Terran Realm Vol 1-6

by Dee, Bonnie

  Ethan shifted Ceol Mhor aside and stretched his arms, flexing fingers grown stiff with hours of plying the harp strings. “You’re right, a chara. And I am hungry.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But we wasted—”

  “Wasted?” She raised one finely arched eyebrow.

  Ethan stuttered. “Of course not. I mean. It was … great. You were great. I…”

  Aviva laughed. “We were great. Kol b’seder. Everything’s fine. I understand. But you must eat. If only to keep up your strength. Come. We’ll eat in the kitchen.”

  Ethan followed, thankful that Aviva hadn’t smacked his face. Before he had drifted off to sleep last night, he’d resolved to concentrate on his assigned task, and not be distracted by erotic memories of Brigid or Aviva Shiron.

  Easier said than done.

  After putting the platter in the oven to keep warm, she uncovered a glass bowl of hummus. With the efficiency of movement that he admired, she cut up fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, onions and radishes. She opened a jar of olives, another jar of pickled eggplant, and arranged everything on a decorated, glazed ceramic tray. A design made up of swirls and curves covered the dish. The vibrant earth tones gleamed in the sun streaming into the kitchen.

  “What a beautiful piece of work. Is it old?”

  “It’s been in my family for generations. It was a wedding gift for my mother from her mother’s mother. My great, great grandfather made it. It was a tradition in his family. They were Earth Keepers and took pleasure in pottery and ceramics. My great, great grandmother’s family members were Protectors. Their betrothal gifts were usually handcrafted weapons!”

  “Were you…? Are you…?”

  “Married? No. It’s just a memento. I didn’t take much with me when I left Israel. This, a few other things. A great many memories.” She raised her face, her eyes fierce. “That is something no one can take from you.”

  “Memories are treasures.” A silent message passed between them along with a further understanding of their relationship. With unfeigned gusto, Ethan dipped a cucumber into the mashed chickpea dip and popped it into his mouth.

  “Messy! You’ve gotten some hummus on your shirt!” Aviva jumped off the kitchen stool and went over to the sink. Dampening a cloth, she moved in front of Ethan. He opened his legs so that she stood between them while she dabbed at the small stain on his shirt.

  Ethan fixed his gaze on her as she concentrated on cleaning the spot. He breathed in the subtle scent she wore, her heated skin increasing the perfume’s affect on him. His hand shot out and he grasped her wrist. “Leave it. Come with me.”

  A teasing smile brushed her lips. “Are you using your Singer skill on me?”

  He flinched. “Never. I would never—”

  “I was teasing you, teepaysh!”

  “Teepaysh?”

  She rose on tiptoes and brushed his lips. “Idiot.” She deepened the kiss and teased him with quick pecks with each word she uttered next. “You are an adorable idiot.”

  “Adorable? Only adorable?”

  “And sexy. There.”

  He shook his head and drew her tighter against his body. “No. Here.”

  *

  Aviva spread her hands on his chest and closed her eyes. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, his muscles firm to her touch. She pressed her head against him, heard his steady heart beat and sighed. How she wanted him, wanted him in her bed. Wanted him in her life, and knew she couldn’t have both.

  “Aviva?” His hands caressed her shoulders. Aviva felt his lips move against her hair. His hands slipped down to her bottom and squeezed her backside and she gasped. “Aviva, a chara?”

  A chara.

  Last night, still unable to sleep, she’d pulled up the Internet and found an Irish language website. When she typed in a chara she found out what it meant. It didn’t mean love, or lover or darling. He hadn’t called her a cuisle mo chroi—pulse of my heart—or mo mhuirnin—my little darling. But she wanted him to whisper those love words. Overnight she had grown greedy.

  “Aviva, if you don’t want to…”

  She embraced him and kissed the spot above his heart. “I want to, dohdi. I want to. It’s just—” She bit her lip, realizing that she’d just called him “my love.”

  “What? What do you want? Tell me.”

  Love, that was all. Nothing more. “Nothing. I don’t want anything. Only this.” Aviva surged up on her toes and licked his lips, urging them to part. When they did, she plunged her tongue deep within his mouth. He shifted a hand to hold the nape of her neck, anchoring her lips to his. The sweetness of his kiss brought tears to her eyes. And broke her heart. Her breath caught on her throat and she pulled away, gasping for breath.

  Ethan opened his eyes. “You’re crying.” He gripped her arms, examining her tear-stained face as if he could diagnose what hurt. “What’s wrong?”

  She blinked away the tears. “Nothing. Just some long forgotten memories that came back when I wasn’t looking. Kol b’seder.” A strained smile crossed her lips. “Everything will be fine—if you take me to bed.”

  For one more moment he scrutinized her. “Everything will be fine. I promise. Everything is more than fine when we make love.”

  “Yes.” She kissed the palm he’d injured the other day, now only a faint scar marring it. “You have very good recuperative powers. I’m impressed.”

  A smile laced with mischief hovered on his mouth. “Come to bed with me and I’ll really impress you with my recuperative ability.”

  She laughed. “Teepaysh!”

  Ethan shook his head. “Adorable teepaysh, if you don’t mind.”

  “Adorable.”

  * * * *

  Aviva stroked Ethan’s chest and shifted on the rumpled coverlet on top of the guestroom’s queen-size bed. They hadn’t made it upstairs to her bedroom. He had lifted her into his arms and carried her into the guestroom like some character in a romance novel. He had stripped off her clothes, laughing when he saw that she had foregone underwear.

  Her hands had been none too steady when she unzipped his pants and her laughter matched his when she realized he’d also “gone commando.” It set the mood for their love play. They explored every inch of their bodies to find their most ticklish spots. Their giddy pleas to stop changed to gasps of pleasure when fingers, lips and tongues found more erotic areas.

  Now, relaxed and content, they lounged in the cheerful room, unwilling to leave the comfort of the bed. “Tell me about the Irish Terrans. Donovan was vague other than that your people have not been in contact with others of us for a very long time.” She felt Ethan chuckle.

  “A bit of an understatement. Thousands of years ago our group wandered overland to the place now called Spain and sailed to the island now named Great Britain. We stayed long enough in both places to learn the culture from the inhabitants. Some of our group remained and bonded with the native people, but most of us continued the journey.

  “At last, we landed in Ireland. Dagda was our leader and Uaithne, that was my name at that time, was his Harper. His daughter, Brigid, outshone all the women, her dual Elements of Fire and Water more powerful than any Keeper alive at that time. Her beauty was unmatched and her spirit pure and burning.”

  He paused for breath and Aviva knew without any doubt that they’d been lovers. Did he want Brigid now? But how could he not?

  “We dwelled in harmony with the native humans there and occasionally mated and married with them. Then Mil of the Thousand Hostages, a mighty mortal chief, arrived on our shores with his men and his closest advisor, Nimhnach, a Speaker. He wanted power and aligned himself with Ba’al—”

  Aviva sucked in her breath. “Ba’al? A demon god. My people know him well.” A shudder coursed through her body.

  Ethan’s arms circled her tighter. “Nimhnach was granted great power and a lifespan longer than any Terran, but only if he could give Ba’al enough sacrifices.” His voice grew bleak. “The mortal inhabitants and the Irish Terrans fought side by
side, but it wasn’t enough. Although we diminished Nimhnach’s power, we couldn’t defeat Mil’s forces. I put a spell on Dagda and the twelve Protectors who were his lieutenants.” His voice faltered. “I thought to protect them, but instead … they were killed and Dagda was confined to dwell in a cavernous chamber deep in the cliffs of Donegal. Most of the Irish Terrans mingled among the mortals, though the Spirit Keepers chose to go deep underground. My spirit and Brigid’s were kept safe and unawakened until now. I never knew my people’s history until a few days ago.” He squeezed her shoulders, unaware of his strength. “Nimhnach made a new deal with Ba’al. He roused the Stone Men, creatures formed from gigantic standing stones, and tried again to offer Ba’al an entry into our world. We defeated Nimhnach, but didn’t kill him.”

  Ethan’s grip tightened and Aviva whimpered, drawing his attention to how hard he held her. He loosened his hold as though he grasped a live coal. “Christ, Aviva, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize…” He examined the livid marks on her arms. “Jesus, Mary, I’ve bruised you! I’m so sorry, a chara.”

  “No, it’s okay. Now I know why you worked with such urgency this morning.” She sat up and turned away from him and spoke softly. “Ba’al’s name is known to the Desert Terrans. We use his name still to denote someone who has complete control. Names are powerful. We sought to make him ordinary and diminish him and called him Ba’al Zevuv—insect master. We gave the word to one of our mystics—Ba’al Shem Tov—master of the Good Name, to purify the word.” She turned back to him and a smile flitted across her lips. “Those of our people who settled in the western lands softened the name by feminizing it and acknowledging the female’s domain over her home and her nurturing strengths—Ba’ala busta.” Aviva burrowed her head against him. “We could never eradicate him; only control his influence and keep him confined to his world. It didn’t always work. Over the years, Ba’al took his revenge against us and those who helped us.” She shut her eyes and embraced him. “He almost succeeded in annihilating us not that long ago.”

  Ethan stroked her shoulders. “And now, Nolen seeks to unlock the door and welcome him into our world.”

  Aviva slipped from his embrace, and grabbed a robe from the chair by the bed. Bending to the floor, she scooped up his jeans, and tossed them to him. “Here. We need to get back to work. We have to find a means to defeat Ba’al. Perhaps your music can—” She observed Ethan’s startled reaction. “As I thought. That’s the real reason we’re recording your melodies—to see if their power is diminished when they’re reproduced. You used your harp to destroy the Stone Men, didn’t you?” She went to her drawer and pulled out a pair of shorts and a top, thinking out loud as she did so. “You played Ceol Mhor, using certain pitches, nachon?” With one leg in and one leg out of the khaki shorts, she paused. “Then you embellished the power of the vibrations with your Singer abilities, using an incantation.” Still half-dressed, holding a pair of white socks in her hand, she turned. “Am I correct?”

  *

  “Yes.” Ethan spoke quietly, bemused by the sight of the fiery Singer. Her ornate earrings dangled to her shoulders. Her cloud of soft brown curls teased the slope of her breasts. Her navel ring twinkled in the gleam of the sun. From the waist up she appeared like an exotic pagan goddess. From the waist down, wearing khaki shorts and white anklets, she was the epitome of a modern day female. The entire package reminded him of Brigid. Damn. Why couldn’t she be some casual female?

  Aviva pulled on a blue and white T-shirt, tucking it into the skimpy shorts and caught him staring. “Well? What? Are you hypnotized? Move it!” With that, she stalked from the room leaving Ethan to scramble into his clothes and follow her.

  He grinned and saluted, speaking too softly for her to hear. “Yes, ma’am. Just give me the orders. I’m yours to command.” He shoved on his jeans. “Watch out, Nolen. Aviva’s on the warpath.”

  * * * *

  Along the Taconic Parkway, New York State

  James Macalister shut his eyes and tried to relax in the backseat of the cab sent to fetch him at the Greyhound Bus terminal in Manhattan. He had no idea why the CEO of Drona Import and Export insisted on meeting him in person. Hadn’t he heard of video conference calls?

  He had already received his reward for his swift actions to conceal his former boss’s unfortunate death. What other reason could there be to have him travel all this distance? James twisted restlessly in the seat. Hip-hop music played from the driver’s radio, muted behind a bulletproof barrier. He hated hip-hop.

  So why had he been at that club in the first place, except … why kid himself? No one who knew him would ever think to find him in a place like that. In the filthy alley behind the building, the blare of raucous music blasting away, shielding his moans as his cock was sucked by the skinny, young man in the tight leather pants and high tops.

  No one except Artie Thatcher. The bastard must have followed him from work, hoping to dig up some dirt on him—and succeeding. When Artie had shown him those pictures, he knew he’d have to shut him up, but he’d never meant to kill him. It had been so quiet that night. Thatcher hadn’t even screamed when he fell over the side of the parking garage.

  James’ gut clenched.

  It didn’t matter that no one had seen him or that he’d retrieved all of the scattered photos from the oil-stained garage floor. Every time he let down his guard, the scenario of that night rushed in on him.

  He’d thrown himself into his work, expanding the number of outlets for Drona’s diversified interests. Perhaps that was why Lowery had insisted on meeting him. Maybe he wanted to personally congratulate him for his zeal; take him out for dinner; invite him to his private country club; arrange a date with a nubile niece.

  Christ, he was driving himself crazy. He took a deep breath. He had nothing to fear. Thank God, Lowery didn’t know he was gay. When Thatcher had threatened to go to the CEO with the pictures, he’d lashed out that he would ruin him. Lowery’s conservative moneyed background wouldn’t countenance perverts on his staff.

  That’s when he’d pushed the bastard too hard. That’s when Thatcher had fallen. That’s when James’ peace of mind had been destroyed.

  James opened his eyes, blinking at the changing scenery. They’d left Manhattan behind and entered the wealthier suburbs. He glanced at his watch. Three o’clock. Lowery expected him at five. Two more hours to try to obliterate his memories of that night.

  He leaned forward and pressed the intercom to speak to the driver. “Excuse me, do you know when we’ll reach Mr. Lowery’s residence? I’ve a meeting with him at five and I don’t want to be late. Do you know of a shortcut, perhaps that could—”

  The car swerved to the right and slowed onto the shoulder of the road. The cabbie lowered the barrier. “You read English? I know you speak it real good. You read it too?”

  The cabbie’s thick New York accent made James wince, but he answered politely. “Of course.”

  “Read the little sign taped to the back of my seat. Aloud.”

  James found the small, rectangular paper. “ ‘Please don’t talk to the driver while the car is in motion. Thanks.’”

  “Understand? I’ve been paid to get you to where you gotta be at a specific time, I’ll get you there. Relax. Want the music on louder?”

  James leaned back again. “Er, no. Thank you.”

  “No problem. You wanna beer? I got some Miller in the cooler.”

  James shuddered. “No thanks. I don’t drink any longer.” He caught the driver’s sympathetic gaze in the rear view mirror.

  “Gotcha.” The cabbie winked. “I got some bottled water.”

  James shook his head. Bottled water seemed like an affectation to him; as if plain tap water wasn’t good enough for the delicate taste buds of his peers. “I think I’ll just listen to some music.”

  “Suit yourself. And now we’re done talking.” The clear glass barrier rose between them again.

  James put on his earphones, pulled up his play list and settl
ed back for the journey, the classic sounds of Dave Brubeck’s piano calming his jangled nerves.

  * * * *

  Boynton, New York

  “Who is she?”

  Lowery looked away from his laptop and frowned at Lorraine’s intrusion. “I beg your pardon?”

  Lorraine strode into the study and tossed a printed menu on top of the desk. “You’ve ordered a special dinner for two for tonight. I’m to prepare poached salmon with béarnaise sauce and an oyster Rockefeller appetizer and crepes Lorraine—my specialty—for dessert. Sounds like a date to me.” She balled her fists on her hips, fixing her gaze on him. “So, who is the slut?”

  Lowery sighed and closed the laptop. “Not that I owe you any explanation for what I do, however, I get the distinct feeling you’ll gnaw on this like a bone unless I tell you.” He came around the desk and leaned against the front. “First, my dinner guest is male. Second, this is strictly business. Third, it’s my business.” He pushed away from the desk and gripped her elbows. “Fourth, if you ever, ever question me again, I’ll kill you. Quickly. You won’t have any time to enjoy your tragically early demise.” He paused a beat. “But I will.” He thrust her away and she stumbled. “Now, do what I ordered you to do: prepare dinner.”

  Lorraine rubbed her elbows, the pain excruciating. “As you wish.” She turned on her heel and made for the door.

  “Oh, and Lorraine, don’t spit in the food. I can tell when that happens.”

  How had he…

  He smirked. “Be good and tonight I’ll come to your room. You’re dismissed.”

  Biting back the caustic remark on the tip of her tongue, she stalked out, slamming the door behind her and headed toward the kitchen.

  She tied on a crisp, white apron and opened her laptop. Arven had said she couldn’t spit in the food, but he hadn’t said she was forbidden to tweak the recipes. Pulling up her recipe files, she found the one for crepes Lorraine and gasped. Arven’s face glared at her at the top of the page with a caption beneath it. Don’t fuck up. I’m watching you.