HeartMate Page 28

  His words shook her to the core. Twice tonight the man had revealed portions of himself. And while she welcomed the fact that he was opening up to her about his past, it made her wonder all the more who he was, and who he'd been.

  A wariness had surrounded him at times tonight, as if he was afraid that she'd run from him if he were honest with her about his past. No doubt he'd wish those words about killing unsaid when he woke.

  She nibbled at her bottom lip and glanced at him again. Scars showed on his torso, scars that other men she'd seen shirtless didn't have. Not Claif, Pink or Mel Clover, or even Timkin. Timkin's scars had been internal. Danith grimaced. She sensed T'Ash's inner scars might even be more formidable than the ones marking his body.

  At least she could figure out which painful topic she'd poked at a few nights ago, and not do it again. She might even learn a little more about this man who claimed her as his own from his equally scarred Fam.

  "Zanth?" Danith kept her voice low but called loudly with her mind.

  Me hear.

  Danith cleared her throat, as if it would do any good in mind-to-mind communication. Her first telepathic conversation. How easy would it be? How draining would it be? How much could Zanth actually hear, just her words or emotions, too? Would he perceive her physical sensations?

  "Zanth, a couple of nights ago, when we faced that gang, I said something that made the situation worse. What was it?"

  She heard the humming of his cat mind, it seemed to dart here and there, then click.

  Rue, Zanth said.

  Only a little hurt in her head came with the word. She'd need to learn how to converse with Fams without any hurt at all.

  Never say rue.

  Danith nodded, then realized she needed to answer with her mind. "I won't."

  You hear Me.

  "Yes."

  T'Ash not hear. Only You. He sounded satisfied that he'd been able to selectively aim his thoughts.

  "T'Ash is sleeping."

  Me can talk to only you anyway. Me know how.

  "Why can't I say rue?"

  Zanth's mind hummed again. Rue killed Family.

  The Fam went silent and Danith knew he was finished talking. His thoughts became cat-sensings of movement and sound. Now was not the time to find more out about T'Ash.

  So, she'd made a dreadful mistake, but plant and herbal sayings were commonplace and loved.

  She curled within the curve of T'Ash's large, muscular body. His arm settled around her and drew her close. She closed her eyes, and ignoring the multicolored flashes of the day's memories on her eyelids, she fell asleep.

  T'Ash jerked himself from the nightmare. A new, unusual horror, not the old one of the fire. His telling Danith about that awful time seemed to have made it less hurtful. Now he wasn't the only one to know his lingering hurt at his mother's choice.

  Scenes of the fire and the aftermath had flashed during the Passage they experienced together. She'd have seen them, felt them, and would remember them. And if not now, someday. He knew that from when he and Holm experienced Passage together. The two boys hadn't been as close as Danith and he, physically or mentally, but their memories still bled over from one to another. Holm, too, knew of the fire. And Zanth. And none of them had betrayed him. It was past.

  He was delaying thinking about the new nightmare. He shuddered, needing water. The painease and fear had dried his mouth and dampened his body with sweat.

  He slipped from the bed, pulled the cover up over Danith and stood looking at her for a while. He could think of Danith instead of the nightmare. She haunted his thoughts. Thoughts of her were more wonderful than anything else in his life, past or present.

  T'Ash went over to the sink and gulped the cool water in the pitcher, letting droplets splash in his face and trail down his neck and chest.

  The slices on his arm and chest stung, both from movement and from the cold water. And that brought him back to the dreadful dream.

  In the nightmare he stood, knife in hand, filled with feral rage, staring at an Uptown man who shielded a pretty woman. When T'Ash looked at the woman, his body hardened with fierce, vicious lust.

  He'd been a Downwind scruff, not his lady's protector. He'd been the one who wanted to thrust into her, with his body and then with his knife. He had no morals, no qualms, no compassion, no shred of decency.

  Hot, destructive fury had blazed through his veins, and he wanted to hurt, hurt, hurt. And he knew he could win. He had the Flair and the skill, and the Downwind streetsmarts to kill the man and take the woman to play with.

  He strutted before his gang, men that would obey his slightest wish, because he was meaner and tougher and bigger than any of the rest.

  T'Ash shuddered and shuddered again. He could have been that boy, all too easily. If he hadn't clung to the memories of his Family, the teachings of his FatherSire, Father, and Mother, precepts set out in the history book he'd saved. If he hadn't been determined to avenge the deaths of his loved ones. If he hadn't dedicated himself to reclaiming his heritage and carrying on the T'Ash name.

  Even so, a kernel of Downwind still lurked inside him. He went berserk when he fought, became wild and uncivilized, and was no better than the young scruffs who'd faced him that night. At least he hadn't become a member of a triad, brothers and more to two others as wild as he, joined mentally and emotionally into an entity that embodied and magnified the worst characteristics of all three. Perhaps he had managed to hang on to some scrap of honor.

  He had a minimum of manners, no courtship knowledge, no optimism or ideals. Nothing to offer Danith, the lady he wanted so desperately—the woman who embodied his future and the future of his line.

  The sweat and droplets of water chilled on his skin, as cold as the fear that he'd never be able to win her, and that she would escape his grasp. He'd face the lonely, gray future he'd seen during his Passage alone.

  Danith brought color and vividness to his life. She brought hope and delight. She brought innocence, a freshness that made him feel renewed, as if he could finally shuck the dreadful tendrils of the past and learn to live as a normal man.

  Except the dream haunted him, reminding him he was nothing in his childhood. Except he berserked when he fought. How would he get beyond both? How could he hide them until he could bring a good man to her?

  He would bury his doubts and flaws so deep, she would not find them until they HeartBonded. Surely he could play the Noble GreatLord until then. He would only reveal himself to her after they were wed.

  FAMILY! Zanth's shriek rattled the glass in the windows.

  T'Ash whirled to the door. Danith jackknifed up on the bed. He darted a glance to her; she looked mussed and confused.

  "We hear," he said.

  COME! Tinne Holly here. Came for Fam. Passage. Death duels. Scruffs followed. Gang of young toms here. Two Glisten Teeth come.

  Foreboding chilled T'Ash's spine. He envisioned the whole horrific scenario. The young man, calling for his Fam, leading the Downwind toughs that fought with him to the T'Blackthorn estate. Being joined by the still hurting and enraged two remaining boys of the triad. By now they must have rested, also.

  Tinne would be fighting in the exaltation of Passage, but slowing. Other youths would be circling around him, waiting for the kill.

  T'Ash felt a surge of emotion from Tinne. Only combat occupied the boy's mind, the next thrust, parry. Kills—the boy had seven kills this evening—Downwinders who'd attacked what they saw as an easy mark.

  "Stay here!" T'Ash ordered Danith, and plunged from the gardenshed. He ran to the gate, faster than he'd run in years, too upset to 'port.

  The scene looked both better and worse than he imagined. Tinne held off the Downwinders, a mixture of men and boys, his emptied blaser cast aside. He fought with broadsword and main gauche. There were too many Downwinders. Tinne's death was merely a matter of time.

  Zanth and the hunting cat attacked an opponent together. Brought him down. Claws slashed. A man died.
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br />   Tinne's blades flashed in the twinmoons' light. A detached portion of T'Ash noted the bespelled aura around the main gauche, giving extra protection, more skill to the boy. Good.

  T'Ash grabbed his blaser and fired. Nothing. A tingle in his hand told him that the second boy of the triad, the Flaired one, lurked in the shadows and chanted a spell to negate blasers.

  T'Ash drew his broadsword and waded in. Through slashes and cuts, clangs of sword against sword, he saw the difference between Tinne and the Downwinders. The Downwinders, some men, some boys, all held a bitter, destructive expression in their eyes. Their clothing was as tattered as their decency. They smelled with layers of dirt. Scruffs. Just like him.

  Tinne flashed T'Ash a grin, a clean, honorable, well-dressed fighting GreatSir grin. A grin inspired by Passage.

  A dying cat howled. Not Zanth.

  The Holly hunting cat.

  Tinne shuddered, his defense faltered. Then his face hardened in fury at the thought of his dying Fam. The additional anger fed his Passage. His hands blurred, too fast for T'Ash's eyes to follow.

  A ululation of agony tore from the boy's throat, a denial of the truth, an emotional demand that his Fam be whole, even though he knew better. Then vengeance for the loved and lost friend rushed through him.

  T'Ash fought with efficient precision.

  They were winning.

  Until Danith screamed.

  T'Ash spun. Damn! Of course she'd respond to a dying animal. His worst fears crashed through him.

  She stood in a circle of fire flaming higher than her. Blazing streamers arced above her, caging her, surrounding her. Flames from fireballs catapulted to the dry summer grass around her.

  The second Flaired triad youth did this, tried to kill his HeartMate with firespells. T'Ash shouted with rage.

  A sheet of flame obscured her from view, then subsided.

  She stooped, threw rocks. Boys grunted. She held her hands palms out, chanting some small, useless self-defense spell.

  Terror burst inside him. His opponent fell under his blade. T'Ash ran toward her.

  Black fear and red fury darkened his vision. He fought them with every gram of strength. He could not go berserk now. He could not. Too dangerous for Danith.

  He sent a knife winging to the young, Flaired boy with cat wounds on his face and pointed, glistened teeth at the rim of the circle. The youth fell, but the flames he'd set remained.

  T'Ash screamed a battle cry.

  He jumped through the fire, smelling the searing of his hair and flesh. He ignored the pain to sweep a circle with his sword, catching a man. The Downwinder crumpled.

  Torrents of desperation, determination, anger merged into a blazing union. His past, present, and future clanged together in a whole.

  They were outnumbered.

  He must protect Danith.

  T'Ash reached past his instincts honed by a Downwind boyhood. As his arm swung the sword automatically, he fought the inner battle—through his feral nature to face the deep-seated agony and despair he harbored from the murder of his Family, destruction of his House, and his own abandonment.

  Sweat rolled down his body. He conquered the old emotions, the pain, the desperation, the frenzied wrath. With the mastery of the childhood fury, his wild berserker madness dissipated.

  He backed a step and Danith's body glanced against his. Hot anger faded, replaced with cold calculation and an icy, pure will to triumph.

  T'Ash said a Word. The flames vanished, leaving a black ring of grass and earth.

  Boys ran from him toward Tinne. The last three men pressed their attack.

  T'Ash fought.

  A final, mental groan of the dying Holly Fam pierced T'Ash's mind.

  Danith echoed the sound. She ran. To the Holly hunting cat. To Tinne. To the fight.

  T'Ash swore and picked up his pace. Two men bolted, wounded. One fell.

  T'Ash ran. The two glisten-braceletted boys hunched together, the healthy one supporting the wounded Flaired one. As he passed them the unhurt one jumped; only T'Ash's instincts kept him from being gutted. He kicked the knife from the boy's hand.

  "Go, Nettle!" cried the fallen youth.

  "Shade! No!" said the other, crouching, circling T'Ash.

  "Go, Nettle. We kill later. Slower. By selves. Better."

  "Better," repeated Nettle, baring his teeth at T'Ash, then bolted into the trees.

  T'Ash joined Tinne. Five against one. Danith curled over a huddled shape, her hands spurting the green Flair of Healing in sheets of raw power. Zanth guarded, growling.

  A man toppled at Tinne's feet.

  Tinne grinned, pivoted, slashed at a new opponent.

  T'Ash fought.

  Two ran.

  Two hit the ground with bleeding wounds.

  Danith moaned.

  T'Ash spun. She lay still over the cat. Blood trickled down her cheek from some cut she'd gotten before and he hadn't noticed.

  Fury claimed him. T'Ash strode to the fallen boy with glisten teeth, Shade. The boy faded, trying to teleport, but his wounds made him too slow. T'Ash grabbed him, pressed one large hand on his thin chest, raised his blade.

  "No!" Danith cried.

  She straggled to sit and looked at him, pale from the loss of the energy she'd used Healing the cat, eyes huge and smudged in her face.

  He lowered the blade to gently rest against the boy's throat. The Downwind youth glared with hate-filled eyes.

  "No," Danith repeated, her voice slurred. "The fight is won. Now it's time for Healing."

  Tinne straightened, his face as white as Danith's. He shook himself, looked around the scene of destruction. He swallowed. He staggered over to where Danith and the cat lay. Then his knees buckled. He reached out a hand and caressed the cat. "Ilexa?" His voice shook as he touched her side. "She took a blade, here."

  A tremor shook Danith. T'Ash wanted to go to her, but some subtle connection between the young Holly, her, and the cat held him in place, an outsider.

  Danith smiled, a wondering, lovely smile T'Ash had never seen. It radiated joy. "I think she'll be fine. I think I Healed her."

  With a shaking hand, Tinne picked up Danith's limp one. He kissed her fingers. "My Fam. Anything you ask in my power is yours, D'Mallow."

  D'Mallow. Danith deserved the title. She was the epitome of a true Noble—mannered, honorable, generous, kind, responsible.

  T'Ash only wore a noble's title. He'd been mean in his life, destructive, obsessed, and murderous in his vengeance against his Family's killers. He'd been dishonest with Danith, and manipulative.

  She'd seen his feral nature. She'd seen him fight and kill.

  Me hurt, Zanth said.

  T'Ash whipped around to see his Fam limping over to Danith. The cat collapsed beside her, the fat bulge of his side evident. He waved a paw in the air, a little too enthusiastically to be hurt much.

  My paw cut. My ribs bruised. My ear gone, he whined.

  T'Ash looked at Zanth's ears. They were the same tattered folds as always. He wondered which ear Zanth thought was gone.

  The boy beneath T'Ash's blade expelled his breath on a hissing moan.

  "Send him to a Healer, T'Ash," Danith said, looking at Zanth's paw. "Send all the wounded. You can afford it, and there's no reason to repeat the vicious cycle of killing."

  "No," T'Ash said. She was right. The seed of an idea germinated in his mind. Downwind had to be improved, he'd said so for years. But he hadn't done anything further than attend some FirstFamilies Rituals that only superficially addressed the problems. Now he'd take action.

  He studied the boy beneath his sword, one of a triad. Three bound together, nearly one mind, giving up individuality for the power of three. He wondered if the boy's mind could be healed as well as his physical hurts, if the youth's Flair could be developed and channeled for good.

  T'Ash glanced at the others lying on the grassyard. Perhaps it was too late to turn the men into decent, productive people, but the remaining boys…


  "No! What do you mean, no?" Danith scowled.

  T'Ash put a foot on the boy's chest to keep him from trying to escape, and sheathed his broadsword. "No. There's no reason to repeat the vicious cycle of killing."

  Danith smiled once more, and T'Ash felt her approval, in his heart and lower, a reflexive response to his HeartMate. It felt good.

  Tinne moaned, then toppled slowly sideways. T'Ash glanced from the Noble to the glisten-toothed Downwinder. T'Ash shuddered again at the obvious differences.

  He cupped his hands in front of him, crafting a message to the AllClass HealingHall, telling them to care for the wounded and bill T'Ash. Then he attached the spun-light message globe to the youth's chest and teleported him away.

  T'Ash strode over to Tinne. The boy breathed deeply, exhaustion showed on his features. His death-dueling Passage was over. Whatever Flair had been freed this night, the young Holly would use worthily and honorably. Envy stabbed T'Ash at Tinne's pleasant past and fine future.

  "Holm!" T'Ash called with his mind.

  "Here." A misty viz of Holm Holly stood before him, looking worried.

  "I have Tinne and his hunting cat. Tinne is tired but free of Passage. The cat had wounds, Healed by D'Mallow, but you should probably have a vet check them." He cocked an eyebrow at Danith to see if she approved. She nodded.

  "Thank the Lady and Lord! Mama has been frantic. He just 'ported out and we couldn't locate him without his House Ring." Holm expelled a breath.

  "Focus on my position, and teleport them both." T'Ash shooed Danith away, moved Tinne to lay beside his Fam, and curved the young man's arms around the hunting cat. "Ready," T'Ash said.

  Tinne and the cat disappeared.

  The viz of Holm remained. His eyes narrowed and he craned his head as if to see through the night. "What do you have there? Bodies? There was a fight, and I wasn't invited? How many?"

  T'Ash flicked his fingers. "Call ended."

  Silence and the night shrouded the T'Blackthorn estate.

  Slowly T'Ash turned, drinking deep of the night air, summoning his strength to look at the other shapes on the ground, to discover whether they lived. He used some of the adrenalin energy racing through him to teleport the wounded to AllClass HealingHall.