Magic and Shadows: A Collection of YA Fantasy and Paranormal Romances

by T. M. Franklin

  Following the two outside, she suggested Skye fetch Thyel. Once Skye was out of earshot, she turned to Fane. “While you’re out, keep an eye for any herds grazing nearby. Maybe goats. The green will be hungry when she awakes.”

  “Good idea,” Fane said.

  Thyel joined them on the landing alone. “Skye’s saying goodbye to Jarrod. He woke up briefly.” He gave a nod to Fane. “You can start if you want and we’ll catch up. I want to speak with Tamara alone for a moment.”

  The young man nodded, and grinning, headed off past the ledge, down the mountain.

  Thyel pulled Tamara to him. Before she could protest, he kissed her soundly. It took her back to the moment when they’d been alone in his bedchamber as he disrobed her, one layer after another. Each piece of clothing flung away had peaked her excitement that much more. She came up for air, breathless. Thyel was an amazing kisser. When he touched her, she could never remember what bothered her about him.

  “That’s to remind you that the invalid I leave in your care is not the man you desire,” he said, sounding a little winded himself.

  She smiled in gentle understanding. This is why he didn’t want to leave her behind. He was jealous. Of a mirage. “You’ve nothing to fear on that score, Thyel. I’m not the one whom Jarrod likes.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  “I also don’t know about that.” Skye came up behind them giving Thyel a cross look until he reluctantly released Tamara. “Jarrod liked you enough to give up his own problems in order to follow you to Isa.”

  “He’d left his second in charge to deal with the missing historians,” Tamara pointed out.

  “Didn’t he tell you?” her niece asked with an arched brow. “He’s worried the problem in Ryca will get worse in his absence. If he awakes, talk to him about that and what’s happening with his tome.”

  “We should go.” Thyel sounded impatient. “I wouldn’t tax Jarrod with questions today. The more rest he gets, the better.” He turned to Skye. “Shall we?”

  Tamara waved them off, her thoughts turning to what might be worrying Jarrod. Once again involved in her own problems, had she failed to consider Jarrod’s needs?

  Determined to uncover everything that bothered him, she strode inside the cave. Then she remembered Thyel’s warning to not tire his patient with questions.

  With a frustrated sigh, she slumped down and gazed from Jarrod to Halla. Both were sleeping soundly.

  This was going to be a long day.

  His pack drew her bored glance. After Skye and Fane had quickly gathered all the scattered pages and stuffed them back into Falcon’s Tome, the book was probably in sad shape. That would only add to whatever worried him.

  She took the tome out of the pack and then hesitated. Jarrod didn’t like anyone touching his precious book. Anyone, except Skye. It wasn’t as if Tamara meant the book any harm. She only intended to order the perpetually untidy pages. With an injured arm, he would have a hard time even with such an ordinary task.

  Tentatively, she opened his book.

  Jarrod stirred, coming slowly awake.

  Thirst struck him first, with a parched and itchy throat. The burning pain in his arm caught his attention next. He resisted groaning, keeping his eyes shut tight, trying to control his reaction to the searing ache.

  Sound registered next.

  Loud snores.

  He opened his eyes a slit and glanced to the left where the noise reverberated. A green dragon slept curled on its side, tail tucked into its body.

  Then he sensed another presence.

  To his right, by his feet, sat Tamara. Her legs were crossed, arms folded across her beautiful chest, glaring at him. No surprise there. Little about him endeared him to Tamara.

  Her long sunshine bright hair was braided back, wisps hanging down the side of her face. An adorable frown marred her beauty, or did it enhance it? He resisted smiling, knowing she would not appreciate his amusement.

  She’d shed her chainmaille and sword, wearing only her tunic and those long lovely legs displayed in trousers.

  What had upset her this time? By that glare, he must have played a part in stirring her anger, even while unconscious.

  Her frown seemed to increase the longer he studied her in silence. “May I have some water?” The rawness in his throat ached as his words trickled out.

  A blush stole up her creamy cheeks. She reached for his pack and pulled out his water cask. She helped him sit up and held the container to his mouth.

  Ignoring his burning arm, Jarrod sipped with eagerness. Then he cringed as the cool liquid washed over his dry, swollen lips making them sting. The water sliding down his raw throat tasted of fresh air and desert winds. He sighed in pleasure. He missed Erov.

  After his third heady gulp, she said that was enough for now, and with utmost care laid him back. Then she adjusted a rolled cloth under his head. Kneeling close, she brushed hair off his hot forehead.

  The gentle gesture touched him and spawned a yearning for more. It felt right to wake up and find her nearby, whatever her mood. As if she belonged beside him. Always.

  He surreptitiously inhaled a lungful of the faint hint of lavender that lingered about her. Today, it seemed as refreshing as the cold water he’d sipped.

  He glanced at her with curiosity and a touch of worry. Why all this tender attention? “Thank you.”

  With a firm nod, she returned to her place by his feet, stretching out her legs this time, her lips clamped as if afraid she’d say something rude if they weren’t under strict control.

  Just as well. He wasn’t up to a shouting match.

  Beside her, he finally noticed Falcon’s tome. His heart beat faster with joy. It hadn’t been lost! In fact, it seemed tidier than normal, and securely wrapped by a vine, lovingly tied with a bow on top. Skye must have done that. He should remember to thank her later. His taught shoulders relaxed and he shut his eyes as sweet relief washed over him like a cold bath on a hot day.

  When he opened his eyes again, Tamara was still there, watching him.

  Ever since he found her in Saira’s room, gown half undone, looking far too desirable for a scholar’s concentration, his thoughts and emotions rebelled against common sense. Enough to bring him to this point – thrust into a foreign realm, lying injured, perhaps dying, with Ryca’s history vanishing with each breath he took.

  “Why have you never married, Jarrod?”

  The question breaking into the heavy silence surprised him. She sat there waiting as if she was serious about his answer. “Why do you ask?”

  “Saira said all Erovians pair at a young age, and marry soon after they reach their majority.” She picked up the tome and laid it on her lap, her fingers tracing the vine wrapped tight around it.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her holding the book so tenderly. As she caressed that vine safeguarding his book, each stroke of her fingers seemed to trail over his body with infinite care.

  “Is it because Saira chose Tom instead of you?”

  “No. I was engaged to be married before I ever met Saira. My betrothed’s name was Mayla.”

  “You’re married?” she asked in an aghast tone.

  He frowned in confusion about this entire topic of conversation. Perhaps it was his wound that throbbed agonizingly. He couldn’t figure out what he could have possibly done to upset her while he slept. Or why she was interested in his sorrow-filled life.

  “Mayla died before we could wed.” His words came out rough but not because of his loss. He’d long since recovered from that ill-timed episode. Though he had grave doubts he could ever extricate himself completely from the net Tamara was weaving around his heart.

  Her glance returned to his book, a much less complicated subject. “In case I’m asleep when Skye comes by, will you thank her for taking care of Falcon’s Tome?”

  “Are you forbidden to choose another? Or do you still miss Mayla?”

  Tamara seemed obsessed with his past. “Mayla murdered my father.
Then tried to kill Saira. Finally, she killed herself. She was caught in one of Tamarisk’s mind spells.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “She should have turned to me when the evil impulses stole into her. She didn’t.”

  Her fingers smoothed over her stretched out legs and Jarrod shuddered as if it were his hand caressing her leg. He clenched his right hand and when his left hand tried to match that action, his wounded arm protested in pain. A wave of heat swept over his body and he thought he might fall unconscious again.

  “Not everyone finds it easy to ask for help,” she said in a soft voice her gaze fixed on his book. “It’s difficult to rely on others. What if they let you down when you need them most?” That last came out in the barest of whispers.

  Jarrod breathed deeply until his mind stopped spinning with pain. As the waves subsided, it slowly occurred that they were no longer speaking about poor doomed Mayla. He thanked Heaven that Tamara had stopped stroking herself. “Without the ability to trust, even erroneously, you can never find out how much someone cares for you.”

  Her gaze locked with his then for a breathless moment. She shifted her enigmatic attention toward the dragon. Through Tamara, he sensed the beast’s deep exhaustion, and beneath that, a thread of utter terror.

  He, too, looked at the green and then at Tamara in surprise. Their gazes collided for a second time.

  A distinct guilty flush stained her pale cheeks.

  “You can communicate with that dragon,” Jarrod said.

  “I didn’t want to.”

  “It can…”

  “She can,” Tamara corrected. “Her name is Halla.”

  Jarrod lay there absorbing that font of information. Finally, he asked, “Why are we still here?”

  Her flush deepened. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”

  “Tamara!”

  “Fane’s out right now looking for his bronze dragon, the one he’s convinced he’s connected to. If that link doesn’t exist or if they cannot find the bronze, I promise, Jarrod, I will confess all about my link to the green.”

  He lay still. The pain in his arm throbbed and another wave of dizziness swept over him. He waited for it to pass so he could speak clearly.

  As the silence lengthened, Tamara said, “I wasn’t to upset you and now I have. Do you need more water? Or do you need to rest?”

  “I wish...”

  “What do you wish, Jarrod?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Why do you always refuse to speak with me?”

  She sounded angry again but he had no strength left for a fight. He shut his eyes, welcoming the peaceful darkness.

  “You have no trouble conversing with Skye,” she continued. “But with me, you hardly say a word. Even when you have something important to share.”

  That brought his eyes wide open. “You’ve never been concerned about me before. Why now?”

  Her fingers trailed across the top binding of Falcon’s Tome, and he had the uncanny impression that she wanted to caress his face like that. His startled glance shot up to Tamara, for that hadn’t been him yearning for her touch.

  The evocative thought had come from her.

  12

  Tamara’s wish to touch him brushed across Jarrod’s mind the way another Erovian’s emotion could if they focused together. How could this be? Tamara wasn’t Erovian.

  In all his studies of Light magic, only his people had an ability to magically share thoughts and emotions.

  His mind whirled with excitement, shock, delight and finally, doubt. In his delirium, could he have imagined her mind-touch? Why would she feel such an emotion about him anyway? She was enamored with Thyel. The reminder tasted sour.

  “At the castle,” she murmured, “whenever you visited, you rarely spoke with me. I assumed you disliked me.”

  How to answer this? He had indeed avoided her. There was no lying about that. He did it because every time he was with her, he wanted to get closer. He chose a less complicated answer. “I assumed you wouldn’t be interested in what interests me.”

  “Such as?

  “Books. Study. History. Subjects that would bore you.” He breathed deeply, trying to quiet his racing thoughts and passions. She couldn’t have mind-touched. He had imagined the delicate brush of her feelings.

  Her gaze captured again and held it as the back of her hand once again distinctly slid across his left cheek.

  Yet, she hadn’t moved a muscle.

  Tamara could mind-touch!

  The thought brought a thrill that was beyond simple pleasure. Did she realize it? No, there was no conscious acknowledgement in her gaze.

  He glanced at the dragon. Could her connection with the green have opened a latent talent or spawned a new one? No, to the latter idea. For her to be able to connect with the green in the first place, this ability must have existed in her all along.

  “You’ve gone silent again,” Tamara said sounding cross.

  “I was thinking about your connection to the green.”

  “Must we talk about that? I don’t like thinking about it.”

  “Why?”

  “I dislike someone else invading my thoughts.”

  He couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the irony.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Tamara, have you not considered that your connection with the green may be your magical talent?”

  “I don’t have one. Everyone knows that”

  “What if you do?”

  “I don’t. It’s the green that speaks to me, who orders me around.”

  She didn’t understand her role in communicating with the dragon. His mind spun with the possibilities. Then one especially unique idea obliterated all others. “What if this is the reason you were awake for all those years despite the time spell.”

  “What are you talking about? How do you know about that? Oh, of course. Even if you won’t admit it, I know you’ve been roaming around my thoughts. You stole that secret!”

  He had the grace to blush. “Not steal it exactly. You screamed it at me the first time we met at the banquet your mother threw to celebrate vanquishing Ywen and Tamarisk. That’s one of the reasons I’ve avoided you in the past, so I would not inadvertently pick up any more of your secrets.”

  “Oh,” Tamara said. “Well, anyway, my being awake all that time was my mother’s fault. She didn’t cast her time spell properly. It left me trapped but awake for an eternity.”

  “I’m sorry for your suffering,” Jarrod said softly, gently. Was she finally ready to discuss that ordeal? She was so prickly on this subject. “Tamara, consider if the spell worked as it was meant to, but your talent to mind-speak was not affected?”

  She scrambled to her feet, backing away, shaking her head. “I don’t have any magical talent.”

  “Just a moment ago, you brushed my cheek with your hand without ever touching me. I felt it.”

  He sensed no denial in her now, but rather shock. Then he heard her wonder what else she might have inadvertently shared. He wanted to reassure her that it was okay. He’d only sensed the one stray touch, when images of them entwined in bed bombarded him. Their limbs entangled, bodies melded, sharing kisses and touches and bold strokes.

  Despite his fever, the ache in his arm, and the dizziness that rolled in and out like ocean waves, a hot longing he’d been suppressing since he saw her in that partially undone gown, flared. He couldn’t keep from joining her in that bed. Returning her kisses. Partaking with his own bold caresses.

  With a startled cry, she fled from the cave.

  He shut his eyes, trying to dampen his thoughts and emotions. To subdue his body that had peaked with intense desire. All the while, he wanted to shout with joy and triumph at the knowledge that Tamara desired him back.

  He wished he could go after her, to comfort her, to tell her that he loved her. That it was all right to have such amorous thoughts. He welcomed them. He shut his mind down instead, to give her privacy to come to te
rms with what they’d shared. She did indeed possess a magical talent. What did this mean for her future?

  An hour passed. Then another. Still no Tamara.

  He dozed fitfully, coming awake to find himself bathed in sweat. The third time he awoke, he knew she had returned at some point, for his face felt as if it had been wiped clean with a blessedly cool, wet cloth. She was not in the cave. The green snored, undisturbed.

  At his next awakening, Tamara was by his feet again, as if she’d never left his side. She stared at him boldly, a teasing smile playing at the corner of her delicious lips.

  He raised his defenses, mistrusting that look.

  “Jarrod, will you marry me?” she asked. He was still grappling for an answer when she added, “I think we could get along if we tried.”

  “We’re not much alike,” he said. Yes, I want to marry you! “I like quiet.” Tamara, please don’t let me talk you out of this. “I’ve become accustomed to solitude.” I’m a fool who’s in love with you.

  She sat there, staring at him wide-eyed. Her eyes glowed with some wild suppressed emotions. “I can hear you,” she said. “Every word you’re not saying.”

  Her slow, gut-wrenching, resistance-crumbling smile made him forget his injury and try to sit up so he could kiss her. The resultant pain had him slumping back.

  “You mustn’t move,” she warned rushing closer.

  Why does it feel as if I’m worsening instead of healing?

  “What do you mean worsening?” she asked.

  “I feel as if I’ve been ill forever.”

  “Only one day and one night.” Please don’t die.

  “I’ll be fine. It was a serious break. It will simply take time to heal. Now can we return to more important matters? Like your ability to speak to Halla?”

  “You said don’t let you talk me out of us getting married. Not in words perhaps, but in your thoughts, which is the same as a pledge!”

  “Tamara, I want you to also hear what I say aloud. For I do not want you to mistake who I am. Before making such a vital decision, you must understand whom you wish to take as your husband.”