Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) (21 page)

Kent has already endured a tongue-lashing for leaving me
unattended and my nerves are ragged as we wait for the verdict of this
conversation. Tabitha Fern is not just a
Maor
royal, she’s a member of the
Tanistry
,
and even with the little knowledge I’ve gained about our society, I understand
that she holds power over me. How much power, I’m not sure. Can she punish me
in some way – or worse yet, can she bring the wedding forward? I’m sure she
doesn’t know about the deal Nan struck with me, but I’m also sure that she
wouldn’t care enough to honor it anyway.

The telephone clicks back into its cradle and I turn my
attention back to Tabitha, sit up straighter, and inch forward on the couch.

 
‘Well,’ she says,
standing up from the straight-backed chair and regarding us with one hand on
her hip. ‘I don’t understand this little arrangement that you, Kael and your
grandmother have, Shaylee and I don’t like it one bit. If I had my way, you and
Tristan would be married by tomorrow.’

My heart sinks as she shakes her head and lowers herself
into the single arm-chair opposite us.

‘But Tanya and I go back a long way.’ She exhales loudly
and continues. ‘I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she knows
what she’s doing…for now…’

My face must reflect my relief because she gives me a sharp
look and adds:

‘I don’t know why she entertains you, especially since
there is so much at stake, but I’ll warn you that the other members of the
Tanistry
will not be as open-minded as I
am.’

She frowns at Kent.

‘
You
, young
Gregor, have a lot to learn. I will let your in-attention slide this time, only
because you’re lucky that nothing happened and because I’m certain you will
spend the remainder of the weekend with your eyes glued to your charge, before
you deliver her safely back into the hands of her
seastnan
.

Kent’s face turns a shade of purple but thankfully, he
doesn’t respond to Tabitha and she turns away to Tristan. ‘I trust you will
keep your betrothed in your sights at all times for what’s left of this
weekend.’

Tristan inclines his head and Tabitha looks at me, and gives
a tired sigh.

‘I must take my leave now, Shaylee,’ she says.
‘Unfortunately I cannot remain for the entire weekend as the
Tanistry
has need of me in Thailand.’
She motions me forward and I obey, stand before her and put my hands in her
outstretched palms. ‘I hope you understand the gravity of your situation,’ she
says. ‘There are many who covet the power in your veins and would stop at
nothing to get to it. The
Tanistry
cannot allow our one last chance to fall through our hands. We’re keeping an
eye on the situation and we will step in if need be.’

She squeezes my hand, probably as a soothing gesture,
but it feels more like a warning and then she turns and leaves the room.
 

Chapter
34

Pressurized

Tastes like: A Rosa tomato,
bursting in your mouth.

Smells like: Brake fluid.

Sounds like: Steam,
whistling from a pressure-cooker.

Feels like: The blade of a
knife against your throat.

Looks
like: A taut guitar string.

‘Can you believe her?’ The minute the door closes behind Tabitha
Fern, Kent is on his feet, pacing. ‘As if I would ever let anything happen to
you!’ He gestures wildly toward the door and practically shouts at it. ‘I’m not
an idiot, you know!’

Tristan jumps up from the couch and grabs Kent by both arms.

‘Unless you want her to come back in here and give you another scolding,
I suggest you shut your mouth!’ Tristan hisses as he rounds on Kent. ‘You
underestimate her powers and besides, she’s right.’

Kent’s face turns from surprise to anger again. ‘But -’

‘You
did
leave her alone,’
Tristan turns his back on Kent, which only fuels the younger boy’s anger,
bringing an unhealthy, mottled flush to his face.

I spring up from my position on the couch and throw myself between
the two.

‘Come on guys! There’s no sense in arguing about this.’ I give Tristan
a pleading look, since he is the older of the two and presumably the more
mature. ‘Please, just leave it.’

His expression is hard, but he pauses, heeding my silent plea.

‘You’re right,’ he says, taking a step back, ‘but I’m also not
leaving your side.’

‘I don’t need your help! I can take care of her myself!’ Kent
shouts. I twist around to placate him.

‘We know you can, Kent,’ I say. ‘But how about we all do something
together, indoors tonight, okay?’ I glance quickly around the room and my eyes
find the wide-screen plasma and DVD-player. ‘What movies do you have, Tristan?’
I take his hand and pull him toward the stack of DVD’s. ‘We could have a movie
night in?’

Tristan glances from Kent to me, and slowly nods.

‘Sure, it’s mostly classics but -’

‘Classics?’ I ask with genuine interest. I ignore Kent’s grimace and
flick through the DVD’s. ‘Oooh, you have Pride and Prejudice!’

‘Yes, it’s one of my favorites,’ Tristan replies. He takes the DVD
from me, slides it into the player and motions me back to the couch. Kent grumbles
but takes a seat on the single chair nearest the door.

‘I’ll make some popcorn.’ Tristan hits play and walks across to the
counter that holds a small microwave, kettle and toaster. I hear the pop of the
kernels and the beep of the microwave as the opening credits roll. Tristan
hands Kent his own bowl of popcorn and deposits himself beside me on the couch
with the other bowl.

Soon, I’m lost in Jane Austen’s world of matchmaking and it’s two
hours later when I realize Tristan’s arm is draped around my shoulders and I’m
curled, legs beneath me, against the curve of his side.

I glance self-consciously across at Kent and stifle a grin. He is
sprawled across the chair, legs dangling over one arm, mouth hanging open. The
half-eaten bowl of popcorn teeters dangerously on his lap and he is snoring
softly, a funny kind of whistling sound.

‘Want to watch another movie?’ Tristan asks.

‘It’s late…’

‘Come on, one more. You could sleep here tonight?’

‘I don’t think -’

‘I’ll sleep on the couch.’ He glances over at Kent. ‘I don’t think
your protector is going to be much use tonight anyway.’

I follow his gaze back to Kent and we both laugh softly.

Tristan puts
Frankenstein
in the DVD player and returns to the couch. This time though, he doesn’t
pretend to put distance between us. He keeps his eyes on my face as he sits and
slides slowly, deliberately closer, until his knees are touching mine and I can
smell the sweet cologne on his shirt. He takes my wrist in his, brushes his
thumb gently along the silver scar there and I shiver involuntarily.

‘Do you understand now?’

My gaze shoots up from my wrist to his face. Tristan stares at me in
the flickering television light and his expression sends another little quiver
through my body.

‘A little,’ I whisper, unable to tear my eyes from his.

Moving slowly, he raises his wrist and presses it against mine, scar
to scar. He holds my gaze, watching my expression as the contact sends tiny
pulses up from my wrist. His own eyes seem to melt and gleam in the blue and
white shadows.

‘You feel it, too,’ he whispers, ‘how your blood calls to mine.’ He
raises his other hand and trails it gently across my cheek, down to my lips. My
eyes close of their own volition and I tremble. I feel him shift on the couch
beside me, the proximity of his body giving off waves of heat and the whisper
of his words against my face, like a warm summer breeze. ‘You want me,
Shaylee,’ he breathes against my cheek, my ear, my neck; slowly dissolving my
thoughts, along with my will-power until I am nothing but nerve-endings and
anticipation. ‘Don’t fight it.’

His lips make contact with my nape and the consequential surge of
electricity and that shoots through me sends a jolt to my brain. My eyes fly
open and I jerk back from him.
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

‘No,’ I say, scrambling off the couch. ‘I don’t…I’m not ready for
this.’

 
I spin on my heels and run
out the door, down the passage. Tristan’s footsteps sound behind me, echoing
the beat of my heart, which seems to accelerate unnaturally with each step. I
hear his voice, begging me to stop but my body is in fight or flight mode. I
reach my room, slam the door behind me and slide the lock home.

‘Shaylee,’ Tristan’s voice sounds through the door.

‘Go away.’ I press my hand against my chest, confused by the erratic
beating of my heart, the sudden tightness in my chest. I lean my back against
the door and feel the vibrations of Tristan’s hands against the wood. Something
is not right. This isn’t just panic over a kiss. Something strange is happening
to me and I don’t understand, I can’t think.
 
 

‘Please…I’m sorry. I just want to talk,’ Tristan pleads.

‘I can’t– Oh God!’

I cry out as a familiar wall of pain hits me. My eyes go blurry and
I collapse to my knees.

‘What’s wrong? Shaylee? Open the door!’

Tristan’s voice is full of panic but the pain in my chest, head and
stomach makes it impossible to do anything but curl over and whimper as the
alternating visions of fire and darkness engulf me.

‘Shaylee!’ There is a loud thumping and somewhere on the pedestal
beside the bed, my cell-phone buzzes. I lay there, paralyzed and horrified as
the fire draws nearer, licking at my limbs, consuming me until there is nothing
left but charred blackness.

Chapter
35

Fatigue

Tastes like: Two minute
noodles.

Smells like: Sweat.

Sounds like: Heavy
breathing.

Feels like: The last five
miles of a marathon.

Looks
like:
 
A mother, with a twin on each hip.

Tristan’s voice is the first thing I hear when I regain
consciousness. It’s such a soothing, gentle sound to wake up to, that it brings
a small smile to my lips as I open my eyes. The relief on his face is clearly
visible as he leans over me on the bed and brushes my hair back from my
forehead.

‘Shaylee,’ he squeezes my hand so hard, I actually wince and he gives
me an apologetic look. ‘Sorry. Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine,’ I say. I try to raise myself to a sitting position but
the muscles in my stomach protest the movement and I sink back down against the
feather pillows. My head is throbbing and every muscle aches.

‘Should I call a doctor?’ Tristan’s father asks, peering over his
son’s shoulder at me, a deep frown of concern etched into his brow.

‘No, I’ll be alright. I just need to sleep.’

My eyes move over Tristan’s dad, to his mother and Kent, sitting
beside the window in the two arm-chairs. Kent’s cell phone rings and he throws
me an apologetic look as I flinch at the piercing sound. Tristan glares at him
and with a mumbled: ‘Sorry,’ he steps away to answer it. My eyes follow his
retreat and stop short at the door. The frame is splintered along one entire
side and the door dangles on one hinge against the wall.

‘What happened?’ I ask.

Tristan’s gaze follows mine to the devastated entrance and he shrugs.

‘I had to get to you.’

‘I’m sorry-’

‘Don’t apologise, Shaylee,’ Tristan’s dad says, ‘We’re just glad
you’re alright.’

A movement just outside the doorway draws my attention. Kent is gesturing
wildly, his face the same mottled shade of red it was earlier in Tristan’s
room. He whispers angrily into the phone but I can only catch snatches of his side
of the conversation and it isn’t enough to determine who is on the other side.

‘Shaylee?’ Tristan squeezes my hand again, bringing my focus back to
him. ‘Mother asked if this has happened before.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ I say, ‘um, yes but I really just need some rest,
that’s all.’ I offer them a small smile, but even that effort makes my face
muscles ache. I don’t want to answer their questions right now.

‘I’d actually like to take a shower, if you don’t mind,’ I say.

‘Of course,’ Mrs. Westwood says, ‘we’ll send up some tea as well but
I’m afraid we’ll have to move you into another room for the rest of your stay.’

I frown and she gestures toward the broken door.

‘She’ll stay in my room,’ Tristan says quickly.

His mother shoots him a disapproving look and I start to shake my
head but Tristan is having none of that.

‘I’m not leaving you alone, Shaylee. I’ll sleep on the couch.’

‘Make that the car-seat.’ Kent’s voice interrupts and we all turn toward
him, frowning in the doorway, tapping his cell-phone in obvious agitation
against his thigh. ‘Kael wants you home. Now.’

 
 
A strange mixture of emotion runs through me. Kael
wants me home. Has he changed his mind about protecting me? Does he want to be
near me? Or is it just that he wants me close enough to control?

‘We’re not leaving tonight,’ Tristan argues, ‘Shaylee needs rest.’

‘She can rest in the car.’

‘But it’s the middle of the night! It’s not safe!’

Kent shakes his head and raises his hands in a gesture of surrender.

‘Hey, I’m just the messenger. Kael says we need to leave
right now
. He wants us home by morning.’

‘Well, he’ll just have to wait,’ Tristan says firmly. He stands and
helps me up from the bed, lips set in a straight line. I slump against him, and
together, we limp to the bathroom.

‘Are you going to be alright?’ he whispers. I nod and give him a
wavering smile. I’m not sure at all that I’ll be able to manage a shower in my
current state but I’m not about to let anyone help me. I shut the door behind
me but I don’t lock it – just in case. I make my way against the wall to the
toilet and sit down on the lid.

It takes a huge amount of energy to pull my shirt over my head. I
take a moment to catch my breath before I look down at the butterfly marking.
It is slightly red and swollen – and about three shades darker than the pale
grey etching that had first appeared just weeks ago. It’s like each incident
seems to etch the tattoo darker and deeper into my skin, making it more
permanent, tearing away any possibility I ever thought I had at returning to
normality.
 

I sigh and slip into the shower, grateful when the gushing water
muffles the voices of Tristan and Kent, who have begun to argue in the bedroom.
Eyes closed, hands braced against the wall, I let the water rush over my head
and aching body.

What the hell is wrong with
me
? Before my birthday, I can remember only one
incident in my entire life when I’d passed out; that one time in grade three,
I’d been late for school, hadn’t eaten breakfast and after half an hour of standing
in the school hall assembly, I’d collapsed onto the floor. A couple of
Provita’s and a few sips of water had cured me then – but this?

I loathe my weakness, and not knowing the cause makes it twice as
bad. It can’t be coincidence anymore. The attacks started soon after I arrived
here, after the marking appeared. Somehow, the three events are related and the
thought makes me angry. Why me? What have I done to deserve this?
 

With a sigh, I turn off the taps and lay my forehead against the
wall. No use feeling sorry for myself, I know. My energy is better served
getting as much information as possible about my new life. Maybe then, I’ll be
able to figure out what’s causing these attacks. Right now, though, I have
no
energy – not even enough to think.
 

 
I dry myself haphazardly with
the fluffy white towel that hangs from a hook behind the door, realize that I
haven’t brought any clothes into the bathroom with me and slide my underwear
back on, covering it with the white hotel terry-cloth robe.

The voices outside have fallen quiet and when I open the door to the
bedroom, Tristan stands alone, by the window. He immediately rushes to my side
and slides a supportive arm around my waist.

‘Are you okay?’ The unveiled concern in his face is comforting.

‘Just tired.’

‘Let’s get you to my room.’

‘I need my clothes.’

‘I’ll bring it.’

I nod once and take a slow step toward the door, but my knees buckle
beneath me and only Tristan prevents me from collapsing to the floor.

‘I’ll carry you.’

‘I can walk,’ I protest weakly, but he ignores me and sweeps me up
gently into his arms.

‘Stop being so stubborn,’ he chides. I smile wanly and lay my head
against his shoulder, too tired and sore to argue.

‘Are we leaving now?’ I ask, with my forehead against his neck.

‘In the morning,’ he replies, ‘you need to rest.’

I close my eyes and breathe in the clean, sweet scent of him,
grateful for the reprieve. It is an effort at this point just to stay
conscious. The world around me becomes hazy and the warmth of Tristan’s body
against mine, the soft beat of the pulse in his neck, is like a drug to my
overloaded system. I’m asleep halfway down the corridor.