HeartMate Page 30

  Her lovely face showed passion's flush even in the twinmoonslight. Her eyes were wide with desire, her lips parted, and her expression squeezed his heart—a deep yearning, as if he were necessary to the fabric of her life.

  When he looked at her, time stopped. All the energies and emotions that forged through him, leading him to this point, eased. He had to take this slow. He had to make this perfect.

  Her hands would incite his lust beyond control.

  The scent of the sweet earth rose to him, comprised of grass and night flowers.

  He slipped a finger in the shoulder tabs of her tunic and peeled the cloth back, spreading it open and exposing her breasts. The twinmoonslight caressed them, shimmering over them, painting them silver with dark, berry tips. Her fragrance insinuated itself along his nerve endings.

  His mouth dried. He grabbed at spinning wits, shards of reason, the control that rarely deserted him, and never for sex.

  She tossed her head back and forth, whimpering with desire.

  "Easy, dear one." He didn't know where the words came from, or the tenderness. He only knew the passion building within him was stronger than anything before, and that he wanted to stoke it and savor it, until the shattering explosion flung him beyond all sense.

  She wriggled her trous off.

  He gasped and could not speak.

  She was more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen, finer than the richest stone. She lay like alabaster, waiting for him, wanting him.

  Blood pounded in his temples, banishing reason, but not caution. His fingers trembled as they curved around her face, dropped a kiss on her pale pink lips.

  He had to touch her, know her through touch, shape her as he had so often shaped his creations. He had to learn all the textures of her body. He wished he was a sculptor.

  He laid his hands on her shoulders, thumbs tracing her collarbone, and absorbed the contrast between them.

  His hands were large, the bones solidly made. Her bones were delicate, refined. His skin was olive dark against her fairness. His palms were calloused against her silkeen softness.

  Would she like being touched by calloused hands? He slid them down over her breasts. She arched upward. Gently he molded her flesh, feeling the softness of the mounds, the pointed nipples in the palms of his hands.

  He wanted to speak some sort of love words but his brain froze and his throat felt too thick. So he lowered his head to press a kiss on her lips. Her tongue darted out, tempting him, but he wanted to taste more than her lips.

  Still caressing her breasts, he brushed kisses across her collarbone, down between his enveloping hands, further down over her stomach, until he came to the delta of her thighs.

  Her scent was everything he'd ever wanted. Ripe apples. Passionate lover. Sweet, generous, woman.

  He kissed the curls at the top of her thighs, but went no further. Her womanflesh would tempt him into raging madness, and he wanted to give her gentleness. He wanted to show her all she meant to him—the lover to fulfill him, the woman to walk by his side, the mother of his line. His HeartMate.

  He stroked the satin columns of her thighs, curved his hands around the firm flesh of her calves, cradled and flexed her feet in his hands. And all the while a pretty glaze of passion bedewed her body, telling him of her desire. Her fragrance grew stronger, luring him to his fate.

  Slowly, more than his hands trembling, he unclasped his sword and placed it on the ground. More quickly he shoved his clothing off.

  She gasped when she saw his great need for her. Then she licked her lips.

  His body pulsed under her gaze. He felt himself thicken, ready for the possession of his mate.

  He closed his eyes and stood before her, letting her know of the strength of his body that would take her. And its scars.

  He felt vulnerable but powerful. This was right. This was destiny. Mating with her on the rich earth beneath two shining moons, taking her to the summit of sensation amidst the calls of birds and the scent of flowers.

  He opened his eyes. She lifted her arms.

  He went to her, thrust into her, and she moaned with pleasure.

  Passion ripped through him, desire that couldn't be denied. He needed her. Needed her to cradle him, to sheath him tightly, to encompass him. To hold him.

  But now he craved her passion as a drug, heard her little cries and shuddered with delight. He set the rhythm of the age-old mating, thrusting, rocking, feeling her tight and wet and caressing his shaft until he could only strive for release.

  She cried out, clenched around him, and he surged once more and gave her his seed and his heart.

  When he could move, he rolled so she lay atop him. He needed her close. Her body was limp and supple in his arms. She breathed evenly, in the depths of sleep.

  After her Passage, she had hungered to mate, firing his own desire that he could no longer contain. He joined with her.

  Slightly worried, he touched the edges of her mind. She was slowly descending into dreams, dreams he sensed would be pleasant and comforting.

  Not wanting to break the contact with her, even for an instant, he kept a bare foot under her hip as he stood. "Robe, on," he softly called. The ash brown robe from his Residence garbed him. He took the earrings from his trous pocket and put them in a secured pocket inside his robe.

  He wanted to take Danith to his Residence but did not dare. Nothing must upset her upon waking. Nor could he chance teleporting them to her bed. A gentleman did not sleep in a lady's bed without being asked. He'd learned that much from the courtship book, though it had danced around the issue in mealy-mouthed language. And though Danith had wanted his loving in the moments after Passage, he didn't think sex, even sex mixed with caring, constituted a real invitation to sleep with someone.

  He stared at her in wonder, his woman, his HeartMate. Fire had ringed Danith, and he had walked through it for her, braving the flames, letting his clothes steam around him. He shuddered now. He had faced his deepest physical fear and mastered it. As he had mastered his deepest emotional fear, his berserker nature.

  Danith was very good for him. If only he knew he would be equally good for her. And he hadn't been able to tell her of his old hurts, or let her open those doors to his past when he'd sheltered her in her own Passage. Her Passage had been clean, leaving no demons unfaced and no doors locked. He grimaced, then fell to his knees to stroke her hair and soothe himself.

  Desire curled in him. He kissed her temple and the taste of her made his body harden. Sweet temptation. But something even more sweet tempted him.

  Now, as she slept, he could meld with her. Insinuate himself into her very dreams until she accepted him, and initiate the HeartBond. He wanted it more than he wanted anything in his life. His heart throbbed with aching pain at their separation.

  But he knew her now. Knew she was more than a beautiful smile and green-gold eyes.

  He clenched his fists. He could not do it.

  She must ask it.

  And for the first time, perhaps the only time, he understood the ancient rules for HeartGifts and HeartMates.

  She must accept him of her own free will.

  Somehow he had to win her outside of the HeartBond, while still hiding his flaws and wretched past.

  His fists tightened. Somehow he, T'Ash, a man without grace or manners, a man with little knowledge of women, would win this fight, too. On his own terms.

  A battle-shriek ripped the air. T'Ash rolled to cover Danith, scrambled in grass to find his sword.

  Weight slammed into his back. An arm appeared, knife flashing, in front of his eyes, darted to his throat.

  T'Ash lunged up and back. Before they hit the ground again, his enemy twisted. They rolled together on the ground.

  The boy, Nettle, was young, slighter, and less muscular than T'Ash. But his lips pulled back in a feral smile, his eyes rolled with the madness of grief of having one triad-brother slain, the other captured. From his strength, T'Ash knew both surviving teenagers, Nettle and
Shade, were linked, with Shade feeding power to Nettle.

  They tangled, wrestling, hitting, kicking, jabbing.

  Danith stood, her body white and perfect in the moonlight. She ran, grabbed a knife from the ground. It looked old and nicked and bloody. Now she ran toward them.

  "No!" cried T'Ash.

  "Yes." She bared her teeth, hovered near them. "I won't run. We're a pair. I'll fight, too."

  "No, not you!" Anguish flooded T'Ash. She should never be tarnished with the stain of violence. She Healed, she could never kill.

  "Yes!" She danced around, her eyes intent on the fight, holding the knife all wrong. "We're together."

  T'Ash rolled on Nettle, pinned him. He let his body hold the youth as he visualized Danith's back grassyard. He flung her there, her anger and objections echoing in his mind.

  The boy flipped him, jumped up, withdrew step by step. "Not this time. You wait and suffer. We get you, Shade and me." He stabbed the air viciously with the knife. "Then we get her and play." He ran, breath gasping and obviously near the end of his strength, until he once more disappeared into the dark shadows.

  T'Ash mentally tracked Nettle across the estate and out to the streets, then to Downwind.

  Putting his swordbelt on around his robe, T'Ash let the quiet of the night wrap around him and fill him. He and the youth had fought and he'd felt fear for Danith, but no berserker fit, no descent into bestiality had threatened. And now he knew he'd placed it firmly in the past and it would never rise in him again.

  "Zanth!" he bellowed.

  Me here. Bad scruff. He odd Flair. Made Me sleep. Bad. Bad. Bad. The Fam paced, tail lashing.

  T'Ash sighed. The two survivors had joined to bespell Zanth, then the free one had attacked.

  T'Ash stretched, his muscles working smoothly and easily. No other men, boys or cats remained on the Blackthorn estate.

  Zanth followed, grumbling. Me tired. Do much today. Me want food. Me want cocoa. Me want My pillow. Me want…

  T'Ash stopped listening. When they reached the small door in the wall he stood, hands on hips, and examined it. The only way to keep the estate safe, now and in the future, would be to strengthen the wall forceshields. T'Ash leaned his sword against a nearby tree and slipped off his robe. It would be a long and sweaty business, to imbue power in the wall surrounding the estate brick by brick. Then he could go home to Danith.

  He got to work.

  Danith fumed. First she paced her mainspace, muttering swearwords. It had been only moments after T'Ash teleported her that she sensed the danger was gone and he was well. Still, he didn't come, and she had a lot to say to him.

  She'd whiled away the time by taking a shower and washing the grime of the night from herself, wondering what T'Ash had done with her favorite tunic trous casual suit. That he, and it, hadn't appeared by the time she'd cleaned up continued to be a thorn.

  Since she felt so irritated anyway, she decided to finish filling out the multitude of forms that needed to be submitted to the NobleCouncil.

  How dare he just fling her away. They were a couple, a pair, friends—even lovers. She felt the heat of a flush, but continued in her angry thoughts.

  He wanted her to be his HeartMate. He'd taunted her with being a coward, yet when she'd stood to fight by his side, he'd taken the decision from her hands and used his great power to send her home, like she was a child. As if she had no say in the matter.

  The forms went surprisingly quickly as she made instant decisions that would form her future.

  Yet when she heard the announcement "T'ASH COMES" resound in the thin air of her mainspace, she prepared to argue.

  With a small clap the man stood before her. She lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and tapped her foot. The fact that his face was set in weary lines, that his olive skin had a pale cast, that he looked as if he'd lost a few more kilos, and that he held a drooping Zanth, made no difference to her.

  She sensed his thoughts—she should not be touched by violence. She should never experience it again. She was special, and precious, and something to be protected at all costs.

  This softened her heart a little, until she realized that he wanted to place her under glass, like one of his expensive and exquisite creations.

  She crossed her arms and stamped her foot. "No. We are lovers now, and we have begun to share things, things like Passage."

  He flinched, dropped Zanth.

  The Fam stared at each of them haughtily, then stalked out of the mainspace to the bedroom.

  "You want us to be HeartMates," she accused.

  He nodded.

  She threw up her hands. "I've tried to fight you, but now you're too close. I have to admit that I can't go back to my old life, I can only go on into a new one."

  The hint of a smile curved his lips. It didn't placate her. She stabbed a finger at him. "And you want to be part of this new life."

  The smile disappeared. He slitted his own eyes. "I am part of your life. You are all of mine. We will be all in all to each other."

  "No. We won't." She bit her lip, flicked her tongue over it, felt heat ebb up her neck and cheeks. "We will try being lovers."

  "We are more," he rasped.

  "Are we? You first mock me and say I'm a coward, then when I decide to fight with you, you push me away. You've been pushing me away from many things, from your emotions and your past, for instance. Until you let me closer, we will stay lovers only, not HeartMates HeartBonded."

  He reached out and whirled her into his hard body. Her own instantly appreciated his virility, and her blood started pounding again.

  "We are much more than lovers. I've made a HeartGift, two. Mitchella returned the necklace. It waits for you. Soon we will wed. You will be Danith, GreatLady D'Ash."

  She tried to free herself and glared up at him. He wouldn't even admit he was keeping his essential self from her. Hurt stabbed her. She'd known this new life would be painful, and had struggled against it, and now was caught in the riptide. "We are only lovers. We have sex, that's all."

  He tilted her chin up with one hand. "We desire each other. Let's come together in passion. I like it."

  She liked it, too.

  T'Ash held her tightly all through the night. When she awoke in the morning, fear of the incredible future mixed with excitement. Today she started her apprenticeships. What if she should fail in her new life?

  "You won't fail," T'Ash murmured. "You will impress the Sallows and Heathers with your Flair, its strength and the innate power."

  His eyes opened and the contrast of the sky-crystal blue and his dark complexion aroused her.

  "Besides," T'Ash continued, his mouth setting in arrogant lines. "I verified your Testing. I do not make mistakes with Testing Stones."

  Danith smiled and leaned down to kiss him on the lips. She shut her eyes to hide incipient tears. The sex had been marvelous, beyond anything she'd ever imagined, but not quite enough. She yearned for words of love, but would not say her own first. She would not yield to be overwhelmed by him.

  And she knew that deep inside him the small seed of darkness still lurked.

  She let the kiss spin her mind away, felt the delicious caress of their bodies gently brushing. His warm, full soft lips became demanding, moist ones.

  She moaned.

  Princess mewed.

  T'Ash rolled over and released Danith.

  He smiled. "I'll feed the cat." He glanced at the timer. "You get ready for your appointments."

  She went and showered. When he returned, she was pulling on some new, body-hugging but comfortable troustights under her knee-length matching brown tunic.

  T'Ash scowled, his stare blaser-intense again. "You'll probably be working with Caprea Sallow. He's unwed. Don't let him get any ideas."

  Danith raised her brows. "No?"

  "No. Perhaps I should make it clear to him—"

  "You don't have to." She sighed, looking around her increasingly cramped home. Gifts from various Great and GrandHouses—ea
ch one more elaborate than the next as if it were a matter of competition—had started materializing in her back grassyard. For some reason, probably because of T'Ash's lack, the offerings were mostly antique furniture. She wondered if she'd given the Nobles a chance to clean out their attics, or whatever they called the top floors of their castles. "Everyone knows the new D'Mallow is sleeping with GreatLord T'Ash."

  He stepped toward her, hands fisted at his sides. "Don't say that."

  "It's true."

  "It's more than sex. I've made a HeartGift, two." He fulminated for a moment, looking as if he searched for words. Danith sighed again. Three little words shouldn't be difficult to find.

  "I'll 'port with you to the Sallows."

  So he would be seen with her. "We could take the public carrier, or your private glider."

  "Port."

  A few moments later Danith and T'Ash stood before the brick-walled Sallow property. He kissed her slowly, lingeringly, possessively—for the scrystone she was sure someone was watching. But that didn't stop her from enjoying the sensation of his mouth on hers, the heat building deep in her core.

  When he lifted his head, he smiled and curved a hand around her face. "You'll be fine. Your Flair is now just under the surface to be tapped. An Animal Healer will be prized. With you the FirstFamilies might be able to increase the size of the delicate horse herds. We might save some Terran breeds that are threatened with extinction, ensure our heritage and our future."

  Always heritage and line with T'Ash. She returned his smile, easing herself away from him. Her timer beeped. Five minutes until she was due. She pulled the bellrope. "I'll be fine," she said.

  And she was. The morning at Sallow was spent sitting in the courtyard and practicing simple Flair exercises. Now and again she'd open her eyes to find herself surrounded by animals. Zanth, another cat or two, a rare puppy, housefluffs, even an old horse.

  In the afternoon the Heather Healers took her around to the slightly ill and wounded of the Primary HealingHall. The hospital itself was more elegant and richly furnished than any other building Danith had ever been in.

  The Healers were gentle but strict, teaching lessons of proper flow of Flair for the illness; when and how to remain distant from the pain, thoughts, and feelings of her patients.