eternity.

  You can get up and go talk to him, you know, she thought.

  That inner voice sounded so rational, and yet she knew she could never follow its advice. Hadn’t she fled from him because she knew that any sort of connection between them was wrong? How could she defile Jack’s memory by being intimate with one of the beings who’d wiped almost every trace of humanity from the surface of the earth?

  But Aldair wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t be. He’d had a Chosen; therefore, he must be one of the “good” djinn.

  On the other hand, how good could he have been if he’d been sent to the outer circles? Jillian doubted that sort of punishment was handed out to people who’d been found guilty of the djinn version of jaywalking, or shoplifting.

  Damn it to hell.

  Almost without realizing what she was doing, she pushed back the single sheet that covered her and went to the door. Laid her hand on the knob and let her fingers rest on the cool metal for a long, long time — so long that she felt the bronze begin to warm to her touch. Then she pulled in a breath, and another, and opened the door.

  Aldair’s room was not so very far away, just down the hall, but right then it felt as if it was more like a mile. Eventually, though, Jillian got there, and hesitated once more. Maybe he hadn’t heard her get up and come over here. Maybe she could just tiptoe back to her room and act as if she’d never suffered such a terrible lapse in judgment.

  But no, she wasn’t going to be that kind of coward.

  She raised her hand and knocked on the door. “Aldair.”

  He opened it so swiftly that she wondered if he’d been waiting for her. Even in the gloom, she could see the angry flicker of his blue eyes. “Jillian.”

  You’ve come this far. Just say it. She swallowed, then said quickly, “I want you to tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Why you were exiled.”

  He didn’t speak. He only stood there, just a few inches away. His chest rose and fell, and she realized he wasn’t wearing the shimmering djinn robes from dinner, but a pair of loose dark pants and nothing else. A candle flickered somewhere in the room behind him, washing a warm glow over the impressive contours of his chest and arms.

  At last he said, “Why?”

  She swallowed. “Because I need to know.”

  Another long pause, while her heartbeat thudded in her ears and she wondered if he was going to slam the door in her face for her impertinence. “I will tell you…if you will tell me something.”

  How like him to ask for something before he would agree to do anything himself. But she was the one who had come to his door as a supplicant, so she supposed she had better meet him halfway. “If I can.”

  “Why did you run from me?”

  Damn it. She bit her lip and glanced away, saw the lacy outline of the aspen tree outside the hallway window cast into sharp relief by the bright moonlight. “Because I was afraid.”

  Aldair made an exasperated sound. “Afraid of what?”

  “Us. You.”

  He was silent then, clearly weighing her words. Then he said, “You have no reason to be afraid.”

  She couldn’t hold back the little hiccup of laughter that rose in her throat. “Oh, I think I do.”

  “Because of Jack?”

  “Partly. And because of everything else.”

  Aldair seemed nonplussed by her reply. His head tilted to one side as he gazed down at her. Was her expression even that visible in the half-lit corridor? Possibly. Maybe djinn could see better than regular humans.

  But then he gave a slow nod. “Let us go downstairs. This is not the sort of talk to have while standing in a hallway.”

  And he moved past her so he could head down the stairs. Jillian trailed behind, not sure whether she should be relieved or not. Yes, it seemed as if he was about to finally tell her the truth, but what if it was a truth she didn’t want to hear? What if he revealed himself to be truly as terrible as she’d feared?

  Or worse, what if she found out that he hadn’t done anything particularly horrible, that he wasn’t one of the “bad” djinn and so not someone she needed to avoid? What then?

  Heart pounding in her breast, she followed him into the living room. He sat down on the couch, while she settled herself on the love seat. No way would she sit next to him. That felt far too dangerous.

  The pair of candles sitting on the mantel flared into life. Jillian startled, then told herself to relax. It was better to do this with some kind of light, wasn’t it?

  Although she would have preferred the more impersonal nature of the light fixture overhead.

  A shadow slipped past her feet, and she started again before realizing it was just Patches, coming down to be with his people. He must have been sleeping in Aldair’s room.

  At the same time, a tall, slender bottle and a pair of small cordial glasses appeared on the coffee table before them. Aldair reached for the bottle, saying, “I thought this might help.”

  She didn’t bother to protest as he poured a small measure of dark, heavy liquid into each glass. All right, it could have been too much wine that allowed her to lose her mind and let Aldair kiss her, but she didn’t think so, even if it would have been a lot easier to blame her loss of control on the alcohol, rather than the weakness in her own heart.

  “Thank you,” she said as he handed one of the glasses to her. “What is it?”

  “Late harvest pinot noir,” he replied. “Something of a rarity. Much more nuanced than port, or brandy. You must let me know what you think of it.”

 
Where he’d gotten such a thing, she had no idea. Maybe he had magicked it here out of some wine shop in Albuquerque. She allowed herself a cautious sip. The flavor was intense, sweet, but with a tartness to it as well, very different from the one time she’d tasted port and judged it not for her, too thick and syrupy. This wine had a lightness to it, for all its concentrated taste.

  Jillian thought she liked it, which meant she had to be careful. It would be far too easy to keep sipping away and have it loosen her tongue and her inhibitions, while Aldair indulged her weakness and somehow managed once again to avoid telling her any of the things she needed so desperately to know.

  “It’s fine,” she said.

  “Just fine?”

  She slanted a glance up at him as she set the small cordial glass down on the coffee table. “I like it better than port. Okay?”

  One eyebrow went up. “Okay.” He clearly didn’t seem to harbor the same reservations about drinking the potent dessert wine, for he drained what was in his glass and then poured himself some more.

  He didn’t seem inclined to say anything else, and impatience stirred within her. Had he brought her down here merely to see if she would get drunk enough to surrender to his kisses? If that had been his plan, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

  She crossed her arms and wished she was wearing something more substantial than a tank top. No, Aldair didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the amount of cleavage currently on display, but she still would have felt a lot more comfortable in a baggy T-shirt.

  “So?” she prompted, and his mouth tightened.

  “I do not think it is a story you will much enjoy.”

  “Maybe not. All the same, I want you to tell me. I can’t — ” She hesitated, and wondered how much honesty he could take. For her, though, there was something raw and honest about sharing a kiss, about opening up enough to allow even that small intimacy. She shouldn’t dance around who she was, what she felt. “Maybe for you a kiss isn’t a big deal. It is for me, though. I need to know more about the man I was kissing.”