Mark of Love (Love Mark Fantasy Book 3)

by Linda Kage

  “What?” he said, blinking cluelessly. “That’s hilarious.”

  “No,” I said dryly. “No, it’s not.”

  He sighed. “If you don’t like my jokes, then why are you so upset if I don’t feel like cracking any, then?”

  “Because the world needs your aggravatingly awful sense of humor!” I exploded. “Otherwise, it’d just be full of people like me. It’d be a dark, oppressive, hopeless void. And no one wants that. Especially me.”

  I growled in absolute annoyance and rode on ahead of him, because this entire conversation was pissing me off. How dare he get me to admit so many of my feelings for him?

  He caught up with me a moment later.

  “Hey, Quilla,” he whispered, reaching out and taking my hand.

  “What?” I whispered back, without pulling away. For once, I craved the contact, and I didn’t care if he knew.

  His gaze softened as he slowly lifted my fingers to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. Then he closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, taking me in. When he exhaled, his lashes fluttered open and he smiled softly.

  “A man tried to sell me a coffin once,” he said. “But I said that was the last thing I needed.”

  I blinked at him with no idea what the hell that meant. But then this mischievous sparkle entered his eyes, and I realized he’d just told another one of his horrible wordplay jokes.

  “Jesus,” I shrieked, slapping him on the arm as if outraged. “That has to be the worst one yet.”

  He laughed. “Worst one, my ass. All my jokes are completely awesome in their own right.”

  Shaking my head, I sighed as if disgusted, while inside I sighed in great relief.

  Indigo touched my arm briefly, falling serious again. “I’ll be fine,” he swore to me. “After I get over my funk, I promise you, I’ll return to my same insanely charming and irresistibly magnetic self. So stop worrying. Okay?”

  I arched an eyebrow in censure. “I’m not worried,” I argued. “And I don’t recall saying anything about you being charming or magnetic.”

  “Oh, you implied it,” he swore. “Heavily. I could tell.”

  When I snorted, he chuckled. “How about this? If you promise to ground me to reality every once in a while, I’ll promise to teach you how to dream.”

  The allure of such a deal tempted me. I suddenly remembered everything I ever wanted when I was little, and how Melaina would slap each wishful idea right out of my head because it was either unfeasible or unsafe. Over the years, I had learned to stop wanting so much. But things I’d always kind of wanted to tell Indigo bubbled to the surface now. Just small, trivial things, and yet things that made this sensation of wanting feel attainable again.

  “Your great-grandmother,” I blurted. “The one from Earth.”

  He furrowed his brow, confused. “What?”

  “She was famous,” I told him. “Back there, where she was born. After she disappeared and came here to the Outer Realms, she became probably the most famous pilot their world had ever seen.”

  His lips parted in awe. “So you heard stories about her? On Earth?” Eyes glittering with delight, he moved his horse unicorn eagerly closer to mine. “That’s amazing. My grandfather always told me stories about her, too.”

  I nodded, feeling a strange kinship with him for being able to share that one detail. “I watched a movie about her once,” I added.

  His brow furrowed. “A movie?”

  “Oh! Sorry.” That was right. He’d probably never heard of a movie before. “A movie is like a—”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ve heard about them from my friend Bison. I just didn’t realize watching them was something a lot of people did.” Producing a sudden grin, he added, “Bison always calls me Indiana Jones because of some movie he’d seen.”

  “I saw that one too.”

  I had loved watching movies. I think I missed them the most. Or maybe books. Actually, it might be a tie over which one I missed more. I’d been a great fan of stories, no matter which media they came in.

  Tipping my head, I realized the name he’s just said sounded familiar. “Bison?” I repeated.

  “Yeah,” Indigo confirmed. “He’s a Replacement who came to the Outer Realms when you went to Earth.”

  My eyes suddenly went wide. “Was he a basketball player?”

  “Yes!” Indigo laughed. “He tried to teach me how to play once.” With a wince, he added, “I didn’t get the hang of it.”

  “So that’s what happened to him,” I realized. “He and his girlfriend and their boat’s skipper replaced Taiki, Questa, and Quailen here?” I shook my head, dumbfounded. “His disappearance was all over the news after we arrived. Everyone thought his brother killed him.”

  “Well…” Indigo shrugged. “I supposed he might have if Bison hadn’t been replaced here instead. He always told me he and his brother hadn’t been getting along too well.”

  I shook my head. “That’s so weird. This world and that one are so vastly different from each other. I could never connect them in my mind. But hearing about other people who have been to both places, makes it…” I blew out a long breath. “I don’t even know.”

  “More real?” he guessed.

  “Exactly.” I looked at him and confessed, “I hated coming back here. It was hard to adjust and fit in there, yes; some things I never understood. But after experiencing electricity, indoor plumbing, automobiles, telephones, televisions, computers, books, and so much more, it was like traveling back in time and going to the dark ages or something when we returned. I hate calling it the old world, too. What we’re like here, with horses and carriages and castles, it’s what they think of as old and outdated. We’re more like their medieval, dark ages. Everything there is so much newer and faster than what we have here. Yet we’re just infants compared to how long they’ve been around. It’s all so strange and backward.”

  “No wonder why you want to go back so much,” Indigo murmured almost sadly, as if I was already leaving him behind.

  A strange pressure filled my chest over the idea of never seeing him again. But then I realized that even if he came with us, he’d lose his mark once we reached Earth. He’d lose all those feelings he thought he had for me.

  “The hardest thing to adjust to was how nothing magical can follow people to Earth,” I told him. “None of us could use our gifts there. They just disappeared. But the curse can’t follow us there either. My mark disappeared completely until I returned.” I flipped my wrist around to display the tattoo from my Graykey curse. “And all Melaina’s emotions that were restrained from her by Uncle Pallo returned to her. I’d never seen her so nice. Or happy.”

  Indigo gazed at my mark a moment before lifting his gaze. “Since you magically sealed your womb, does that mean you could have children on Earth, too? Without worrying about them being possessed by bloodlust?”

  My lips parted as I considered the possibility. “I—I don’t know. I suppose,” I finally murmured.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but Melaina trotted up next to us, interrupting. “I’m starving and sick of sitting in this damn saddle. Besides, the pace you set today is outrageous. There’s an inn showing on the map, not too far ahead. I say we rent a room for the night and—”

  “No,” Indigo said sternly. “Not while we’re this close to Tyler, and especially not when an entire posse of Graykey hunters know Quilla’s in the area.”

  Melaina’s mouth pinched into a flat line, but after a sharp glance toward me, she sighed in disgust and muttered, “Fine. But I’m not cooking supper.” She pointed at me. “You hear that.”

  I glanced toward Indigo as an idea bloomed. “That’s fine. I know just what to make, anyway.”

  Chapter 25

  Indigo

  After helping set up camp a good clip away from the main roadway, I scouted the area for over an hour to make sure we’d picked a safe enough spot to bed down for the night.

  I spotted two other camps within a three-mile rad
ius of us, neither of which appeared to be hunting parties.

  The first was a young family: husband, wife, and three children. I stopped and talked to them, learning they were off to visit the wife’s mother, who was ill. When I gave the little girl and her two brothers a sweet treat each, Holly growled low in her voice, sounding like a jealous and disgruntled cat. And since she was still in her horse form, the family sent her some very leery, uncertain looks, so I went on my way soon after that.

  I shared my entire flagon of ale with the second party, which consisted of four men, all brothers. They were out camping in the woods because the oldest brother was in love and wanted to propose to his lady by building her a house. So they were chopping down enough wood to build her a sufficient home, hoping that would get her to say yes to him.

  When the sun began to set, however, I wished them good luck with their endeavors and returned to my own camp, where Melaina and Quilla were sitting near the fire, working together to pull a long-handled covered pot from atop the campfire.

  Inhaling deeply, I wandered closer, wondering what smelled so good. “What did you make tonight?” I asked, which made Quilla jump and let out a yelp, causing the pot to crash the last few inches to the ground and the lid to tumble off.

  “You’re back!” she stated in a winded voice, gaping up at me with wide eyes. “You were gone so long, I began to think—”

  “Sorry.” I winced, even as my gaze strayed to what was revealed in that pot. It was some kind of unleavened bread on top, crisscrossing in latticed strips and covering what looked like bits of fruit underneath. Whatever it was, it smelled absolutely divine. “I started out scouting the area but got a little carried away talking with everyone I crossed.”

  After telling her about the family and group of brothers, her aunt snorted. “Damn, you just make friends with everyone you meet, don’t you?” Rolling her eyes as if that was a bad thing, she muttered, “How pathetic.”

  She picked up a knife as if to cut me for being friendly to others, but instead, she cut the food into triangular pieces, then dished the biggest piece onto a plate where she immediately began to fork the steaming cuisine into her mouth.

  “What is that, anyway?” I had to ask, my mouth watering. I was fully prepared to eat my stale hardtack for supper, but that didn’t stop me from hoping they might invite me to taste whatever this was they had prepared.

  “It’s pie,” Melaina answered with a full mouth. “One of the best things I ever ate back in the old world.” After swallowing her bite, she motioned to the pie with her fork. “They considered it comfort food there. So, thanks for moping around most of the day with whatever pathetic little mood you were in. Quilla felt the need to make something that might cheer you up.”

  Forgetting her condescending tone about my mourning period, I flashed a surprised and hopeful glance toward Quilla.

  But this was hard to believe. Had she really cooked something for me?

  She paused from getting her plateful to send her aunt a deathly glare. “It had nothing to do with him,” she shot back irritably. “I just felt like eating pie, okay? And I found enough berries in the woods to make one, so I thought why not.”

  Why not, indeed.

  Except I felt her embarrassment loud and clear through the mark, making me think Melaina hadn’t been lying, and my true love had made something specifically to comfort me.

  Heart beating hard over that idea, I edged closer and asked, “Can I try some?”

  Quilla finally glanced up, her expression skittish and a little annoyed. “You might as well,” she finally mumbled as if she didn’t care what I did, except I felt anxious excitement from her inner feelings.

  The woman wanted me to eat her pie.

  “There’s more here than Melaina and I can eat by ourselves.”

  “Well, I’ll happily help you clean up the leftovers,” I gallantly offered, hurrying the rest of the way over to sit by her on the log. She shifted as if rattled by my proximity, but she didn’t scoot away from me.

  “So, this is pie?” I asked as I heaped my plate full. “It’s just bread with fruit inside?”

  “They call it a pastry on Earth. Not quite in the bread family but a close neighbor. And the filling is sweetened quite a bit. It changes the taste of the cooked fruit more than you’d think.”

  My eyebrows lifted. “Sweetened?” I liked my food sweet, so that only sounded better to me.

  Glancing at her as I lifted my fork, I opened my mouth and let the metal tines glance across my tongue as I took that first bite. Our gazes caught and held as flavor hit my taste buds.

  The crust was flaked and different than any kind of bread I’d ever eaten before. It was sweeter too. But mixed with the berry filling, it was—shit.

  It was amazing.

  Closing my eyes, I moaned and chewed. But, oh God, it was seriously delicious.

  “This one is made with strawberries and blueberries,” Quilla was telling me. Concern laced her voice and echoed through my mark, letting me know just how much she wanted me to enjoy her cooking. “But you can put all kinds of things in them. Apples, cherries, pumpkin, peaches, pecans—”

  “This.” I pointed to my plate as I swallowed and scooped up more. “This one’s my favorite. Right here. Oh my God, it’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  I shoveled more into my mouth and ate without discretion. It was that good.

  “Really?” Pleasure and surprise sparked through the mark, telling me Quilla approved of my response.

  But next to her, her aunt frowned and rolled her eyes. “You can’t say it’s the best if you haven’t tried any other kind of pie.”

  “Yes, I can,” I insisted with a full mouth, my cheek beginning to pooch with sweet and tart goodness. “Nothing could taste better than this.”

  Melaina snorted. “You’ve never had my Taiki’s pussy, then.”

  Choking on my bite, I cast her a scowl, because now I was thinking about pussy, and smearing Quilla’s with pie before diving in and having myself a feast.

  As my trousers grew tight and uncomfortable in the lap area, a flicker of anxiety shimmered from Quilla. It came to my mark like the sudden flapping of butterfly wings. Something had just unnerved her. Glancing over, I wondered what had made her so edgy and tense.

  Since I could read none of the emotion at all from the way she was rolling her eyes dryly at her aunt, it was too hard to tell what was wrong. Except I didn’t detect any fear.

  Then she glanced my way, and the moment our gazes caught in the firelight, I finally felt it. A thin ribbon of lust intertwined with the apprehension.

  Jesus. Was she thinking about me eating her pussy too?

  My body reacted immediately, heat washing over me in waves. It took all I had not to reach for her then and there, snag her into my arms, and consume her whole.

  All the while, my head went dizzy. I knew this wasn’t easy for her. She didn’t engage in any kind of relationship with anyone. Melaina was the only human interaction she allowed, and theirs was not a bond of warm companionship. The fact that she was even willing to connect with me at all was an honor I would not dismiss.

  I tried to calm myself. But I couldn’t. The most hard-nosed woman I’d ever met was willing to soften enough to let me into her elite circle of people. This was big. So, yeah, that freaked me the fuck out.

  I drew out a slow breath through my nose and forced my nerves to relax.

  Swinging my knee over to bump it lightly again hers, I rasped a quiet, “Hey.”

  “What?” she asked, her voice full of suspicion.

  “Tell me more about Earth. Is all the food there this awesome?”

  Taking a bite, I looked up as she seemed to think the answer through. Then she finally nodded. “Yeah, on a whole, pretty much all the food is better there.”

  “Damn.” I shook my head and gave a low whistle. “I’d eat all day long in a place with food like this everywhere.”

  A flush worked over her cheeks. “I did
eat a lot,” she admitted. “And watched a lot of movies.”

  “And devoured hundreds of those stupid books,” Melaina put in.

  My eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You liked books?” I thought about the way she’d taken my journal and was so intent to crack it open and see what was inside. I suddenly wished I’d had a hundred more for her to scribble in.

  “What did you write about?” I asked.

  She frowned, seemingly confused for a moment, then she shook her head. “I didn’t write them. I just read what others had already written. What I think you’re talking about is more commonly known as a diary. Or a journal.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t known there was a difference. The only book that had come from my great-grandma’s plane had been a log she’d kept, and my book had tried to emulate that one.

  “And there are a lot of those?” I asked. “Books for reading?”

  “Millions,” she answered, joy and wonder flooding her system as she spoke. “My favorites were the fiction stories.”

  When my brow knit, wondering what fiction was, she grinned and explained, “They’re made-up, fanciful adventures about people.”

  I blinked, a little blinded by the sweetness of her grin. It was so stunningly beautiful that it took my breath for a moment.

  I could only stare as she kept talking.

  “Books were like a magic I’d never experienced before. Every story was its own world, complete and unique in itself. Sometimes it ended happily. Sometimes it ended sadly. But it always had some point to it, this deeper meaning that made me feel like it understood a place inside me that no one else ever could, and I went away at the end, feeling more important for having visited that land that didn’t even exist. More important than I ever felt in the real world.”

  I ached to reach out and simply touch the back of her hand. I also wanted to feel sad for her, because what she said broke my heart. I didn’t like knowing she hadn’t felt worthwhile in the real world. But there was still that warm sense of homecoming and joy radiating off her, telling me she was grateful to have at least experienced life at all, through her books.