by Autumn Dawn
His breathing quickened.
Almost bold now, she slowly worked her way down his belly, darting quick looks to his face to see if he would object.
Her touch was killing him. Just shy of her goal, he caught her hand, gripping it firmly in his. "Touch me there," he rasped, "and it will be all I can do not to break my word." He met her uncertain gaze with one of burning flame, a sliver from ripping away her clothes and taking her like the savage he felt. Only the knowledge of her untried state and his need to make it sweet for her stopped him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, certain it was all her fault. "I didn't mean to...." she trailed off, uncertain of what she'd done.
The muscles rippled in his stomach as he sat up. His smile was rather pained. "Don't be. I have yet to hear a man complain because the touch of his woman inflames him."
She blushed and looked at the water. "And am I your woman?"
Her scent teased him, tempted him to show her. "Say the word and I will have you on your back so fast there will be no doubt, my lady." Alert to her every move, he waited, muscles tense.
Looking away from his intense vestige, made even sexier by the wet hair slicked down his back, she gave a tiny shake of her head. "I'm afraid, Mathin."
The words gave him the needed motivation to stand and dress. "Then we will wait." Even if it killed him, he thought grimly. She would not suffer at his hands.
Besides, there was one other thing.
"Come." He offered her his hand. "I have something for you." His eyes moved to the pear tree just beyond the pond. A secret smile curved his mouth as he caught a glint of silver.
Unaware of his plans, she innocently placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her under the shadow of the tree. Here the grass was thinner, and bits of moss curled around the toes of the tree.
"Lovely pears this time of year," he commented, admiring a particularly juicy looking specimen. Yellow with a red blush, it was just within her reach. Though she could not see it from her angle, it was also just below the huge drop of silver clinging to the branch above.
All unwitting, she reached for it.
A scream rent the air as the silver blob dashed down her arm and past her armpit, then over her breast and down her stomach. At her navel the beastie divided into two warm snakes of fluid, racing down her legs to curl about her toes before shooting back up to loop around her back.
And all the while she was shouting and dancing around like a jack-in-the-box gone mad. "Mathin! Get it off me!"
Far from helping, he just stood there, watching the great entertainment. "It won't hurt you, wildflower."
Becoming sated from the toxins in the body of its new host, the happy symbiont slowed its greedy dining and flowed down her arms. There it anchored itself firmly to her forearms, determined not to be dislodged from such bountiful pickings.
Shaken by the bizarre creature now pulsing on her arms, Andrea pulled at the filigree strands. To no avail.
Furious at his trickery, she shouted, "Dang it, Mathin! I said get it off! Now."
Though he lost his infuriating smile, he made no move to comply. "You need the symbiont to survive here, Andrea. Besides, your systems are now dependent on each other. Removing it now could cost you your life."
For a moment she seriously contemplated bodily harm. Fists clenched at her sides, she bared her teeth at him. "You had no right to make that decision for me!"
Without hesitation he answered her challenge, invading her space. "Get used to it," he told her roughly. Black eyes glittered down at her without remorse. "I will not allow you to hesitate over decisions involving your welfare."
Months ago Jasmine's symbiont had reproduced by division, and she'd given him the offspring as a kind of pet. Though he had not known what he'd do with it at the time--symbionts sickened when they tried to absorb Haunt toxins--he'd been fascinated enough by it to keep it here in the gardens. It had seemed the perfect solution to give it to Andrea.
He'd had reservations about speaking with her openly about it since the time she'd said she didn't want one. Now he was glad he hadn't. No doubt she would have shown the same foot-dragging reluctance to accept it as she did with him. Without it she was vulnerable to all manner of sickness and injury, not to mention the weakness in her own body. Had their positions been reversed, he was certain she would have done the same for him.
Shocked mute by such a bald-faced declaration of dominance, she narrowed her eyes and looked away, ignoring him.
Until the thing on her arms shifted.
Alarmed anew, she shuddered and tried to pull it off, frustrated to discover it wouldn't budge. "Give me your knife."
Obligingly, he unsheathed it and flipped it over, extending it to her hilt-first.
The symbiont flowed seamlessly around the sharp blade, not the least perturbed. The only thing she succeeded in doing was nicking herself.
Instantly the symbiont flowed over the bright scarlet bead, sending a warm buzz up her arm as it healed the cut. It then flowed back to its former position, leaving a smooth patch of skin behind.
Disgruntled, Andrea stared at her arm, or what she could see of it through the silver web.
Satisfied that she was finished trying to detach the symbiont, Mathin retrieved his blade, then led the way back.
Still sulking, Andrea followed.
Determined to despise him, she remained surly and quiet as her Haunt rejoined them outside the gate. No doubt they'd known exactly what was going on while they'd been waiting, she fumed. Too bad she couldn't order them not to leave her alone with Mathin. Even if they could speak in more than the signs they used with one another, she doubted they'd bother to acknowledge the attempt.
After all, it was Mathin who'd sicced them on her.
He left her at her door, which she promptly locked. So much for reconciliation.
Still tugging at the symbiont, she sought out the decanter of melon liquor she'd found among the wines stocked in her room. Even the silver chasing on the glass decanter reminded her of the symbiont and Mathin's arrogance.
With a grimace, she poured a single shot, the maximum she ever allowed herself. With her hypoglycemia the effect was as potent as taking several more. Cradling her drink, she retired to the couch and waited for the nirvana of alcoholic anesthetic to kick in.
It never did.
Frowning at the dregs of the green liquid in her glass, she wondered if she'd misjudged it. But no, it was clearly alcoholic and no doubt laden with sugar. So why wasn't she pleasantly buzzed?
In a mood to test her limits, she got up and refilled her glass. Again, nothing.
The symbiont on her forearms shifted.
Brows raised, she considered the beastie. Was it the cause of her sobriety?
As if in answer to her thoughts, it pulsed.
Intrigued now, she canted her head, wondering if it possessed a kind of sentience. She wanted a drink more than ever when it pulsed in affirmation. "Will you at least let me get drunk?" she growled, feeling almost as foolish as she did aggravated. "Otherwise I might just have to see what a laser gun can do to you."
The symbiont seemed to sag a bit.
Sensing victory, Andrea poured another shot and grimly downed it. No toxin-sucking ball of an alien life form was going to get the best of her.
Chapter 6
Morning was not good.
Still nursing her hard-won hangover, Andrea stumbled to the door to answer her grandmother's strident knocks. "Don't get your tail in a knot," she muttered under her breath, wishing her skull didn't pound like a tom tom. "I'm coming."
The thought had no sooner bloomed in her brain than soothing coolness spread from the symbiont on her forearms to her pounding temples, washing away the cruel throbbing. With it came an alien sense of sympathy.
Bewildered anew by the pulsing warmth of the living metal, Andrea paused to consider them. Or it. Was it now one or two life forms?
"Open up! Open up I say."
Wincing at the strident t
one and concerned about the almost frantic note, she unlocked the door.
"Thank heavens!" Her grandmother cried, grabbing Andrea's upper arm and nearly dragging her through the door.
Since she was still in her blue robe and silk nightie, Andrea struggled to disengage herself without dislodging the slippery material of the robe, which gaped open at every few steps. It proved impossible to do both.
Her grandmother was surprisingly strong for an old woman.
Her attempts to break futile, Andrea tried reason. "Grandma," she hissed, embarrassed by the very male looks she was receiving from the men they passed in the hall. "I'm not dressed yet!"
"Who cares?" her grandmother retorted with startling fury. "Your young man is about to get himself killed!"
"Mathin?"
"Yes! And my future grandbabies with him." The last seemed to incense her more than anything. "Some fool has challenged him to a fire dance. Why did you have to fall in love with such a reckless nincompoop?"
Too distracted to give that the answer it deserved, Andrea ignored her.
The cool feel of the wooden floor under her bare feet changed to rougher stone as her grandmother rushed her down a flight of stairs and up to a tower balcony. Cool morning mist enveloped them as they burst out to the open air, making her shiver.
They were too late.
Below them a fire pit of glowing embers was spread out in a circle fifteen feet in diameter. Stone posts of various heights had been set within it. None was less than six feet from the flames that licked at the embers. Each one was no wider than a foot, maybe a foot and a half, across.
And balanced on one, armed with a staff flaming at both ends, was Mathin. For the first time since she'd known him his hair was tied back, exposing his intensely beautiful warrior's face. He held as still as death, not a flicker of fear on his face as his opponent eyed him. Sweat from the fires sheened both their bodies, plastering the material of their vests and black pants to them.
Mathin had a scarlet sash. His opponent did not.
Afraid to startle him, Andrea wrapped her arms tightly around herself. A small scream lodged in her throat as they attacked with the speed of opposing cars in a chicken run, racing to their destruction. Clamping her hand over her mouth as her grandmother gripped her arm tighter and tighter, she watched her love risk his life for a fool's errand.
The challenger stabbed the end of his staff at Mathin, attempting to scorch his face.
Without looking, Mathin shifted onto another post, delivering a wicked low swing that came close to cremating the warrior's hope of future pleasure.
If he was shaken the man didn't show it, coming back with a deadly rain of blows. So swift was attack and counter attack that Andrea couldn't follow, could only tense in rising panic. Arcs of fire painted the gray morning, leaving a tracery of lighting over her vision. How could they see?
A gasp rose from the crowd as the challenger suddenly flipped backward, coming to rest with perfect control on a pillar.
A small smile turned up the corners of Mathin's mouth. He advanced.
"His opponent is tiring," Raziel said, coming to stand at her side. The light glittered off the ring in his ear.
Another Haunt accompanied him, but Andrea barely spared a glance for the pair. Her fear ran too high. "He's going to die out there!"
Raziel gave her a sharp look. "No one will die, girl. Have some faith in him." His expression softened. "He is a man, not a boy in need of mothering, and a master at what he does. Trellax was a fool to challenge him. There are perhaps a double handful in all the nation who could even give him a decent contest, much less hope to win." He snorted as he watched the fighters. "For some reason it amuses him to trifle with these pups. For myself I would decapitate them and let it bother me no more."
Startled, she said sharply, "Would you?" Somehow she doubted Jasmine would entrust her children to the care of such a man.
He merely looked her, his face expressionless.
Her eyes narrowed. Something told her not to believe him. "So why aren't they chasing you down?" She glanced at his red sash. "Don't you qualify as a challenge?"
The Haunt beside him gave a woofing cough.
His eyes as hard as African diamonds, Raziel smiled. It wasn't pleasant. "The Immortal does not waste his time."
A shout drew her attention before she could question the unusual title. Trellax teetered on a post, balanced on a boot heel. He slipped.
With a yell of outrage, he fell to the hot coals, somehow managing to land on his feet at a run. In seconds he was across the flaming surface, stomping his feet to extinguish any lingering sparks.
Nausea rolled over Andrea as she realize what would have happened to him, to Mathin, if either of them had landed on their back, or their hands.
* * * *
A piercing whistle drew Mathin's attention to the balcony and Raziel. He didn't know why Raziel had summoned him, but the expression on his face had him racing across the coals and up to the balcony. There he found Andrea bent over a potted plant, dry heaving into the urn. Isfael, still in Haunt form, supported her shaking body even as the other guards shifted uneasily.
Instantly he was at her side. "What happened?" he demanded of Raziel, who supported the moaning grandmother.
Raziel grimaced. "I think she pictured the barbecue you might have become had you--” he cut off as her heaves abruptly worsened.
Furious and embarrassed by her reaction, Andrea fought her body until it stopped trying to toss up her intestines. The moment she was able to speak, she hissed, "How could you do something so stupid? You jerk!"
Alarmed at her waxy complexion and glittering eyes, he tried to calm her before she sickened further. "He was unlikely to land on anything other than his feet. It's part of the challenge--”
"You could have been killed!" Even though she still wasn't up to shouting, the words packed punch. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with fire?" The words were foolish, but she didn't care. She never wanted to feel this way again. "That was the dumbest thing I've ever seen anyone do. Don't do it again."
Baffled by her reaction, since in his experience women cheered him on when he engaged in matches instead of lectured him, he said carefully, "You are upset." It wasn't quite a question.
Snarling in fury at his lack of reaction, she sprang at him, only to have Isfael's arm pull her up short. Still weak from the shock and illness, she struggled ineffectually. How she wanted to hurt Mathin!
As the reason behind her wrath sunk in, Mathin felt a surge of hope and determination. Already she behaved the wife. Why should he not seal the union now?
Careful to prevent her from hurting herself in her attempts to injure him, Mathin picked her up. "Be still. You still do not feel well. Let me take you someplace where you can calm."
Without warning, she burst into tears. "Don't ever do that again!"
Unnerved by her reaction, he glanced at her uneasy guards. It was obvious they would be no help.
Raziel made a face at him. "Take her to her room and comfort her. I'll deal with her elder."
Sound advice.
All the way back Andrea sobbed in his arms as if her heart were breaking ... or had almost broken. As refreshingly revealing about her feelings as that was, it was also joltingly uncommon. He could not remember another woman caring enough to fear so for his welfare.
Once the door to her room had closed behind them, he chose an armchair and sat down with her in his lap. It was some minutes before she began to calm.
"You smell like smoke." Her voice was muffled against his chest. She sniffled.
A pained smile quirked his mouth. Her spirit was coming back. "Would you like me to wash?" He stroked the hair from her brow and placed a soft kiss at her temple. She was silent so long he thought she might not answer. "Very well, I--”
Her lips cut off the words. Surprised by her uncharacteristic aggression, he stiffened for a moment. Blood heated by his match re-ignited, and in a moment's time the p
heromone took care of the rest. Fueled by her own desire, the pheromone grew in potency, wiping out reason, even memory. Had Mathin realized just how vulnerable his endorphins had left him to the Sylph in her he would never have allowed himself to be alone with her. She needed gentleness and time.
What she got was a raging beast.
Andrea wanted him, needed him, more than she ever had. The sight of him in danger had broken down the last of her resistance. Now, right now, she needed the comfort of his touch, wanted everything he could give.
But something was wrong. Golden heat shimmered in place where Mathin's eyes had been dark. The tender lover of her dreams had disappeared in a frightening tide of passion such as she'd never seen. Gentle kisses turned to hungry, devouring commands. Hands that had been easy in the past now ripped her shift in half, feasting on the lush curves beneath with touch designed to sizzle. Though he inflamed her with his ardor, it was too much, and far too fast. "I can't...."
His mouth dropped to her nipple. Sucked it into the inferno of his damp mouth.
Suddenly she couldn't breath. Scorching desire arched her back, helpless to prevent her body from calling him nearer. When the other hand joined in the game, teasing the other breast, she screamed her pleasure. How did he know just how to nip, what pressure to use to ease the small stings?
And then he touched her.
* * * *
It was the sight of her blood that woke him up.
Horrified, Mathin stared at blood covering the fingers of his right hand and smeared across their naked thighs. Instantly his erection shriveled. "What have I done?"
Alarmed out of her state of mindless need, Andrea tried to focus. Why hadn't he finished? When he'd shoved his pants down she'd thought....
The blood on his hands and his shock gave her a very different answer from the one he'd drawn. "Oh, God!" she wailed, praying He would make her disappear. "This didn't happen." How could her unpredictable flow choose now to happen? No wonder Mathin looked like he wanted to be ill!
Sick with shame, she drew her knees up and pressed her face to them, hiding. "Go away!"