by Autumn Dawn
“Did you have a good workout?”
“Yes.” He glanced at the TV. “You like stories?”
The theme song of Star Trek began to play as the credits rolled. Andrea snapped off the TV and sat up to give Mathin a seat on the couch. It was obvious he wasn’t going to take one of the armchairs, and she wasn’t going to lie on her back around him. She knew he’d take it as an invitation. “Doesn’t everyone?”
The cushions compressed as they absorbed his weight. Without asking permission, he drew her feet into his lap. Ignoring her warning scowl, he moved aside the end of the throw that covered her and massaged her foot.
The scowl melted to a look of reluctant bliss.
Satisfied, Mathin gently rotated his fingers, drawing forth a small moan. “Good. I’d like to tell you a story. It’s a tale from...my country.”
One blue eye cracked open. “And where is that, exactly?”
Using pleasure to distract her, he shifted his grip, manipulating the center of her foot.
“Ohhh...yeah, right there. Harder,” she breathed.
Her lips parted in pleasure, and it was very difficult to hold his tongue. A mischievous grin curved his lips. She had no idea how suggestive she was being, and he wasn’t about to tell her. He’d have to remember this.
He shifted, drawing one leg up to face her more fully as made himself comfortable. “Many years ago, there existed on this world a race of people known as the Haunt. They were a special race, different from humans but not so different that they couldn’t live in peace.”
Andrea’s eyes opened wide as she gave him her full attention.
He stopped massaging her foot and simply held it. “But the humans feared the Haunt, calling them monsters and accusing their race of savagery because they feared the Haunt’s strength. To preserve their people—for their numbers were small—the Haunt withdrew into secret pockets to protect themselves.”
He held up a hand when she shifted, questions dancing in her expressive eyes.
She settled back.
“But this was not enough for the most fearful and blood-hungry of the humans. They found ways to sniff out and murder the shape-changing Haunt whenever they could. One of their best weapons was a human mutation they called a charmer.
A charmer was a always a woman, and she had a special gift; a pheromone that drove the Haunt male wild with lust for her, causing him to lose control of his very will.”
Andrea smiled, but it faded as he went on soberly, “These women were used by warlords and a powerful cult to hunt down the Haunt. Once they had a male in their possession, the charmer used her gift to force information out of him, discovering the location of his family.
“To ensure that it was a Haunt male that responded to the pheromone and not some lovesick human, the charmers were disfigured or masked so that their faces could never influence their quarry.”
She flinched, and he sympathized. It wouldn’t be pleasant if the cults got to her. “Many Haunt died this way. To defend themselves and stop the slaughter of their families, some Haunt began assassinating any known charmers. Others searched for another way.
“They found it. One Haunt, a prospector, discovered a doorway between worlds. The world he discovered was a place of beauty, yet danger. Best of all, as far as he knew, it was unclaimed. He told his people about this world, which he called the Dark Lands, and many of them chose to leave Earth with him and settle there. The ones who chose to stay elected an ambassador, a man to serve as an emissary between worlds, should any of them ever choose to leave Earth. The Haunt who crossed over conquered the Dark Lands, and flourish there to this day.”
Andrea scooted upward and drew her knees up, the better to question him. “You said they were shape-changers. What did they turn into?”
“Werewolves.” A short laugh of surprise escaped her, but his expression didn’t change. “They weren’t moon-changing, blood-thirsty murderers, Andrea, but men and women with families and children. The change was just an adaptation to their world that gave them strength and speed and heightened their senses. Their wounds healed quickly, and they lived longer than humans. For that the world was ready to slaughter them.”
Moved, she lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is this a parable?”
Instead of answering directly, he asked, “Would you like to see the door between worlds? It’s not far from here.”
Her eyes widened, and then she laughed. She nudged him playfully with her foot. “You almost had me going there. I’ll give you this, you tell a good story.”
He caught the foot, raised a brow. “Do you fear the Haunt? I won’t let them hurt you.”
“I’d rather not risk it. They don’t sound too fond of my kind.” She giggled as his thumb stroked her insole, tickling her. She twisted and pushed against him with her other foot. Instead of releasing her, he pulled her down and leaned over her.
Her breath caught as his dark hair slid over his shoulder, enclosing them both in a private world. Faint tremors shook her. He smelled so good.
No humor lurked in his bottomless black eyes as he held her prisoner beneath him. “What if I told you I was a Haunt? Would you fear me?”
“I don’t need to hear that to…” She did not want to say fear. It was far too cowardly. “To be wary of you.”
Mathin searched her eyes. It did not take great genius to understand the source of her trembling, for he felt the powerful rush of desire, too. “It’s not me you fear, but this.” Slowly, he lowered his head until her breath feathered his lips and his mouth tingled with awareness. Instead of kissing her, he held the position and waited. She stiffened beneath him, and her trembling increased. Delicate muscles strained as she held her body in check.
He waited.
She began to shift, subtly squirming. The man was skewering her on the shaft of her own desire. She knew what he was waiting for. She wasn’t going to give it to him. Even though her breasts ached and her need hammered at her, she wasn’t going to—
Andrea grabbed his head, meeting him halfway in a savage kiss. In her inexpert eagerness their teeth clashed. Immediately he took command, guiding the kiss into something gentler, but just as wild. The difference with him in control was exponential, and in moments she became a wild thing; clinging to his conquering body even as she stroked it, inflamed by her volcanic need.
It was Mathin who broke away. Panting, he stared at the whimpering vixen beneath him, shaken by the speed of her surrender. In his wildest dreams he couldn’t have conjured up a more provocative lover, and it sobered him like a glacial blast of lake water. She was completely uninhibited, like no woman he’d known before. She trusted him. She wanted him. Him, not his reputation or his silver.
Her complete abandon told him things about her feelings he knew she wasn’t willing to admit. Not yet.
And so he backed off, giving her time. Giving them both time, because he suddenly realized this encounter wasn’t going to be like any other. Andrea was something special, and it would take time to figure out how he was going to deal with her.
“Why did you stop?” It was a shaky whisper.
“Shh.…” So she would know it wasn’t rejection of her that made him stop, he eased behind her on the couch and simply held her, allowing the need to slow to a more bearable simmer. He didn’t want to leave her in pain.
Bafflement drained some of the heat from her blood. This was not a side of Mathin she’d anticipated. He kept surprising her with his mercurial mood shifts. She didn’t know how to deal with him. “Did I do something wrong?”
His gentle laugh shook both their bodies. “No.” He kissed the rim of her ear. “It was very right. So right I was tempted to take you here and now, but I didn’t think you were ready. Was I wrong?”
Her face heated as she tried to squirm out of his embrace.
Mathin’s arms tightened. “I’m not mocking you, sweetheart. Stay with me. I like you here in my arms.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Her brain was clearing, and the familiar resentment soon returned. This hadn’t been anything special for him. Look how calm he was! He couldn’t have felt what she had or he could never be so relaxed. “Let me go.”
Since he attributed her stiffness to embarrassment, Mathin complied, spreading his arms wide. Had he realized her true feelings, she would never have escaped so easily.
She scrambled off the couch and glared down at him, resenting his blasé calm. “Don’t touch me again.”
Mathin grabbed her wrist, stopping her as she would have fled. He wasn’t sure why she was so angry, but he didn’t like leaving it unresolved. “I was not the only one doing the touching, sweetheart.” And it rankled she would imply otherwise.
Andrea glared at his hand without result. “I’m not your plaything, Mathin.”
A dangerous light entered his eyes. “Don’t tempt me to prove myself, woman. These waters are deeper than you know.” He held her gaze, let her see his unshielded desire just long enough to start her shivering. Slowly, he let her go.
Seriously off balance, she stumbled hastily from the room.
Crossing his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling and brooded. Why did women have to make everything harder than it was? He was a man of action. If he wanted something, he went for it. He’d certainly never stayed up nights worrying whether he deserved it or not. What was it about females that made them protest every gift and analyze every action? More often than not they came to the wrong conclusion anyway and then blamed the man.
Moving her to the Dark Lands wasn’t going to be easy. Nor would she take the move in good grace, especially with her grandmother to consider. He felt no guilt over his plan—not when the alternative was seeing her fall into the wrong hands. Adaptation might be difficult, but she was young and he would be there to help. Odds were that Jasmine and Rihlia would also be delighted to see a face from home and would willingly take Andrea into their circle.
Yes, she would definitely benefit from the move. Now all he had to do was get her there.
“She doesn’t even see it!” Mathin gestured to his blade angrily. Its weight on his hip vindicated him.
The old man said nothing, merely watched him as the redwoods rustled around them. The wind sighed in the silence.
Undaunted, Mathin repeated again, “I’ve earned this with my own blood and many hard battles. Did she think it was easy? How dare she say she doesn’t see it!”
“Perhaps it is not there to see,” the old man replied at last, and disappeared.
Sudden panic struck Mathin. He looked, and his blade was gone.
With a gasp, Mathin sat up, clutching the blankets that bunched around his naked hips. The after-midnight twilight said the time was somewhere between one and three a.m.
Still caught up in his dream, his hand shot out, seeking the hilt of his sword on the bedside table. Hard metal met his palm, and he sighed. The mattress creaked as he fell back on the bed, his hand still wrapped around the grip.
The remnants of the dream lingered with disturbing power, chiding him. In the dream he’d complained that Andrea saw no honor in him, a deep affront for a man who’d worked hard to become the epitome of the honorable warrior.
Was that why she ran from his passion? He caressed the hilt of his blade, considering. Were the men here so shallow they’d put such serious pursuit into winning a woman only for physical gratification? He grimaced, answering his own question. Of course they did. They were human. It was one of the things his people despised about them.
Not that he’d never seduced a woman—but in the manner of his kind he’d been forthright about his desires. Never had he deluded a woman into thinking he wanted more from her than pleasure and companionship.
A sharp twinge of conscience smote him at that thought. Very well, he admitted reluctantly. There might have been a heart or two burned in the process. If he were completely honest with himself, he’d admit it was part of the reason for his recent abstinence. He didn’t enjoy hurting women.
But that was why he was the perfect mate for her, he assured himself, laying aside the blade. Never would he willingly hurt her, and never had he pursued a woman with such fierce determination. The trick would be to convince her of that.
If last night’s experience were anything to go by, persuading her of his honorable intentions might be the challenge of his life.
The sun was high, its warm golden light spilling across the bed, but Andrea woke shivering. Unable to get warm, she tugged the covers high and curled into a ball. The hypoglycemic attack filled her with unnatural dread. Why had she eaten that ice cream?
Thankfully, she’d learned to keep a box of raisins by the bed. It had become ritual now to pop a couple before she got up. The sugar woke her up, kept her moving long enough to fix a breakfast. Without the snack, she was sluggish, foggy, and lacked appetite. On some occasions, she’d actually had to crawl to the kitchen in search of sugar, too dizzy and weak to walk.
That was not a fun way to start a day.
Unfortunately, she’d also stayed up late reading, something she’d learned it was foolish to do. Regular sleep hours were vital to her well-being; exhaustion just made it more difficult to keep her blood sugar in check.
With a sigh, she reluctantly bowed to the demands of her body and slid out of bed.
Chills rattled her bones the moment she exited. Dressing quickly, she threw on an extra sweatshirt and sought out the kitchen.
Sometimes she felt guilty that she couldn’t will herself well. Secretly she feared what it would do the career she dreamed about. Though she’d told no one, the panic attacks, shakes and lethargy brought on by stress had already forced her to quit more than one job, and she’d barely made it through the culinary academy. But though she searched the Internet and scoured books on her condition, she was out of tricks.
Binges were guilty pleasure for others. For her, they were potentially deadly.
Cooking was too much trouble, so she fixed a bowl of muesli. She’d made a big batch of it yesterday out of toasted oats, nuts, chopped dates and cinnamon. Drizzled with a little honey, it was perfect for mornings like this. She’d barely started when Mathin walked in. She greeted his “good morning” with a mumble.
He stopped and considered her. His nose flared, almost as if he were testing the air. “Are you all right? You seem…a little off.”
“I’ll be fine after I eat.” A rainbow danced in her eyes from the prism in the window, forcing her to avert her face. She didn’t like appearing weak in front of others, didn’t want them to think she was trying to get attention.
Mathin observed her. His nose told him something wasn’t right. While still lovely, her scent was tainted, and her hand shook a little as she brushed her hair from her face. It worried him. “You’re not feeling well, are you?”
Startled into looking at him, she reluctantly shook her head.
“What do you need?”
She sighed. “I explained about the blood sugar thing last night. I just need to eat something healthy. I’m already feeling better.” Her head felt clearer, and she wasn’t heading for the floor. It could have been much worse.
“Maybe you should lie down for a while, once you’ve finished.”
She quirked a smile. “Wouldn’t want Fallon to think I was napping on the job.”
“He won’t mind,” Mathin said firmly. He glanced out the window. “In fact, we were thinking of going horse-back riding later on. He wants to inspect a piece of land he owns. If you’re feeling better by then, will you come?”
Surprised by his invitation, she looked at him doubtfully. “I don’t know...I’ve never ridden a horse before. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
He waved a hand. “You can ride with me. Although not what we’re accustomed to, Fallon assures me that the beasts make better speed than a…person on foot.” He looked at her entreatingly, using just a touch of smolder. “It will be fun.” Whether it was or not, he would find a way to convince her to go. Eart
h was okay for a visit, but it was time to go home.
Unaware that her answer was about to change her life, she thought for few seconds and then agreed. “Okay. When are we leaving?”
Barely an hour later, Andrea found herself on the back of a black and white horse. The thing was as huge as it was beautiful, but Mathin didn’t seem impressed.
Fallon saw the disappointment on his face and laughed. “Not what you’re used to, Mathin? I warned you.”
Mathin simply grunted in response. The stags he was accustomed to had nearly as much intelligence as their riders and volcanic levels of energy and spirit. It took great control, constant dominance and sensitivity to master one, and the Haunt took great pride in their ability to do so. This poor Beast was as insipid as water. Plodding, even.
Fallon smirked at Mathin’s disgust and nudged his beast into motion. “Deal with it. It’s not for your sake, after all.”
True. Mathin glanced to the side, thinking of his passenger. He hoped she was enjoying her morning. The white barked birch and dark spruce did look lovely in the early morning light. What would she think if she knew this would be her last view of Earth?
The warming spring air was pleasant, though still cool enough to make her grateful for her light jacket. Andrea wondered how Fallon and Mathin could be comfortable without one. What kind of climate were they used to? “Aren’t you cold?”
Mathin glanced over his shoulder. “Should I be?”
With her hands on his waist, she could practically feel his deep voice vibrating in his chest. His profile as he glanced at her was a little too inviting…yummy. This morning she’d been too distracted to dwell on it, but now the memory of their kiss made her breathless. “I don’t know. Is it cold where you come from?”
With an enigmatic smile, he faced forward. “Rather steamy at times, actually. Depends on the mood of the weather. Like this, though?” His gesture encompassed their surroundings. “It’s rarely this chilly. I like it.”