Forsaken (The Djinn Wars Book 5)

by Christine Pope

  “I gather them to me as I need them,” he replied. That seemed to be the simplest way to explain how he was able to draw items from all over the world to create their meals. Sooner or later those stocks would begin to be depleted, he supposed, and the djinn would have to lend their talents to agriculture and animal husbandry, but for now there existed enough abundance that he could call to him the things he required.

  Her eyes were full of questions, but she seemed to understand that he didn’t want to go into more detail than what he’d already provided. “Do you work from recipes, or do you just make it up as you go?”

  “It depends. I have had this ragout many times before, and so I could re-create it from memory. But if you wished for me to make one of your New Mexico dishes — ”

  “Blue corn chicken enchiladas with Christmas chile,” she broke in, an impish light in her eyes. Or perhaps that was only a reflection from the candlelight.

  She might as well have been speaking a different language. “Precisely. I have no idea what that is. Something you make at your holidays?”

  That question made her actually chuckle. “Not exactly. ‘Christmas’ just means you’re asking for both green and red chile on top of your food. That’s all.”

  “What is chile, precisely?”

  Madison shot him a look of mock-horror. “You’re living in Albuquerque and you don’t know what chile is? It’s a sauce made from chile peppers. There are red and green varieties, and they range in heat level from mildly interesting to nuclear explosion.”

  None of this was making much sense. Yes, his people had some spicy dishes, but what Madison had just described seemed very different. “And a nuclear explosion is good?”

  “In this sense, yes. I mean, some people take a lot of pride in how much hot food they can eat. That is, could eat,” she amended, the light in her eyes dying out abruptly.

  He knew she must be thinking of all the people who had died from the Heat, and wished he’d been able to guide the conversation in such a way that the topic could have been avoided altogether. That wasn’t possible, but he still wanted to do what he could to take her mind off the subject. “And you liked nuclear chile?”

  “No, I was always somewhere in the middle.” She reached for her wine glass and took a larger gulp than she’d probably intended.

  Qadim obligingly poured some more into her glass. He didn’t wish for her to become truly intoxicated, but on the other hand, if she was just a little elevated, she might be more open to…whatever might come next.

  “Perhaps if I attempt to make something with chile, you can assist me?” he asked then.

  “Well, I don’t know how much help I would be at making it from scratch,” Madison replied. “We always just bought ours at the store. But I suppose I could do some taste testing for you.”

  “That would be very helpful.” Indeed, he had a sudden vision of her perched on one of the stools in the kitchen, licking chile sauce — whatever that was, precisely — from a wooden spoon. The image made his groin tighten, and he reached for his own wine, glad of the dimly lit corner where they sat and the baggy nature of his trousers.

  “It’s a plan, then.” She smiled, apparently distracted from the topic of the Heat’s victims, and Qadim found himself relaxing as well. Surely she wouldn’t be talking about helping him in the kitchen if she planned to leave any time soon.

  Would he allow her to leave? That was a question he’d wrestled with himself ever since he’d brought her back here. He didn’t want to make her his prisoner, of course, but he also didn’t want her to leave, if for no other reason than he thought she’d be safer here with him.

  No, that was a specious argument, for she’d been able to survive without his help for more than a year. It was only that he wanted so very much for her to stay, at least until a time when they both decided that it was time to move on.

  So yes…he would allow her to leave…as long as it suited his own purposes.

  Damn it, Madison, what the hell were you thinking? You might as well have said you were going to move in with him and start picking out glasses from the Pottery Barn catalogue or something.

  She settled back in her chair, wishing there was some way to put a little more distance between herself and the djinn. There wasn’t, though, not without making herself very obvious.

  That comment about taste testing the chile had come out of nowhere. She’d been babbling, letting the wine do the talking for her, probably because talking about people’s tastes in chile had made her think about how her father could eat anything slathered in sauce so hot he might as well have been consuming ignited rocket fuel. And how Jake had been just the opposite, and she used to tease him unmercifully about what a wimp he was and how he needed to turn in his New Mexico card.

  Well, she supposed in a way he had. Turned it in so he could move to Washington.

  But she didn’t want Qadim to know how those memories had brought a sting of tears to her eyes, so she’d quickly taken another of swallow of wine and let it warm her and help her to forget.

  No, she’d never forget. Not really. It would be easier if she could.

  Now the djinn was removing their dinner plates and setting down small ramekins filled with a dark chocolate-y substance topped with raspberries and whipped cream. She raised an eyebrow, and he said, “Chocolate mousse. It was a delicacy, wasn’t it?”

  “You could say that.” At this point, nothing he might do in the culinary department would really surprise her. For all she knew, he’d spend all night studying cookbooks about New Mexico cuisine and would surprise her the next day with enchiladas and sopapillas and calabacitas, followed up by dulce de leche cake.

  Anyway, chocolate mousse sounded amazing. The shelter had a cache of organic, high-cacao-content chocolate bars because of their health benefits, and Madison had allowed herself a small piece several times a week. But a few bites of dense, dark chocolate wasn’t the same as chocolate mousse with whipped cream and raspberries on top.

  A single bite was enough to tell her that she’d never had anything this good in a restaurant. If only the ramekin wasn’t so small….

  She ate every bite, then wished she was alone so she could lick the bowl. God knows how Qadim would have reacted to that sort of display, so somehow she managed to restrain herself.

  “Good?” he asked, once she was done and had set her spoon crossways on top of the ramekin.

  “Better than good. Amazing.”

  “That was what I wanted to hear.”

  They were both quiet then, gazing at each other across the table. Madison found herself studying his features, finding nuances like the high bridge of his strong nose, or the cleft in his chin, mostly hidden by the neatly trimmed beard he wore. It was probably just the wine talking, but once again she realized she was asking herself if it would truly be such a bad thing for things to take a turn for the physical. And it sure didn’t help that her body was telling her no, it wouldn’t be a bad thing at all. She’d tried to take care of herself as best she could, thanks to a few helpful items looted from adult stores in town, but using a collection of carefully designed toys wasn’t the same as being with a man, feeling his hands on you, feeling him in you….

  She put her good hand on the tabletop and pushed herself upward. “I — I’m starting to feel a little tired. This has been a wonderful dinner, Qadim, but I think I need to go to bed.”

  The second the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to curse herself. Why the hell had she been stupid enough to use the word “bed”?

  He didn’t react, though, except to say, “Of course, Madison. Let me take you to your room.”

  Somehow, that sounded like a very dangerous suggestion. “Oh, you don’t need to do that — ”

  “It would be churlish of me to leave you to fend for yourself when I can make the process so much easier.” He rose from his seat and came toward her, then took her by her good arm.

  She managed to keep herself from flinching. Not that it fel
t bad to have his arm around hers — actually, it felt good, just as it felt good to have the heat of his body helping to protect her from the night wind as they left their sheltered little corner and went toward the stairwell. But it shouldn’t feel good. He was a djinn, not some random survivor she’d met here in the ruins of Albuquerque. If he’d been human, then maybe….

  One of those jarring blinks, and then they were standing outside the door to her suite. Next to her, Qadim seemed calm and imperturbable. He certainly didn’t appear affected by their proximity. Once again she told herself that she’d been seeing things that weren’t there, manufacturing a tension between them that really didn’t exist. All he’d done was guide her to her door, and now he would leave her to her lonely bed. Anything else was just a crazy fantasy she’d concocted in her mind.

  No need of key cards anymore; the door swung open as soon as she rested her fingers on the handle. She turned back toward Qadim to find him standing much closer than she’d expected — so close, in fact, that the hem of his robe brushed against the toes of her right foot.

  That whisper of silk against her bare foot made her shiver, even though it was much warmer in here than it had been on the rooftop.

  “You did take a chill,” he said, his voice a soft rumble.

  At once she shook her head. “No — no, it’s just — ”

  “Just what?”

  Madison forced herself to look up at him. Those dark eyes seemed so very close. And his mouth — why hadn’t she noticed the sensual curve to his lower lip before?

  “I’m just tired,” she said. She knew she needed to get herself inside before she did something spectacularly stupid. Kissing him wouldn’t solve anything, would only create a whole host of new problems. The thrill of need that she’d felt just then as she gazed at Qadim — that was only the wine talking. Wine, and loneliness. But if she managed to get away from here, run to Los Alamos, maybe she could meet someone who was just as lonely as she. A nice human guy, not someone who belonged to a race that had done its best to wipe humanity right off the map.

  “You’re not cold?” Qadim asked. Something in his voice seemed to intimate that he knew all too well how to warm her up.

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you for dinner.” She pushed on the door handle and made herself put one foot in front of the other. Another step or two, and then she would be safely inside and could shut the door behind her. Only, would she really be safe? Qadim could blast that door right out of existence if he wanted to.

  He didn’t, however. He remained where he was, a certain sadness entering his deep, dark eyes. “You’re most welcome. Sleep well, Madison.”

  Before she could say anything else, he’d turned and was walking down the hallway toward the stairwell for some reason, even though he could have simply performed another one of those blinks to get him to his own room. A mad impulse went over her to call out to him, to tell him to come back, but she pressed her lips tightly together and shut the door before she could do anything so stupid. Once it was closed, she leaned her forehead against the hard surface and wondered if she’d really made the right choice — or whether she was being a stubborn fool.

  Qadim went down to the bar and poured himself a glass of late-harvest malbec. A large one.

  He’d been so certain of her. The way her lips had parted, a certain flush to her cheeks — those were signs of desire, of need. And then she had coolly thanked him for dinner and shut the door behind her.

  Perhaps he had been foolish in allowing his scruples to prevent him from using the djinn glamour. He sensed that she required only the slightest push, only the smallest bit of persuasion, to bring her to him. But no, he’d vowed that he would do no such thing, that he would wait for her to be ready. He wanted her on her own terms, and not because he had forced her into any kind of intimacy.

  Even so, his body ached with need for her. He’d been so very sure that this evening would end with her in his bed. Or him in her bed. Either way would have been just fine.

  He tossed back a large swallow of malbec, entirely disregarding the delicacy of the vintage he was drinking, a rarity that should have been savored in small, measured sips. Was Madison in bed already, or was she as wakeful as he, wondering if she had made the right decision?

  “No, you did not, Madison,” he said aloud, and poured himself more of the wine. Perhaps the Council had thought they were punishing him by giving him Albuquerque as his territory, but he doubted they would have considered it such a hardship if they’d realized the quality of the wines to be had here.

  It was not easy for a djinn to become drunk, as their systems were far more hardy than those of humans, but the thing could still be accomplished if one possessed a steady will and a large wine cellar.

  Several more large swallows later, he felt the jangling in his nerves begin to quiet somewhat. Patience, he told himself. After all, he and Madison had only spent a few days together. She needed time to get used to the idea of being with him, to understand that there wasn’t anything terribly strange about the two of them becoming intimate. There had been many human/djinn liaisons throughout history, some consensual, some…not. But she didn’t know that. Somehow she’d managed to retrieve some information about the djinn, but Qadim had the impression that her sources had not covered that particular ground.

  So…a few more days together, a few more meals, more shared wine…. He was fairly certain the situation would require little more than that, and she would be his. She was already very close. All it would require was a small nudge.

  Thus heartened, he poured himself more of the malbec. One thing he knew for sure about Madison Reynolds.

  She would be well worth the wait.

  Madison stared up at the bits of bright sunlight reflecting on the ceiling, then over at the clock radio. Seven twenty-five.

  She’d slept the whole night through without interruption. Why that had surprised her, she wasn’t quite sure. Qadim really didn’t seem the type to sneak up on an unsuspecting woman.

  Now was the moment of truth.

  She sat up in bed, then slipped the sling over her head and dropped it on top of the bedspread. Jaw clenched in anticipation of the expected pain, she slowly lifted her left arm and extended it so it was parallel to the ground.

  A slight twinge, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

  Next, she moved her arm forward and then swiveled it so her palm faced the ceiling. Again, she could feel a small ache in her shoulder, but it wasn’t significant. She clenched her fist several times, tightening the muscles all up and down her arm. Some pain, just not enough to stop her from doing anything she needed to.

  All right, time for the real test.

  Madison placed both hands flat against the bed and pushed against them, putting all her weight on them so she could swing her legs over the side of the bed and stand up. That hurt more, but she was able to do it. Her left arm didn’t buckle, seemed perfectly capable of supporting her.

  Well, that seemed to clinch it. She might still have some healing to do, true. That didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of moving around more or less normally. Which meant….

  There was no need for her to stay here. She could go back to the shelter, gather the necessary items, and strike out for Los Alamos and — possibly — the world’s only remaining community of humans. Qadim might be upset, but after some time had passed, she was sure he’d understand why she should be among her own kind. That would leave him free to focus on being with a djinn woman. Why he wasn’t already attached to someone, she didn’t know, but that was for him to sort out.

  First of all, though, she needed to figure out how to get safely away.

  She showered and got dressed in her jeans and a fresh T-shirt, then put the sling back on even though she’d determined she really didn’t need it. Through all these preparations, she resolutely ignored the beautiful blush-colored outfit Qadim had brought for her. That was for special occasions, no matter how good she might have felt in it, and it certainly wouldn
’t do her any good where she was going. But she did put the colored balm on her lips and her cheeks, and did her best to tame her wild locks into something resembling orderly curls. She needed to make the djinn think that she was softening toward him, and that all she needed was a little extra time to come to terms with the idea of a possible relationship with him.

  A little pang went through her at that thought. She hated the idea of misleading anyone. And the sad truth was, she’d felt how her body had reacted to him the night before. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she might lose any self-control she still possessed. Part of her wanted to be with him, wanted to know what it would feel like to have his mouth on hers, those strong arms, heavy with muscle, wrapped around her, holding her close.

  Even now, the mental image was enough to make her flush with heat, then shiver. This would have been a lot easier if he hadn’t been so damn hot.

  Courage, she told herself. All right, the odds of finding anyone equally smoking hot in Los Alamos were probably slim to nonexistent, but she couldn’t let that little detail shake her resolve. He was a djinn, and she was human. They weren’t supposed to be together.

  She took in a deep gulp of air and then let herself out of her room and headed for the stairwell. It was now getting close to nine, and so she thought she’d once again go down to the kitchen in the hope that Qadim would be there, preparing breakfast.

  But the kitchen was empty when she got there, although she found evidence of his handiwork in the form of a large quiche with a couple of slices already removed, and a clean plate sitting next to it. Next to the plate was a piece of hotel stationery with the words “help yourself” written on it in thick black marker. The writing was in all caps, squared off and as neat as an architect’s notations. The note surprised her, although she supposed that if Qadim could speak English as well as he could, then it wasn’t that great a leap to being able to write in that language, too.

  A pot of coffee sat on the stove, so she poured herself a mug and went back to the quiche and cut herself a large wedge. She wouldn’t ask where in the world a djinn had managed to learn how to make quiche — if he could figure out venison ragout and chocolate mousse, then quiche lorraine was probably a piece of cake, so to speak.