Peter’s satisfied chuckle broke the spell. “And you dare question my choice, Malach? Remember, you have one month to initiate the bond. If you and Jade pass the Testing, you will be forever free of the crystal. Forever free of me, too. Is that not reason enough to embrace my choice?”
“And if we fail?” Malach asked, his gaze never leaving Jade’s face.
Peter didn’t answer.
“Your goddess-damned crystal will take me again.” His body tensed, radiating frustration and anger. His hand squeezed Jade’s, grinding the bones of her fingers together. She tried to wrench her hand from his grasp but he held her too tightly.
“So much for your benevolent goddess,” he goaded Peter. “The conniving bitch has contrived to punish you as effectively as she does me. Remember that, old man. Remember, while you endure countless centuries as Guardian of our crystals until this ends. Would it not be easier to strike me down and have an end to me rather than risk another failure?”
Jade’s skin went clammy. Her heart stuttered and then hammered in her chest. This situation was getting way the heck out of control. “Now hang on a minute. No one’s gonna be killing anyone, okay?”
Both men ignored her, too intent upon imposing their wills upon each other.
“Your death would not finish this, Malach, however much you might wish it. You are not the only victim of my curse, as you well know.”
“Curse? What curse?” Jade’s Aunt Lìli was a bona fide witch. She might be able to counteract—
“How many, old man? How many of us are still condemned to the crystals? How many of us still suffer?”
Peter left the questions unanswered. “You have been given another chance, Malach. I would advise you to welcome it with open arms and an open heart.”
“Then tell me more about this Testing, Guardian. What does it entail? I would gladly venture across the sands during the Storm Season and invite the winds to strip the flesh from my bones if it meant being free of you and your accursed crystal.”
“I cannot tell you more. It is not allowed. Already I have stretched the rules my goddess laid down to breaking point, and I would not further risk her wrath. But I can say this: never forget, Malach, that your fate is now irrevocably intertwined with Jade’s. There is nothing you can do to change that.”
Jade’s hand was still shackled by Malach’s tight grip forcing her to twist awkwardly to face Peter. The old man had positioned himself at the door of the suite. To her horror, he reached for the door handle.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going? We had a deal!”
“Our deal has changed, Jade. Malach is to be my—how do you say?—stand-in.”
“Oh no. I don’t think so. You can’t leave me with a man I barely know!” Especially not a big sexy man who made her feel things she didn’t know she could feel.
“You barely know me, either, my dear. And yet you were prepared to give yourself to me.”
She spluttered a protest. “That’s different, Peter. And you know it.”
“My true name is Pieter, child. Or Pietersite, to be exact.”
“But—”
“I must go, Jade.”
“Why?” If this was all some elaborate plan so he could do a runner and stiff her with his hotel bill—
“The suite has been paid up for the next seven nights—ample time for you both to get to know each other. However, that period can be extended to a full twenty-eight nights if necessary. Although—” he brown eyes twinkled “—given your passionate nature, and Malach’s hunger for a true soul-mate, I have faith a few days will more than suffice. By the way, when you are hungry, room service has been arranged at no cost to yourselves.”
“Seven nights? Are you kidding me? No way am I staying here tonight, or any other night. I have a job. I have responsibilities!” She threw herself backward, using all her weight to strain against Malach’s grip. He held her easily—far too easily. Her heartbeat tripped up another notch.
“It has all been dealt with,” Peter said. “Mei will be well taken care of until you return—however long that may prove to be. I give you my word.”
Jade quit struggling at mention of her sister. “How could you know about—?”
The old man’s mesmerizing gaze caught and held hers, subduing her with the strength of his will.
Worry about someone dear to her nagged at the edges of her mind but she couldn’t hold on to the knowledge. She frowned, rubbing the tightness between her brows with her spare hand, feeling strangely bereft.
Peter paused, staring at them both as though committing their images to memory. “Have faith, Malach,” he said. Then he stepped into the corridor and the door began to swing shut behind him.
~~~
Malach’s hand involuntarily clenched. The little female gave a pained gasp and, realizing he was hurting her, he instinctively relaxed his grip. She exploded into motion, wrenching her hand free and rushing for the door.
She reached it just as it slammed in her face. She rattled the handle. “Locked. Crap!”
Before he could advise her against it, she shoved it with her shoulder. “Owww!” She massaged her shoulder and worked the joint. “Goddamn you to hell, Peter,” she hissed.
“I heartily second that sentiment,” he said.
“Well at least you don’t seem any more thrilled by this situation than I am right now.”
“I most assuredly am not.”
She fixed him with a ball-shriveling glower that was completely at odds with her sweetly innocent face. “Don’t try any funny business, either, or you’ll be sorry.”
“I assure you that laughing is the last thing I feel like doing.”
She stared at him as though she was trying to figure out whether or not he was serious. Finally she said, “You gonna stand there gawking or help me with this bloody door?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “There is little point wasting our energies when Pieter has be-spelled it.”
“The point is we need to get out of here.” She backed up and tried another shoulder charge, only to rebound off the door so hard she staggered.
Malach hid a wince. That had to have hurt. “Even if the door hadn’t been be-spelled, shoulder-barging it is fruitless given that it opens inward.”
She clutched her shoulder and her lips thinned into a tight white line. “Fine. So brute force isn’t gonna work.”
She crinkled her nose, obviously thinking hard, trying to work through the problem. She wasn’t going to let a little pain divert her from her task.
He stared at her, fascinated despite his ire at this untenable situation, while she nibbled her lip and muttered to herself. He’d never encountered a female quite like her before. On the surface so delicate and doll-like he feared she might shatter, but inwardly stubborn and tenacious, and so forthright he didn’t know whether to grin at her audacity or shake some manners into her.
She slapped her forehead with her palm. “Ooooh! I know. Have you seen my sandals?”
“What are you babbling about, girl?”
She made no effort whatsoever to hide that she was unimpressed by his question. Most females in her situation would be watching their tongues, eager not to provoke him. He was, after all, very much larger than her. And they were alone.
“Typical man,” she muttered. “Incapable of thinking outside the square. Sandals. Dark purple strappy things? Heels about yay high?”
When he didn’t answer, she stalked over to the bed and lowered herself to all fours to peer under the coverlet. Her movements were slow and studied. The bonding spell must be taking its toll. Malach felt like he’d been dragged behind a horse, so his estimation of her rose when she straightened from her crouch gingerly, but without so much as a whimper.
She checked inside the wardrobe.
“Bingo,” she said, bending to scoop up a dainty piece of footwear. “Peter must be a neat-freak. Bet he makes the bed every morning and does the dishes before leaving his hotel room.”
; He hid a smile as her staunch façade cracked just a little and her hip-swaying gait became more of a stiff hobble as she headed into the kitchen area.
She fossicked in a drawer and came up with a knife.
Malach eyed the weapon and gauged her expression. He had only one woman of this era to compare her to, and Francesca had shown no interest in weaponry, not even when he had first emerged from the crystal and scared her witless. From what he could discern from this particular young woman, he was in little danger of being stabbed the instant his back was turned. But then, women were wily creatures and it behooved a man to be on his guard.
Armed with one shoe and the knife, she confronted the door.
“What are you planning?” he asked, curious.
“I’m going to pry up these hinges with the knife blade, and use the heel of this sandal as a makeshift hammer for more leverage. Once I’ve removed the hinges, it should—hopefully—be a simple matter to open the door. Why?” She glared at him. “Got a better idea? Because if you have, now’s the time to speak up. Otherwise, shut up and let me work.”
Malach wandered over to peer overtop her shoulder as she inserted the blade beneath the lip of the hinge and tapped the knife handle with the heel of her sandal. It was a solid plan, and Malach had always been an advocate of giving praise where praise was due. Even hardened warriors responded better to honey than vinegar. “Girl, I must commend you for this idea, for there may be a slight chance the old man has slipped up and neglected to be-spell the hinges.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. “Quit breathing over my shoulder, Mal. It’s off-putting.” Tap. Tap. Tap. “And you don’t have to sound so astonished I could have a good idea floating round in my tiny female brain.”
He backed off and left her to her labors.
“And my name is Jade. Not ‘girl’.”
“Jade.” He rolled the word around on his tongue. “Hmmm. I am thinking your name does not suit you.”
The tapping paused and she stiffened, her small body vibrating with outrage. “Not that I care what you think, but tough. That’s my name: Jade. Set in stone. Like it or lump it.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes and resumed pounding at the hinge.
Malach sighed. He hadn’t meant to be insulting. He toyed with explaining what he knew of jade and its qualities but thought better of it. Doubtless she would take his explanation the wrong way again and bristle like a feral cat protecting its kittens.
It quickly became obvious that the hinges were not prepared to cooperate without some major time and effort. “Let me try,” he said.
“Be my guest.” She handed over the knife and her makeshift hammer.
He positioned the blade and whacked the knife handle vigorously with her footwear.
“Please try not to damage my sandal. My mother got these for me in Hong Kong. They’re not the real deal, of course. But they are really fine Manolo Bla—”
The heel of the sandal gave way. It dangled from the sole by a thin strip of leather.
He cast her a glance. She’d pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.
He tossed the sandal aside and snapped his fingers at her. “Bring me the other one.”
“Why? So you can destroy that one, too? Not effing likely. Use your own boot or something.”
He ground his teeth with frustration. “My boots are too big and unwieldy to be effective.”
She glanced down at his feet. Her gaze skittered up his body to fix on his face. And even though he suspected that it took every ounce of effort she could summon, she stared him down.
Admiration surged through him. And something else, too. Something that tightened his balls and made him want to snatch her up and kiss her breathless. And then lay her on the bed and make her his. He stalked away from her. He needed to cool down. He couldn’t afford to feel admiration or desire for her. He couldn’t afford to feel anything at all. He needed all his wits about him if he were to survive the magical trap in which Pieter had ensnared them both.
“You could try sticking your head under the cold tap.” Her musical voice followed him, and even though the tone was mocking, it stroked his skin and stoked his need. “With any luck it might drown your attitude.”
A cold bath would be far more apt, he thought.
The tapping resumed, and from the ringing of metal on metal, Malach knew she’d resorted to whacking the hinge with the knife handle.
He retrieved the other sandal from the wardrobe and approached her.
She slanted him a gaze over her shoulder. “Give me that,” she said. “No way are you destroying that one, too.”
He handed it over without a murmur and said nothing as she tapped away at the hinge. The minutes stretched. The hinge deigned to move all of a hair’s breadth. From the tension in her shoulders, he knew her arms had started to ache.
“Let me,” he said.
“No. I can do this.” She tensed, as though waiting for him to elbow her aside and take over.
He sighed. “As you wish.”
She whacked the knife handle with her shoe, and kept whacking until the heel started to come away from the sole. He opened his mouth to warn her but before he could say a word, she tossed the knife aside, and with both hands, worked at the heel until it detached from the sole. Then she crawled on hands and knees to retrieve the other sandal and yanked its dangling heel completely away from the sole, also. “At least now they both match,” she said.
To his chagrin, he glimpsed the sheen of tears in her eyes. From the way she was clutching the footwear to her chest, he guessed they meant something to her. He’d known her for only a short time, but she didn’t strike him as the kind of silly female who cried over unimportant things.
He recalled what she’d said about them. “Your mother gave you those sandals.”
She blinked rapidly to prevent the tears from falling. “Yes.” Her lower lip wobbled. “She died not long afterward. Along with my dad. In a car crash.”
“Then I’m doubly sorry.”
“They’re fakes—not the real deal.” She shrugged off his apology, refusing to reveal how much she was hurting to a stranger. To him.
“Jade—”
She cut him off with a sharp gesture and crawled to her feet, rubbing her back and neck, as she wandered over to the kitchenette. He knew it hurt her heart and her soul to deposit the now useless sandals in the bin and he wondered if she would give into her tears.
And how he would bear watching her cry.
He should have known better, for she came out fighting. “Peter, or Pieter, or whatever the heck your name is, if you don’t come back and get me out of here right now, I’m gonna kick your bony old arse from here to fucking Perth! Do you hear me?”
She heaved three deep breaths as she fought for control.
Malach’s tore his gaze from her breasts, so ripe and firm and high—breasts that begged a man to touch and to taste. He shook off the allure of her and took refuge in disapproval. “If you believe me impressed by such language,” he said, “I would disabuse you of the notion.”
“Like I give a crap about impressing you. I’d rather impress the bloody door.” She stalked stiffly over to it, rucked her dress up her thighs, and kicked the door thrice, each time snapping her foot out with toes bent back so as not to damage them whenever her foot connected with the door.
From her technique, and the resounding thud! each time she hit the door, she’d obviously familiarized herself with some form of martial combat. “Now that, I am impressed by,” he drawled.
She rounded on him, lips parted to cut him down to size. He deliberately slid his gaze to her bared thighs. He didn’t bother to try and hide his appreciation. The undergarments she’d flashed him were mere scraps of white lace. White. Such a virginal color. Such a lie.
She flushed pink as she let her skirt fall and smoothed it down her thighs. “Show’s over. Listen up, Mal—”
“My true name is Malachite, after my crystal. Or Malach if you prefer. Not Mal.”
�
�Whatever. I’m sure Peter thought he was doing me a really big favor by trading himself for you. But I assure you that despite his advanced years, I far prefer him to egotistical jerk-offs like you.”
“Is that so?” Malach was tired of playing games, tired of being manipulated and used—of having his hopes of salvation soar, only to be dashed. Sweet mother of all gods he was tired. It had been nothing but the truth when Pieter had accused him of courting death. One way or another he wanted this to end. And extracting the truth from this girl so he knew how best to handle her would be a start.
Hands on hips she looked him up and down. “It is indeed so,” she said, in a fair imitation of his voice.
By the gods she tried his patience. He seesawed between wanting to throw her over his knee and paddle her behind, and wanting to throw her on the bed and have his way with her. If she knew how much he wanted her, how he ached to bury himself in her soft feminine flesh and feel her clenching around him, she would not be so eager to provoke him.
Or perhaps she would. Because he knew the pretext Pieter had used to bring her to this room—masquerading as a client when he had answered her advertisement. She was young, yes, but Malach had been propositioned by younger girls, hoping for the increased status of being Chosen by the Lord Keeper’s influential tehun-Leader, his right-hand man. And this girl was no innocent, trying out her feminine wiles for the first time, flirting and coaxing but not truly comprehending the trouble she might incite. This girl knew how to rouse a man’s passions and make him willingly dip into his pockets to shower her with fripperies and coin.
Coin. Something he was sorely lacking at present. He must find a way to compensate her so they could get down to the business at hand. Everyone had their price, and there was bound to be something he could offer her.
“What did the old man promise you to bring you here?”
Her beautiful, thickly lashed brown eyes flashed fury. “That, Mal, is none of your business.”
The Crystal Warriors Series Bundle Page 55