Heart Sight

by Robin D. Owens

  The rest of the ritual was gorgeous in its simplicity. They held candles and sang ancient songs almost as if they were children welcomed to take part in their first ritual.

  Avellana’s inherent serious manner, and her obvious spirituality, lent every gesture, all her words, grace.

  Vinni had been proud of her before, and awed by her murals, but in this one event he knew that she surpassed him as a person of deep faith and sincerity. He’d kept his mind on alliances and maneuvers within and without of the Family for so long that he wondered at his character now. Certainly he didn’t have the purity of purpose his lover did.

  But she shone, as a person, as his HeartMate. Through the ripples of feeling from those of his Family who’d attended the ritual, they noticed that, too.

  For First Quarter Twinmoons, linking hands in a circle once more, they accessed the energy of the Family and curved that Flair into a sphere into the air above and the earth below. They sent power and blessings into the plans and goals they’d formed for the Family during the New Twinmoons ceremony at the beginning of the month. Then, in silence, the whole of the gathering shared strength and bolstered the unspoken personal goals of the individuals taking part in the ritual.

  Finally they closed the rite with a quick spiral dance and song, then thanked the entities and dismissed the circle.

  Cheer pervaded the company as they trooped from the grove down to the wider paved terrace that served as an open-air dining area. Though each had partaken of a mouthful of food and drink during the ceremony, now they feasted.

  Unfortunately Avellana and her Family didn’t stay for the afterparty. She gave him a brief hug and kiss, then teleported home with the Hazels.

  And Vinni circulated among his Family, those who’d participated in the ritual, and those who moseyed in to partake of the good food from special no-times dedicated to ceremonial meals. He kept his most charming, genial, and easygoing mask on for everyone, GreatLord T’Vine, Head of the Household.

  That wasn’t his true self. Not the man he wanted to be. Not the man he would be with Avellana. He missed her.

  Definitely time to start their life together.

  Though as people drifted away into their own lives, he could sit, talk, and relate more with some Family members with whom he didn’t often speak.

  Bifrona stayed until the last, then they cleaned the area with a housekeeping spell. She seemed smug that everything had gone off well, and reassured that Avellana would make an acceptable GreatLady D’Vine.

  Good enough, though Vinni felt tired to his marrow.

  The mixture of his and Avellana’s religions had worked well, a relief, and something he’d definitely tell the priestess who’d crafted the ceremony.

  With the approval from Bifrona and the knowledge she’d sent that endorsement to her faction, he believed he and Avellana had won over everyone at the ritual. She’d gained additional acceptance.

  Unfortunately, not even a majority of Vines had participated in the ritual. Since he guided the ceremony as the god as Lord and the avatar for two of the Hopeful religious spirits, Vinni had concentrated on manifesting those qualities and not figuring out exactly why those relatives came or stayed away. An itch on the nape of his neck seemed to warn him that his primary adversary in the Family had not been present.

  Still, he would remember the faces and the voices of those who’d partaken in the wonderful rite, know they didn’t oppose him.

  As he lay, lonely, in his great generational bed, he analyzed each moment of the ritual because something nagged at him. And he found that there had been a tiny, slimy thread of disgust and anger. Not from one of those who participated, but one who watched, hidden by the rings of trees of the sacred grove.

  An inimical observer, and one that he and Avellana failed because there was no room for charity in the soul who watched. All beliefs set in stone, rigid. All emotions roiling at some sense of injustice. He probed that, tried to get a single fact from the thread, caught only a flash of warped belief: Avellana was a mutant, and any heritage from her would be harmful to the Family.

  • • •

  In her own bed, Avellana, too, considered the ritual. Muin had smiled down at her when she had said the final blessing, and she had let a breath showered from the radiant stars beaming down on her shudder into her . . . then out. She had been nervous throughout the evening, from the moment she put on her formal robe.

  She had covered her anxiety well, she hoped. Anxious until she walked down the path to the center of the edge-rounded square and looked into Muin’s eyes to join speaking and responses with him.

  Then, of course, she realized that she had felt his utter support in the back of her mind, as a bedrock of emotion flowing from him to her, and should have relied on that. She was unaccustomed to having him so near that she could depend on him. And wary that if she leaned on him, it might rouse his protective instincts even more.

  But leading this ritual had taught her—as she hoped it had shown everyone else—that they were a couple, HeartMates, if not yet HeartBound.

  Equal and able to provide strength to the other when she or he needed it. Her smile that had been a mask at the beginning of the ritual curved naturally at the end.

  And as she drifted into sleep, she felt the tug of him, the need of him for coming together.

  Dream sex. Her breath hitched, then let out on a sigh. All she could give him now, until he understood that the next time they truly lay together, they would HeartBond.

  She yearned for that more than sex.

  • • •

  She came to him in his dreams and at her first mental touch his body filled with lust, even as his mind shivered with relief. It had been years since she’d initiated lovemaking . . . actually since the final occasion that they’d made physical love.

  That instance had been before the last two times he’d sent her away. That particular moment, he realized with a heart-pang, when she’d thought they’d wed shortly and be together forever.

  Two years ago.

  Once again they stood in the T’Vine sacred grove, this time in the small, heavily wooded copse directly beneath his tower. In the way of dreams, though the time remained night, he could see her well. She wore a filmy gossamer wrap that flowed around her, hiding then revealing her body. His mouth dried.

  Holding out her hands, she smiled and sent his name to his mind: Muin.

  You are so lovely, he replied.

  Brown hair free and swinging and wavy from being bound up in braids for the ritual, white streak gleaming silver, blue eyes dreamy. Lips curved in pleasure. His own eyes stung with the emotion of seeing her.

  Thank you for coming, he sent from his mind to hers.

  You called me.

  Did I? I wasn’t aware of that.

  She shook her head slowly. Perhaps it is that we always call to each other, our blood, our hearts, our spirits.

  Yes.

  It would always be “yes.”

  Her feet did not bend the grass or brush against the wildflowers as she came to him, and he suppressed the brief pang that this remained a dream.

  I love you, he said.

  I love you, too, she replied, smiling, and that smile seemed to show in twinkling eyes he should not have been able to see . . . her whole being sparkled. Not just because of his own vision but the revelation of her spirit self.

  Sweat beaded on his body as his sex rose, thick and hard. He felt all too physical, and he wasn’t wearing a thing—neither of them seemed to be visualizing clothes for him.

  Muin, she whispered telepathically, as she stopped before him, lifting her hands to toy a little with his chest hair.

  Close enough that his shaft slid against the smooth skin of her stomach. Absolutely no good control of the rhythm of his breathing. Well, no good control of anything. His jaw clenched to be able to just stand there and not po
unce.

  Then her fingers brushed across his bare chest—avoiding his nipples, which were sensitive—to stop at his sides.

  Muin, you have developed your torso more . . . I noted that earlier, at the baths. She sounded wistful. Like she might seduce if given time. Really good.

  He grunted, managed to whisper back, Been training a lot. Keeps me outta the Residence and away from Family. Miss you less. As usual, his brain began to fog.

  Her hands slid back across his torso. So very sexy.

  Gl-lad.

  Her fingernails flicked his nipples. He jerked.

  She hummed in approval, and he blinked to clear his eyes and look at her. Hair already tumbled as if he’d grabbed her head and kissed her hard—which he did now. Least he could do, if he wanted her to take charge.

  More than physical pleasure throbbed through their bond; her simple delight at being with him cleared a bit of the lust fog from his brain enough to humble him.

  He’d usually rated that low—just being with her—before these last days. After all, they had a bond and communicated often, but now he thought he would crave her company for the rest of his life.

  He took her hands, still smoothing his chest, and moved them down to his straining shaft. I wish we were together in person.

  Their exchange of visualizations and physical caresses had often satisfied him, but not now.

  Next time, the HeartBond, she whispered telepathically, and a golden glow enveloped them, mind, body, rolling through the bond between them. Powerful HeartMate love.

  Been such a fool. More feeling than words, regret.

  Her love flooded him, nothing negative in that stream. His hands went to her hips and the thin silkeen fabric melted away under his need to feel her skin. He thought she panted roughly, but he’d gone blind.

  Need. No words for that, only reverberating emotion. He took what he wanted, cupping her butt with his hands, striding back a couple of steps to a wide tree he could brace against.

  He lifted her, and she moved, and then she was sliding right down onto his cock, and he was thrusting into her, hips angling, pumping.

  Tight, wet woman surrounding him. Her arms fiercely embracing, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling, edge-of-pain sensation adding to the rush of spiraling passion, hot pleasure winding into spectacular orgasm.

  She joined him in the rhythm of loving, legs clamping tight around him, dampness where their bodies touched and moved and strove for completion.

  Loving sex. Loved, loved, loved sex.

  Loved Avellana.

  Muiiinnn! She cried out, head flung back, telepathically and in reality.

  The contractions of her around him yanked him from man to pure savage animal, claiming his mate, plunging into her until he imprinted himself into her very cells.

  He roared, let the strength of his climax blast through him, shake him. Shake them both.

  She’d subsided against him.

  The tree felt rough against his bare back and butt; if he’d been concentrating on it, he could’ve scraped the hell out of himself. Flaired dream quests could be real enough, act on the body as if he—they—were there physically.

  He stepped away, still holding her backside, enjoying the feel of her body limp and satisfied against him. He managed to sink down to the smooth and grassy ground, crushing wildflowers as he did. Their scent mixed with that of his and Avellana’s sweaty loving.

  She arranged herself on top of him. Nice broad chest, I need to train more so I match you . . .

  No, I like you . . . softer.

  Her low murmur hummed against him as her lips kissed the hollow of his neck. Muin, I am so glad I have returned and I am with you.

  Yes! Avellana, beloved . . .

  Yes, Muin?

  Please fight sleep. I want to hold you.

  A slight chuckle, her warm breath moving against his skin as it cooled in the summer evening. Yes, I want to lie on you, appreciate you.

  You always do, appreciate me.

  I love you, Muin.

  I love you.

  He, too, fought sleep, because when either of them gave in they would slip into true rest and dreaming and away from their lover.

  Inhaling deeply of the air, he tried to stay awake, wished the night a little cooler, focused on the bright swirls of the galaxies in the sky . . . thought he felt Avellana’s weight fade from him, his arms settle onto his own chest, soft mattress under him, snuffles from Flora through the open door to the sitting room . . .

  And fell right into nightmare visions.

  Twenty-five

  The vision roiled through him, dark and ominous and deadly: Avellana, a toddler, falling from a window; a young child, grabbed by those who would sacrifice her; Avellana falling into the street when seven, a glider zooming down on her. More recent images of her, morphing: Avellana, five years ago, pale and sweating and dying from the plague, finally, in a practical new tunic-and-trous set, Avellana staring openmouthed at a blazer hole in her chest, before her eyes dimmed and she crumpled to the ground.

  He woke on a shout, sat straight up, shuddering, the smell of panic-sweat drying on his body bitter to his nostrils. Two of those events had actually occurred.

  “Lord and Lady.” His voice rasped from his throat. “Av-ellan-a.” Now her name broke on his lips, but his mind sent the call of it winging toward his HeartMate.

  Wha—? Her response came sleepily.

  His panting gasps smoothed a little. Avellana.

  Yes, Muin?

  Scrubbing his face, he said a spellword to clean himself and his bedclothes. The linens and bedsponge rippled under him.

  Muin, you are in great distress! What is wrong?

  He coughed. Vision. Of you in danger.

  Oh, Muin. Now she sounded a little wary.

  Bad. Very bad. That he mumbled aloud.

  Lord and Lady, he hated when the visions came after lovemaking, and more often than not, they did.

  Because when he thought of Avellana, he let his fear rule him more than their shared love.

  He must break that habit.

  Thump! A soft, plushly rounded Flora landed beside him and snuggled under his damp palm. Pet! FamMan pet me and feel better!

  As usual, he reached out and stroked his Fam. Her hair stuck to his fingers.

  Avellana didn’t say anything else, but he could feel her and she seemed to be checking out the bond between them. That had grown as large as a bridge cable with absolutely no filters. He hadn’t had time to hide anything from her.

  This is the first time I have been here, in Druida City, when you have been plagued with such a vision-dream about me and shared it, she stated. She sounded considering, though he wished she hadn’t used the word plagued. He’d sent her far away and safe to a southern Hazel estate during the plague years.

  Yes, he could feel her scrutinize their bond.

  You do not wish me to stay here, in Druida City, Muin.

  No.

  I will not leave again. Not with just Rhyz.

  The visions of you dying FEEL real. They always do. He didn’t control the tone of his words, rough and unsteady.

  I am sorry. Her mental voice sounded stiff and he thought she sat up in her bed as he did, but with a straight spine. No doubt her covers lay smooth and unbunched.

  I am sorry you suffer so from these nightmares, she said. Her sigh whispered to him, then she continued, I promised not to leave D’Hazel Residence by myself. I confirm that I will always at least have Rhyz with me, and when I leave, I will wear my protective amulet and initiate my personal armor.

  He forced out strangled words. “That will do, for now.”

  She gave a little cough and when her voice came, it was the wisp of a whisper. I will also give away those garments I intended to wear today to move furnishings into my new hous
e.

  Avellana! You have a tunic-and-trous set like that? Oh, yes, that shook him.

  I will give them to a cuz working here in D’Hazel Residence who is my size and has similar taste. They are brand-new.

  Avellana!

  Muin! she shot back. I am trying to compromise. If particular clothing or furnishings or whatever appear in your dreadful visions about me, tell me and I will dispose of the items. He heard another sigh from her, then an inhalation. I will not leave Multiplicity or Druida City. I will not run away. It is time we be more active about finding any enemies and dealing with them so we can proceed with our lives.

  He grunted as he rolled from bed, whisking his arm over the linens to refresh the herbs banishing perspiration. Sweat had continued to coat him during his conversation with Avellana. Flora squealed in surprise as the spell fluffed her, too. His thoughts grumbled.

  And Avellana replied to his emotions. We must also put all our irritations and doubts and fears behind us and act together.

  Clumping into the waterfall room, he stated, We tried that yesterday.

  She replied, And we did that well; my parents and sister and sister’s fiancé complimented us on our lovely ritual. I will be giving them copies of those so they can include me—and us—in rituals in the future. We, as a couple and with Vines, will, of course, celebrate with my Family, too. Occasionally they will include aspects of my religion with theirs. Her voice took on a mournful note. I compromise there, too. Most of the rituals in which I participate will be dedicated to the Lady and Lord and emphasize the standard Celtic religion.

  Even as he stepped into the waterfall and let steamy water sluice over him, he felt the strain of such compromises, so many compromises in her life, and he offered, When only we two celebrate together, we can follow Hopeful practices.

  A pause and blooming hope from her. Truly, Muin?

  Yes. He massaged his scalp; maybe that would help his thinking. Consult your spiritual leaders and get a primer for me of basic rituals. We will do those.

  We Hopefuls are less tied to planetary and seasonal festivals because our Journey began on the starships.