Heart Search

by Robin D. Owens

  Mica had pranced along beside her and accepted many pets, faded away if the patrons didn’t care to see her. All in all, Camellia was satisfied with her Fam, too. The little cat hadn’t sulked for very long.

  Camellia, with a purring Mica attached to her shoulder, congratulated Aquilaria on a good job, then went to the teleportation pad in her office and ’ported home. She landed on the small, inexpensive rug in her mainspace and stood a bit, looking around her home. It was hers, reflected herself, and was comfortable enough. She shouldn’t compare it to Laev’s ResidenceDen. Her house wasn’t even a century old, not to mention nearly four.

  But she really liked the ambience of T’Hawthorn Residence. Like the man, it throbbed with possibilities. Had Laev listened to her? She didn’t think so. Men didn’t. For a while she’d treated him as if he was a friend and wasn’t sure why. It must have been the charm of the place . . . or the nice way they’d all treated her, including Laev. Respectfully.

  She walked through her home, decided that she should do a little ritual cleansing here, too. She hadn’t taken the time since her father and uncle had first invaded her space a few days ago, and they’d definitely left smudges in her atmosphere. Camellia didn’t want her friends to be besmirched by any of her relations’ negative emotions . . . or her equally negative reactions to them.

  So she lit special incense sticks and placed them in every room, then went to the no-time to pull out the expensive steaks she’d bought for the next time she wanted to pamper herself and her friends . . . and stared at the empty space where six thick furrabeast steaks should have been. Where they’d been that morning.

  Gone.

  Thirteen

  Mica stretched to stare into the no-time raw meat storage compartment. There is no furrabeast.

  “I know,” Camellia said through gritted teeth. Frustration spewed through her, stinging the back of her eyes with angry tears. She swallowed bile, looked down at Mica. “I think my uncle took our steaks.”

  The little cat gasped in shock. No!

  “Yes.”

  The mean man took MY food!

  “That’s right.”

  I will scratch him, again and again! Bite him!

  “Can you smell any trace of the steaks?”

  Nose elevated, Mica trotted from the small galley kitchen to Camellia’s bedroom, back to the front door. Went like this.

  “That’s what I thought.” Pressing her lips together, Camellia closed the door of the no-time. She wanted steak.

  You said I could have furrabeast steak, Mica whined.

  “We’ll pick it up on the way back from the guard station. Come along.”

  Mica hopped to her shoulder.

  This time it was the male guard who was available to take her complaint. He was cool. “Come to swear out a complaint against your father again?”

  “Mostly it’s against my uncle.” She showed her teeth in an unfriendly smile as the guardsman lazily handed over a small holosphere for her to record.

  “Can’t believe that,” he muttered.

  Camellia gave her name, her uncle’s name, and that she’d found him in her bedroom and the time, and noted that she was missing “Six prime furrabeast steaks at thirty gilt apiece.”

  The guard straightened swiftly. “Steaks! Your uncle stole steaks!”

  “That’s right.” She finished the complaint, and when she handed the sphere back to the guard, his face was hard.

  “That was really low, stealing a person’s steaks.”

  “Nothing is too low for my uncle,” she said, then nodded to the guard. “No doubt I’ll see you again. Now I want to cleanse my home before my friends come to dinner.”

  “Blessed be,” the guard said.

  “Thank you, I like all the blessings I can get. And blessed be to you.”

  She took Mica and headed for the meat shop.

  As soon as they arrived back home, Camellia picked Mica up and stared into her eyes. “I don’t want you teleporting to anything but the pad here until my father and uncle are gone.”

  Bad men. Mica’s gaze fired, her tail lashed.

  “That’s right.”

  Bad men should not be able to come and go in Our house when they want.

  A sour taste infused Camellia’s mouth. She drew Mica close and held her, rocked a little. “No, they shouldn’t. But that’s my reality, FamCat. Promise me, now.”

  Oh, all right, Mica grumbled. I won’t let Brazos come except on pad, either.

  “Good idea.”

  Mica slid a sly gaze at Camellia and she waited for what her Fam would say next.

  Would be very nice to have catnip sprinkled on the pad.

  “I don’t think so, then you would lay around on the pad and maybe not remember to do the signal for free or in use.”

  Mica mewed pitifully.

  “So I will put a pillow in the opposite corner of the mainspace. Big enough for you and Brazos, and catnip on it.”

  Butting her head against Camellia, Mica purred loudly. You are the BEST FamWoman.

  “Yes, I am. Don’t forget it, and be a good FamCat.”

  Mica said nothing to that.

  The evening went well. Camellia and her friends didn’t speak of Nuada’s Sword which was a relief, because Camellia wasn’t ready to talk about her ancestry. Or the only man she knew in the Family who’d been good. Since Tiana had been involved in the office curse incident and Glyssa was irritated that she’d missed the excitement, she wanted information. “Tell all. I heard that fligger of a father of yours went too far and someday will get a tough lesson.” She chewed and swallowed and a mean smile curved her lips. Camellia echoed the smile. Tiana arched her brows in slight professional-priestess disapproval at negative emotions like glee at someone else’s misfortune. Of course, Tiana didn’t have a smile like that in her repertoire.

  “I just hope it’s soon. He and my uncle are hanging around Druida more than I care for.”

  “The more they’re here, the more they’ll bother you.” Glyssa nodded.

  Mica burped and walked away from her clean plate. Mean men.

  “That’s right,” Camellia said. “And you know what you need to do if you are alone and see them . . .”

  Teleport to D’Ash’s office.

  “That’s right.”

  Or to Brazos at T’Hawthorn’s. Mean men can’t get into Residences.

  “I would prefer you go to D’Ash’s. I’ve already apprised her of the situation.”

  “Lots of other Fams at D’Ash’s,” Glyssa added.

  “Tiana, do you know what kind of form the curse on my father might take?”

  Tiana shrugged. “No. But she’s the goddess of fertility.” Her smile was bright and overly sweet, and Camellia thought it might just match her own and Glyssa’s mean ones. “It might rot his cock right off.”

  Mica fell down on the floor and rolled, laughing. Mean man likes his cock as much as Brazos?

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Tiana said. “Males are alike in that.”

  “And Father won’t anticipate it,” Camellia said. “He’d never think that his own hatred would come back to haunt him.”

  Will the goddess come visit and say hello and admire Me? asked Mica

  “Ah. Goddesses aren’t really . . .” Glyssa stopped.

  Tiana took up an explanation. “Energies are always around us—for good and for ill. And we add to such energies and forces with our own Flair and beliefs, but it is not wise to ruffle a benevolent energy stream . . .”

  The whole spiritual thing escaped Camellia. She was happy just praying to the Lady and Lord, or, very occasionally, the Lord and the Lady, and considering them as mostly benevolent and distant parents. Good parents . . . like Glyssa’s or Tiana’s.

  “Now you should tell us what happened at T’Hawthorn Residence. And what a GreatLord’s ResidenceDen looks like,” Glyssa said.

  “Ah, that story includes T’Hawthorn and his housekeeper and a GreatLady D’Hawthorn a couple of centuries ago . .
.”

  Glyssa and Tiana ate, listening to Camellia’s story.

  “He actually sent his ancestress’s food to pigs!” Glyssa sounded shocked, but she would try anything. Might have even eaten more than one of the ancient sandwiches.

  “Yes.”

  “What was in the sandwiches?” Glyssa asked.

  “I’ve given it some thought. I think it was mashed bean curd with some rather odd spices.”

  “Oh,” Tiana and Glyssa said at the same time.

  Tiana added, “Do you want to say anything more about T’Hawthorn?”

  “Not right now. It’s been a very long day—long week.” Camellia flopped back on her pillow. “Just a few days ago I was in total denial.”

  “You’re doing well,” Tiana said.

  “Thank you,” Camellia said.

  Later, after she put on her nightshirt for bed, she caressed the small sculpture of a sleeping cat that she’d picked up at the Salvage Ball.

  Laev had carved it, she knew. She’d known he’d sculpted, even before he’d given her the statue of the Lord—one she’d placed in Darjeeling’s HouseHeart yesterday.

  She wasn’t sure how the cat had sensed Laev’s sculpture at the party, but Mica had said that Brazos had told her the piece hadn’t been there when he and Laev had first arrived.

  So someone had added the sculpture to the tables after Laev had come. Brazos hadn’t sensed it belonging to Laev because of the pig smell. The black cat still turned his nose up at it because it was more like his Sire, Black Pierre, than himself, and the ear was broken off.

  Camellia figured Laev must have pulled that trick of sending an item to the farm pigs with Nivea. Camellia had no problem envisioning Nivea taking the cat from wherever Laev had stored it—or maybe it had actually been a gift—and sending it to the pigs.

  The sculpture was Camellia’s now, and thinking of Laev and Nivea together would just hurt her—and Nivea had caused enough hurt in this lifetime.

  One last rub of the small sculpture and Camellia doused the spellglobe. Night gathered in the room and Mica snored softly.

  But as soon as Camellia slid between the linens, she thought of the previous nights, the sensuality of telepathic sex with Laev.

  She’d admitted he was her HeartMate, and for the first time ever, she’d spent some time with him. Liked the time she’d spent with him.

  Her body wanted him, wanted the sex that he could offer. And here, in bed, in the dark, she could rationalize that mental sex with him was acceptable. No strings . . . he probably wouldn’t even recognize her. She continued to believe that he didn’t want a relationship with all the boggy pitfalls any more than she did. Dared she reach for him mentally?

  No. But she could relax. If she relaxed, her mind might drift toward his again. She shifted in bed. Mica snuffled and snored louder.

  And Camellia closed her eyes, thought of Laev.

  He was abed, too—and waiting for her.

  His strong hands grasped her shoulders. Lady, he whispered, arousal ladening his mental voice.

  She hesitated, then responded. Lover.

  Tension ebbed from his fingers. No, he didn’t want to acknowledge her as his HeartMate.

  Then she was naked in his arms, her breasts rubbing against his chest, sending tingles straight to her sex. Wanting him. More, needing him.

  His hands slid under her, stroking down her back, rounding over her butt, squeezing her, feeling her own muscle. She shimmied a little, wanting his fingers to slide somewhere more sensitive than her bottom, and he laughed. The very sound sent shivers ruffling her nerves. Here was her HeartMate—no, her true lover—finally in her arms, sharing sex with her. She arched up, rubbing her body against his muscular flesh, running her own hands down his biceps, intimately discovering the lines of her lover, the breadth of his shoulders, the weight of his body on hers. Finally, finally.

  She rubbed his backside, and he groaned and arched and his sex slid into her. For a moment they both stilled. She realized he was braced, tensed for her to leave as she usually did if she came awake at this point. When she could move the breath from the back of her throat, puff it through her lips, she whispered, “Lover,” and sent it mentally in a chant. She arched again, and let pleasure shimmer through her in waves of anticipation. “Lover.”

  That set him off; he surged and she circled her hips to increase their delight, wind the sensations higher and higher, faster and faster. His skin grew slick under her hands. Their uneven panting breaths came in unison like the pounding of their hearts, the rhythm of loving. They moved together, climbing, searching for the release they’d find together. Then all whirled away and explosive stars streaked through the night, through her mind, through her body, and she screamed, and his long, low groan made her heart burst with ecstasy that he was with her, in her.

  She lay gasping, and he rolled and their limbs were entwined and she shifted with him. More sparks of pleasure danced before her eyes as her body contracted around him. He fit her so very well.

  Still in his arms, she slept, and as she did so, she floated away from him and back into her home.

  When she awoke, it was to new hope that the day would be better. She considered the sex with Laev, decided it was fine right now, no need to change. Thinking more on the topic when she bathed, she realized that once the sex dream had ended, his dreams had not continued to blend with hers. He had withdrawn, mentally, emotionally, back to his own place.

  Maybe, just maybe, they would get through this without savaging each other with their own problems.

  The scrybowl pulsed a bright yellow and made the pouring tea sound. Her teacher, Acacia Bluegum.

  “Here,” Camellia said.

  “I set up an appointment with Tinne Holly, the owner of the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon, to test you for membership.”

  Camellia’s stomach dropped. “Oh? When?”

  “This afternoon right after WorkEndBell. The testing won’t take long, and you’ll do great!” Acacia grinned cheerfully.

  “You’re sure about that?”

  Mica hopped onto the marble-topped dressing table that held the old-fashioned scrybowl and stared at Acacia’s image hovering over it in the mist. I have not been to this Green Knight place. She moved her fixed gaze from Acacia to Camellia. Brazos has been. I want to go!

  “Of course you do,” Camellia said.

  “What’s the cat say?” asked Acacia.

  “She has a male friend who has gone to the Green Knight.”

  Acacia laughed, winked. “And does this male cat have a male owner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do go.” Then Acacia’s face dropped into serious lines. “This is the best thing for you, Camellia. I promise. Learning to fight a man your father’s size, training with male fighters, getting—”

  “Men’s hands on me, yes, I know.” She tried not to think of the telepathic sex bouts.

  “If you need me to be there . . .” Acacia offered.

  Camellia sucked in a deep breath. “No, I’m fine.”

  “You certainly are. Later.” The scrybowl went dark.

  Mica widened her eyes. What are we doing today?

  Smiling wryly, Camellia said, “I’m hoping to finally show you our usual routine—we’ll go to both the restaurants.”

  Good food!

  “For sure, and let’s start with breakfast.”

  For Laev, the day was crammed full of intense investment negotiations with several fledgling companies that should lead to another nice fortune for the Family in another decade. He’d let Jasmine watch the proceedings, and Brazos had popped in and out, until finally WorkEndBell had rung and he darkened the scry panel.

  You have been behind that desk all day long! Brazos accused.

  “That’s right.” Laev grinned at him. “Making gilt . . . enough so that in a year I could boost my Fam’s allowance.”

  Brazos purred loudly, cocked his head. Muscles stiff.

  Surprised that the cat noticed,
Laev said, “Yes.”

  We should go to the Green Knight.

  Now the cat mentioned it, Laev liked the idea. He stretched. Brazos followed suit, flexing his young muscles. Maybe other Cats there for play. I am large and strong and will be alpha.

  “Holm HollyHeir and his HeartMate have cats who play there.” Laev rolled his shoulders, anticipating action that would wring the stress from them. “And you aren’t larger or stronger than Tinne Holly’s hunting cat.”

  We will see. I will have a bit of shredded clucker before we leave.

  Laev thought he’d have broth. He considered cats and violent activity after eating. “I’m not cleaning up your vomit. You have to do that yourself.”

  I won’t regurgitate my food.

  Laev figured those were famous last words.

  You are holding me too tightly! Mica said but didn’t wriggle or hop from Camellia’s arms as they headed to the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon for her testing. Camellia loosened her grip, uncaring that the cat’s claws were ripping holes in her loose fighting tunic. Her clothes were grayish and frayed. She hadn’t noticed until she’d scanned the three sets. Finally she just put on the best.

  Down, please, Mica said. Are we near the training place?

  They’d teleported to the closest pad that Camellia knew. Pushing her shoulders back, she said, “Right down the street, see the big sign?”

  Mica sniffed. I smell other Cats!

  “Probably, I think the Hollys have cats.” Camellia lagged a little behind her Fam. She’d added a cloak over her clothes. Soon she was entering the door, and her nose was hit by the scent of men.

  She stopped. Breathed shallowly. How often had she smelled the sweat of her father or uncle? Not often, not much; they didn’t work or play that hard. They preferred scamming through life. She could do this.