by Autumn Dawn
“What’s his problem?”
“Don’t mind him. He’ll grow surlier the closer we get to his own holdings. Bad memories.” He was silent a moment, remembering. “Raziel was once feared as the most devastating warrior in the realm. Not only did he have a wicked temper, he was the best of the best—a warrior’s warrior.
“Forty years ago, things here were not as settled. Jayems has been working to maintain peace for the last fifteen years, like his father before him. Before that, we had many clan wars, lots of upheaval.
“There were many men who coveted Raziel’s reputation and wished to defeat him. Not all of them cared if they earned it in the arena or outside it. One day several of them from a large family known for its shiftiness ambushed him and his younger brother. They captured the boy and forced Raziel to surrender to save his life. The boy tried to get home, but died of his wounds before he made it.” There was a grim pause. “His remains were not found for weeks.”
Andrea drew in a shuddering breath. “What happened to Raziel?”
“They tortured him for days, then rolled his body into a ravine. They thought he was dead—their mistake. I don’t know how he survived. By the time he’d crawled out and I found him he was such a bloody wreck...” He took a deep breath, censoring the worst of the tale. She didn’t need to know what the scavenger birds had done to Raziel’s body, or about the maggots. The bones of his feet had been crushed, as had his hands and fingers. Once Raziel’s face had been as famed as his sword. It was a wonder he’d had a face left by the time he was discovered. Haunt might heal without scars, but there was only so much disfiguration their bodies could heal without surgery, which Raziel had refused.
“Shortly after Raziel recovered, he disappeared for a time. One by one the men who’d killed his brother and tortured him disappeared, too.”
“Raziel got them.” The words barely emerged from her tight throat. Poor Raziel. “He didn’t torture them, did he?”
Silence.
“Mathin? He didn’t, did he?”
“He didn’t repay them for everything they did,” was all he would say. Some things were not for a woman’s ears. “When the full extent of what he’d survived was discovered, the Haunt began to call him the Immortal, and still do.” He snorted. “I think he likes it. Certainly he plays on the name to retain his privacy. Even women avoid him now.”
“Jasmine doesn’t.”
His voice softened. “Jasmine is very special.” She gave him a suspicious look over her shoulder, and he playfully nipped her ear. “Not as special as you are.” His hands roamed over her thighs.
“Stop that!” she hissed, darting a look at the Haunt just ahead of them. She clamped her hands over his, but they continued to roam, stoking fires. “This is mean, Mathin. There’s nowhere to finish this.”
Relenting, he stopped tormenting her. This was no place to pull off and indulge. “Later.”
“Maybe,” she muttered.
His fingers twitched on her thighs.
“Ok! Later!” She had no doubt he’d start up again if she didn’t quickly agree, and she didn’t relish the thought of making out under the still dripping trees.
Privately, she admitted Mathin’s attentiveness was reassuring. Perhaps it had been only the “riding lessons” that had caused his distance, though she thought it was a really stupid way to teach. Maybe the warriors here really did prefer to learn that way, but she’d lay odds the women didn’t. She’d have to ask some questions when they got where they were going.
She didn’t like thinking about it much. As Mathin’s wife she was now a lady of rank, and the idea terrified her. She didn’t know what was expected of her, and life as the daughter of a blue-collar worker and a stay at home mom had hardly prepared her. “Uh, Mathin?”
“Hm?”
“Is there a lot of protocol and stuff I ought to know? I mean, I’m not exactly princess material.”
He laughed and nuzzled her throat. “You’ll do fine, my love. Don’t worry so.”
Andrea shrugged her shoulder, dislodging him. “I’m serious! What’s expected of a...what am I now, anyway?”
“Lady wife. And as for what’s expected...you can have charge of running the household affairs of the citadel, if you like.”
“You want me to be a housewife?” she inquired dryly. It didn’t sound like much of a challenge. She felt him smile against her cheek.
“Our household consists of the entire staff and garrison, though I’ll be happy to assign someone else to deal with the garrison if it overwhelms you. Traditionally the chatelaine oversees the supplying of the household from garden and field, orchards, livestock and the hunt. You’ll have direct supervision of laundresses and household staff. There are budgets to see to and household and grounds improvements. In addition, the lady of the manor often works with the clergy, seeing to the care of orphans, widows and the disabled.” He paused a moment. “If that doesn’t seem like enough, I’m sure I could find something else as well.”
She choked. “Is it humanly possible for one person to do all that and still stay sane?”
“I don’t know about humanly possible,” he teased, “but it should keep you out of trouble.”
“While you ride around, bash bad guys with your sword and rescue damsels in distress, right?”
“Exactly.”
The foothills got steeper until they were traveling through a crack on the top of the mountain four riders wide. Wind whistled through the pass, whipping her hair into Mathin’s face until he handed her a colorful silk scarf to secure it under.
She looked at him inquiringly. It didn’t seem like something a guy would carry around.
He smiled. “I came prepared.”
That was thoughtful. “Thanks.” As she looked up from tying it on, she gasped. Raised carvings of beast-headed men and women decorated the stone. Crumbling with age, they still showed exquisite workmanship. “What is that?”
Mathin glanced at the rock. There were several scenes depicting the characters gardening, warring against giant reptiles and building cities. “They were here when we arrived. Legend has it they predate the arrival of the Symbiont People.”
She whipped around to look at him. “Predate...you mean there’s someone else on this planet?”
Pleased to discuss one of his favorite subjects, he told her, “Not that we’ve seen. Both Jaymes’s citadel and mine were abandoned for many years before the Haunt took over. But the Symbionts are now at war with something they call ‘the Beasts’. They are very secretive about their business—possibly because they fear revealing weakness to us—but we do know these Beasts have driven them from the cities they built beyond the swamps. Since no one wants the swamps, it’s doubtful the war will continue if they stay within its borders, but I’d like to know what drove them there. It must be powerful, for even the Haunt found the Symbionts a challenge.”
“I feel sorry for them. Being stuck in a swamp must be miserable.”
“And dangerous,” he agreed, thinking of the huge reptiles that lived there. “But they’ve had centuries to learn to survive there. I doubt any army could drive them from their home ground.”
She studied the giant carvings. “I guess it wouldn’t scare you, their having animal heads and stuff.”
“Because I am a Haunt?” He shook his head. “I’m also a man, Andrea. No one trusts the unknown.”
Afraid she’d hurt him, she shifted uncomfortably. “I just thought you’d be a little more used to it, is all.” She shivered as he drew his nails lightly up her right triceps. Did he realize just how erotic she found his slightest touch?
“There are certain things I hope I never get used to,” he murmured playfully. “What do you think? Could there ever be anything other than sparks in the union of a Haunt and his charmer?”
“Couldn’t happen,” she agreed, already half-drugged with desire.
Before he could torment them both further, he broke off and straightened in the saddle. It had been years s
ince he’d had such a difficult time of keeping his hands to himself. Blame it on the newness of his marriage, the effect of her pheromone, but he suspected it was the woman herself. What was she doing to him?
“I love you, you know.”
Andrea stiffened. Where had that come from? Unprepared for the admission, she panicked. Did he expect a declaration in return?
Events had happened so fast she wasn’t sure what she felt for him. Desire, always. Incredible respect. Liking, even deep affection. But love? “I…”
“You love me,” he said confidently. “You might not be sure of it yet, but I am.”
She turned to look at him. “How do you know?”
“Your body talks. Your eyes speak. Even Raziel the Cynical has remarked on it.”
“He could be wrong.”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
Good question. She didn’t know why the idea of loving him was so scary. Perhaps because he was larger than life? There was no way she could measure up. He’d be disappointed, and she’d feel guilty. “Maybe you…” What could she tell him? That he shouldn’t love her?
He took pity on her, stroked her shoulder. “Give yourself time, my love. My people have an advantage over yours, for when we take on the Haunt we speak with our hands, our bodies and our eyes. We’re rarely fooled, unlike humans who must rely on words. I know what you feel, even if you don’t.”
Shaken by his insight, she remained silent. How could he possibly know her better than she knew herself?
They stopped early that evening. No doubt bored with the journey, Matilda advanced on Andrea where she sat by the fire. In one hand she held a ball of varicolored yarn, the other, a hook.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the ball and hook at Andrea. “It’s time you learned to crochet.”
Aghast, Andrea stared at the items as if they were instruments of torture. “Don’t you remember? I nearly flunked sewing.” Visions of ugly granny squares danced in her head.
Matilda sniffed. “Every self-respecting woman should know how to crochet and sew. Besides, where do you think you’re going to find baby clothes in this wasteland? There are no stores.”
A flush of heat warmed Andrea from her shoulders to the tips of her ears. “Grandma!”
“Don’t be a ninny, girl. I know what you’ve been up to. Now be quiet and listen.”
Someone coughed, and there was more than one muffled snicker, hastily choked off.
Cowed by embarrassment, Andrea shut up. To her surprise, she found she enjoyed the lesson. There was something fascinating about taking a ball of yarn and a stick and making something from it. Best of all, she could simply tug on the string and undo any mistakes she might make.
“What are you making?” Mathin sat down beside her, carrying two plates. One he handed to Matilda, the other to his wife, who eagerly took it.
“Thank you. Aren’t you going to eat?”
“In a moment.” He picked up her project and studied it.
“It’s going to be a blanket,” she told him, feeling shy. After all, they hadn’t used protection either time they’d...she might just need it.
He hesitated. Much as he enjoyed Jasmine’s children, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to have any of his own. There were things he had yet to tell Andrea about his bloodline. Besides, even with the help of her symbiotic, there was no guarantee they could conceive. “Jasmine is the first human woman ever to bear a the child of a Haunt. Always before, on the rare occasions when a human woman did conceive a child, it miscarried. I don’t know that we can—”
“Bosh!” Matilda interrupted, setting down her empty plate. She picked up her crochet—a tiny little bootie. “It won’t be for lack of sneaking off in the bushes.” Oblivious to Andrea’s intense embarrassment, she added, “Besides, the woman in our family are fertile Myrtles. Once is all it takes. I swear all my sister had to do was wash her husband’s shorts and—”
“Grandma!” She’d never seen this side of her grandma and would have preferred to remain ignorant.
“Mark my words, you’ll have a strapping young son by this time next year.”
Uncomfortable, Mathin rose, taking Matilda’s empty plate. “Glad to know you’re confident,” he muttered, then beat a hasty retreat.
“Quite a surprise, isn’t she?” Raziel remarked as he joined him at the cook fire. Firelight played over his face. “Pity she’s not a Haunt.”
Surprised, Mathin raised a brow.
Raziel shrugged. “We are of an age.”
A slow grin curved Mathin’s mouth. He looked at Matilda with speculation. “I wonder what a symbiont could do to erase some of the marks of time for her? Who knows? If she’s anything like her grandchild…”
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, Raziel considered Matilda from across the fire. “She has red hair.” It was easy to tell he liked the idea. “How would we do it?”
Pleased to see his friend interested in a woman after more years than he cared to count, Mathin clapped him on the back. “I’ll think on it. If it works, you’ll have a challenge on your hands.”
Raziel’s smile was wicked. “Is there anything better?”
“You want me to what?” Andrea lifted her head from Mathin’s naked chest and stared at him. The walls of his tent provided visual privacy, but she kept her voice very low.
“Think of her health,” Mathin suggested innocently.
She snorted. “I’m thinking of the tongue-lashing I’d get if I ever tried such a thing.”
“It’s for her own good. She’s an old woman, in human years at least. You wouldn’t want her to sicken on you.”
Indignant now, she tried to sit up, but his arm around her waist prevented her. “Of course not, but I don’t see why you don’t go find her a symbiont. After all, it’s your idea and you should be the one to suffer the consequences.”
“Won’t have time,” he said reasonably. “The symbionts are deep in the swamps, and I’ll have enough to do just preventing chaos at the citadel. This will be much easier, trust me.”
Defeated by logic, she reluctantly lay back down. “I don’t know about this.”
But she knew she’d do it anyway.
CHAPTER 10
“Good morning, Andrea.”
“Hi, Grandma.” If Andrea’s voice lacked enthusiasm, she couldn’t help it. Mathin and Raziel had taken up stations nearby—Raziel against the wagon on her right and Mathin to the left—and watched her expectantly. She didn’t know what Raziel’s stake in this was beside curiosity, but they were making her nervous. “Sleep good?”
“Like a baby.”
Her wide smile only increased Andrea’s guilt. Her eyes cut to Mathin. “Great.” Galvanized by his frown, she took a step nearer. “Please remember I’m your only surviving kin and your favorite grandchild,” she said in a rush, and grabbed her grandmother’s wrist in a death grip, willing half of the symbiont to go to her. In a flash, the symbiont on her right wrist crossed the gap.
Matilda screeched and jumped back, batting at the writhing symbiont. Undeterred, it twined around her body, wriggled under her clothes. Curious, the Haunt stared. All the while she danced around, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Help! Get it off me!”
Alarmed, Andrea took a step back, as much to distance her from the crime as to avoid the flailing limbs.
As abruptly as she’d started, Matilda jerked to a halt. Bent over, she clutched her knees and panted, her deep, rich red hair hanging down and obscuring her face.
A fission of unease shook Andrea. Moments before, Matilda’s hair had been faded tangerine.
Matilda lifted her head.
Shock turned Andrea to stone. Seeming no older than Andrea and far more beautiful, Matilda’s youthful, deep blue eyes narrowed on her only grandchild.
“What did you do?” Startled by her own voice, she looked down, confirming the damage. Hands trembling, she lifted them. The age spots and fragile look of raised veins had completely disappeared. One hand flew to her
mouth, the back pressed against her lips.
Scared at Matilda’s drastic reaction, Andrea quickly fetched a mirror, hoping to reassure her. “It’s okay, Grandma. The symbiont just made you young again.”
Matilda took the glass and stared at it, stone still. Then she threw it, shattering it against the side of the wagon, narrowly missing Raziel’s thigh. “How could you?” Tears of fury welling in her eyes, she rushed past Andrea and into the woods.
“I’ll go after her.” Raziel took off in pursuit.
Shaken, Andrea hugged herself. Even Mathin’s comforting arm around her shoulders didn’t help. “I never meant to hurt her,” she whispered.
Mathin pressed his lips to her hair.
All that day Matilda ignored her. As for the Haunt...they couldn’t keep their eyes off her. Raziel in particular received more than one black look as Matilda caught him staring, his eyes a little lower than her face. Caught, he merely raised one brow and returned his attention to the path descending the mountain.
Deprived of her target, Matilda glared at Andrea.
“I’m beginning to think I was conned,” Andrea hissed to Mathin in disgust, taking her guilt and passing it on in the form of displeasure. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”
Unperturbed, he answered, “No, but I can’t help but notice your grandmother looks very healthy.”
“You’re a jerk, you know that? How could you notice something like that?”
He sighed. “Sweetheart, stop snarling. Although this possessiveness is flattering, you don’t need it. One siren is all I can handle, and all I want.”
Her emotions had been on a seesaw all day, ever since she’d given half the symbiont to Matilda. Suddenly she couldn’t handle it. She burst into tears and tried to leap off of Bloodlight. “I hate you!”
Startled, Mathin wrapped his arms around her and refused to let her go. “What is it?”
“Let me go! Let go!” The panic attack, something she hadn’t experienced since being adopted by the symbiont, hit hard. Intellectually she knew what was happening, but emotionally she had to get away. Fighting him with every ounce of strength, she twisted in his arms, causing the rest of the Haunt to halt and stare. It only made things worse. “Let go of me!” she screamed, tears racing down her face.