by Autumn Dawn
Besides, although she’d had his full attention, not an ounce of it had been sexual. His combat mastery was so complete, not even the famous charmer pheromone could shake it.
He chuckled. “You’ll improve.” His voice dropped an octave. “I’m a patient teacher.”
A quiver started in her belly and vibrated without ceasing as he levered out of the pool and lay beside her. She couldn’t look.
“Today, I will not touch you.” He waited until she dared a look at his face. “Today is for overcoming your fear of looking.” When she looked back at her hands, he said nothing. Now was not the time to rush her.
It wasn’t easy to face him. Nor could she quite look there, though she was dying of curiosity. For a long moment she simply stared at the muscled planes of his chest as he lay on his side, watching her.
Sensing her problem, he rolled over, tangling his fingers in the soft grass as he closed his eyes, his face lifted to the sun. He needed a tactile reminder to keep his hands off her. Sweet musk curled around him, making him dizzy with desire.
Why had he promised not to touch her?
Andrea gulped. Here was more man than she could hope to handle.
Her eyes darted to hard length between his legs. It was huge! Facts of life aside, how could she ever hope to accommodate that?
When Mathin didn’t move, simply awaited her pleasure, she grew braver. With timid curiosity she touched his damp chest, jerking away when the muscles jumped. Mathin groaned and turned his head away, but said nothing.
Feeling more daring, she stroked the springy curls on his chest, learning their texture. Disturbed by her touch, the beads of moisture gathered there slithered down the muscled slopes.
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. “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. “Am I your woman?”
Her scent teased him, tempted him to show her. “Say the word, and I’ll have you on your back so fast there will be no doubt, sweetheart.” Alert to her every move, he waited, muscles tense.
Looking away from his intense visage, 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 motivation to stand and dress. “Then we’ll 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 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 couldn’t see it from her angle, it was also just below the blob of silver clinging to the branch above.
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 twin snakes of warm fluid, racing down her legs to curl about her toes before shooting back up to loop around her back.
And all the while she shouted and danced 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, sweetheart.”
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! 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 dependant on each other. Removing it now could cost you your life.”
For a moment she seriously contemplated bodily harm. “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 won’t 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 hadn’t 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 garden. It had seemed the perfect solution to give it to Andrea.
He’d had reservations about speaking with her about it since the time she’d said she didn’t want one. Now he was glad he hadn’t. No doubt she would’ve 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. Had their positions been reversed, he hoped 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 seethed. Too bad she couldn’t order them not to leave her alone with Mathin. Even if they could speak in more than the signs, she doubted they’d 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 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 7
Morning was not good.
Still nursing her hard-won hangover, Andrea stumbled to the door to answer the 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,” her Grandmother demanded.
Wincing at the strident tone and concerned about the almost frantic note, she unlocked the door.
“Thank heavens!” Her grandmother cried, grabbing Andrea’s arm dragging her through the door.
Since she was still in her blue robe and silk nightie, Andrea struggled to disengage without dislodging the slippery material of the robe, which gaped open every few steps. It proved impossible to do both.
Her grandmother was surprisingly strong for an old woman.
Her attempts to brake 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 hard 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. Rough stone posts of columnar rock 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 only the second time since she’d known him, his hair was tied back, exposing his intensely beautiful warrior’s face. He held as still as death 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 at his footing, 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’s 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. 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, 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, kindly held her hair. 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 barbeque 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, he said carefully, “You are upset.” It wasn’t quite a question.
Snarling, 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 like a wife. Why shouldn’t he seal the union now?
Careful to prevent her from hurting herself in her attempts to injure him, Mathin picked her up. “Be still. Let me take you someplace where you can be 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. He couldn’t remember another woman caring enough to fear so for his welfare.
Once they were in her room, 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.
He smiled. “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. Blood heated by his match ignited, and in a moment’s time the pheromone took care of the rest. Fueled by her desire, the pheromone grew in potency, wiping out reason, even memory. Had Mathin realized how vulnerable his endorphins had left him to the charmer 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. Mathin’s eyes had been dark, but now shimmered with golden heat. The tender lover had disappeared in a frightening tide of passion. Gentle kisses became hungry, devouring commands. Hands that had been easy in the past now ripped her nightie in half, feasting on the lush curves beneath with a touch designed to sizzle. Though he inflamed her with his ardor, it was too much, and far too fast. “I can’t!”