Heart Duel (47 page)

He moved fast, plunging, panting until their gasping breaths echoed together. She initiated the HeartBond.

He lunged and she screamed. Arrowed the HeartBond to him.

He slammed his shields down, kept her out, and claimed her body.

She plunged from the peak of ecstasy into despair.

Their breathing was the only sound in the darkness. She didn't know what he felt. After his rejection of the HeartBond, she'd constricted their link to a thread again. She let her legs fall to the bedsponge and he withdrew from her. Hurt, and choking to keep tears from welling, she rolled from him, but scooted back so they touched. She wouldn't ever break their agreement again.

She had told him she loved him. He hadn't responded. They were HeartMates, he
had
to love her, but he hadn't said the words. He'd rejected the HeartBond. Rejected her. She supposed she deserved it, that his own feelings were too raw to let all his shields down and meld with her, that she had kept him at a distance too long and too harshly. But it hurt. But what did she know of HeartMates?

He stroked her arm. She tensed, then let him touch her as he pleased. Despite everything, they were legally bound together.

The sex had been great. The emotional connection, until that last act of his, wonderful. They'd only known each other well for a couple of eightdays and under the worst circumstances. They were HeartMates, surely this awful pain would go away.

But it hurt too much right now. Taking the cowardly way out, she whispered a Word and sent herself to sleep.

 
He clawed his way up from the nightmare an instant before
he would have nightported. Gasping, he was relieved that he hadn't further embarrassed himself before his lover. His limbs trembled from the incipient 'porting, then cooled.

Rising from bed, he walked to the windows. Holm stood in the beautiful room as windows streamed in starlight. Nothing in him could appreciate the room or the view or the essential serenity of the night. He stood naked and thought it appropriate. In the depths of the night his doubts had gathered like thunder-clouds. He could not forget his failures. He didn't know who he was.

All his identity was wrapped up in his position as HollyHeir, FirstSon of the Hollys. Without relation to his Family, he had no being. Numbness had worn off. Denial was over. T'Holly, his father, had disowned him.

Pain and anger ravaged him.
Who was he?
He fell to his knees. Lark whimpered in her sleep. He turned to her, saw the spill of her black hair against pale bedlinens. His heart tightened and muscles loosened. His head dropped and he sucked in lungfuls of air. This is what came of not finding his balance, his core. He thought it was something he could live without, but now he was lost. He didn't know who he was.

Another small cry from Lark, and she flung out an arm as if to reach him. She hadn't been able to. He hadn't been able to let her initiate the HeartBond. Too hurt and stunned, all his natural shields had been up. He, in turn, had hurt her. But she had accepted his rejection, as she'd accepted and survived rejections before. She knew how to work through such hurtful events. He didn't. He failed at that, too.

Who was he?

Through slitted eyes he saw the thick golden channel of energy exiting his heart and tied to the small woman on the bed. She sighed and rolled over and silver sparkles frothed from her to him. They reached his chest and warmed his torso.

His sense of self was in shards. He didn't know himself outside the role of HollyHeir. Time to learn.

“I am Holm. I am a trained fighter. I am honorable.” He knew that much. He breathed it in and out and steadily.

Who was he? He looked at Lark and bubbles of desire fired from his body to hers along their link. He was a man who had won his HeartMate. He planted one foot on the ground, pushed up, feeling the action of tendon and muscle, the good use of physical effort in the simple act of rising to his feet to stand head high and shoulders back.

Despite all odds, overwhelming odds, tragic choices, he'd triumphed in the most important fight of his life. He was a man who'd won his HeartMate. More, after her previous rejection, she'd formally claimed him aloud and publicly, making her own choice to put him first in her life. She lay there, ready for him to claim, physically, mentally, emotionally. Totally. And he would when he reformed some idea of who Holm was.

The sweat that had chilled his body dried warm. He went to the waterfall and let the feel of liquid pour over him. A luxurious waterfall in a luxurious room in a luxurious suite in a luxurious FirstFamily GreatLord Residence. The Residence built by a strong, honorable man whom Holm had fought beside. A man Holm called his best friend. T'Ash.

Holm was a man who had won his HeartMate and had a powerful GreatLord as his best friend. As he dried he let his view widen. . . . He had another friend, once a brother, called Tinne, and a friend once a cuz, called Straif. He had his MotherSire T'Apple who'd accepted him as a son of the Family. Holm Apple. He winced. It could be worse, he supposed, Holm pick-your-own-name-belonging-to-no-one.

When he placed his wet towel over the dryflow and turned to the door, two orange tabby kittens surveyed him. One with blue eyes, one with green. The blue-eyed one carried a dirty boot-liner of Holm's in his mouth. It seemed Meserv needed a little extra reassurance in a new place, too.

He'd earned a Fam, too. Holm really wasn't too shabby a fellow.

The kittens sniffed in unison, and he knew their thought before he heard it.
We all have fine fate.

“Yes,” he said. He wasn't dead. He was Holm and he was alive with his HeartMate, housed by his best friend. He could start over. “Yes.”

You thought very loud.
Meserv yawned and the liner he carried fell to the floor.
You done thinking now?

“Yes.” If he wasn't, he'd think quieter.

Holm thought that was a great idea. He grinned.

Phyll lifted his nose.
I did very well as First HealerCat.

Meserv gave a subvocal growl.
I helped Heal my Lady, too.
Holm grimaced. He supposed Meserv still considered D'Holly his Lady in cat terms, even though in human terms Holm was renounced.

I was better,
Phyll said, trotting toward their closet.
I may need to Heal more today. I will get plenty of rest.

“Grrrrr,” rumbled Meserv softly, then stopped, cocked his head, and followed his brother, grinning.
We are going to Gael City. Lots of good solar sailing there, I heard. You may be HealerCat, but I will be FLYING CAT, and that is LOTS better.

Phyll sniffed.

Holm shut the bedroom door behind them.

He smiled and a touch of watery, cold thought tickled his mind. Frowning, he examined the room. In one shadowy corner sat an aquarium. Clam.

Holm crossed to it, probed. Clam was well. He liked his new quarters, the change had stimulated him. Holm sighed in relief.

The oyster glowed with an aura Holm sensed was pride. Slowly Clam opened. Holm stared. Inside the oyster was a tiny pink-colored heart. Even in the dim light, it looked more like a human heart than the stylized puffy valentine shape, but tenderness suffused Holm. The gift, when it was grown, would be perfect for a Healer.

Clam suffered an irritant inside of him to mold into a jewel that Holm requested.

Holm was touched.

Lark whimpered in her sleep.

He sighed. He thought he could open himself, thought he'd welcome the Heartbond. Instead he'd been too afraid to trust her. Everything seemed to have happened too quickly. He couldn't let his shields down.

She was his HeartMate and it was just as terrifying as he'd feared. His love had claws and teeth that could rip him apart—would rip him apart if she perished, even though they weren't HeartBound. Look how the injury of his Mamá had affected his father. Holm shuddered.

Glancing over, he wondered if
he
could establish the HeartBond. Loving her physically was easy. If he could just take the last, ultimate risk . . . No, she looked exhausted. The day before was just as emotionally draining for her as it had been for him. She'd lost her brother, but had reconciled with her father. Odd how circumstances had played out.

He crawled back in bed and held her close, savoring her warm softness.

But when he fell asleep, the nightmares invaded.

Thirty

Holm awoke the instant they lay in the sweet grass of the
center of the Great Labyrinth.
They.
He'd taken Bélla with him. He swore under his breath. How was he going to explain this?

His irritation must have flowed through their bond, because Lark opened sleepy eyes. “Holm?” she asked.

Her eyelids fluttered, then she focused on the towering Ash tree above them. Her hand went to the ground and tangled in tall grass. Eyes widening, she sat up. She looked at him, then down at herself. Finally she stared across the horizon to the circular rim of the crater that rose around them, then up to a sky full of stars and waxing twinmoons. “Holm?” she squeaked.

He didn't think he'd ever been more mortified in his life. Heat crawled from his feet clear up to his forehead. Since he'd been able to see her flush, he had no doubt she observed his. She opened their connection to the fullest and sorted through his emotions. He gritted his teeth.

“It's obvious you know where we are, and how we got here in such a state,” she said.

Inhaling, he tried for his most charming smile, tried
not
to think of guilt or failure or any other negative emotion she might sense.

“Ah,” he said, standing to dust off grass bits, leaves, and a petal or two. At least he hadn't 'ported with a weapon.

He licked his lips. “We're in the Great Labyrinth.”

Lark stared at him and reexamined their surroundings. “I haven't been here since I was a child, before my first Passage, as is the custom. This place is unique.” She looked inquiringly at him.

Holm didn't know what to expect, some outrage or upset or distress, an emotional outburst another woman might have made, the grand dramatics of his Family—of the Hollys, he corrected. But she wasn't a Holly or another woman. She was his lover, his HeartMate, and a woman accustomed to dealing with emergencies. Nor did she radiate the pain and hurt of earlier, as if she'd accepted the hurt, dealt with it, and gone on.

“Holm?” she prompted. “Do you want to tell me why you 'ported us here?” Her eyes lightened suddenly, and she smiled. “Is it a Holly HeartBond night tradition?”

Now he felt a rude lout. As he searched for words, she narrowed her eyes and tested their link again. Understanding showed in her gaze, and her expression took on a hint of the Healer. He was in for it now. Better for him to tell the truth.

“I nightported us.”

As she crossed her arms, plumping her breasts, a spurt of desire zipped through him. He wondered if he could distract her.

“No,” she said. “You can't distract me.” Again she smiled. “Yet.”

She scanned the landscape, stretched, and when she spoke it was in the same serene tone. “Nightporting and the Great Labyrinth. I'd say you've withheld a few secrets from me, GentleSir.” Lark slanted him a look. “Now, I know that we both are very aware of my shortcomings, they revealed themselves in terrifying starkness during our time together. But you”—she rose and tapped a finger on his chest—“have been hiding things from me.” She blew out a breath and stalked around the tree to survey the labyrinth. “Just like a man,” she muttered.

When she returned, she angled her head. “I'm your HeartMate. Tell me.”

He shifted.

Her lips compressed. “Do you want me to guess, to make up a story, to diagnose?”

“No.”

“Ha! You can't even get your tongue around words.” She frowned and her gaze roamed over him with a disturbing intensity. She was becoming more the Healer every second.

“I was aware,” she said slowly, puzzling it out, “that you had what I perceived as a mass of knotted emotions. An inner wound. But I let all the exigencies of our situation distract me.” She stepped close, close enough that he could smell her, feel her body heat. She put her hands on his shoulders and tipped her face up at him.

Her expression was open, unguarded, sincere, and it showed loving concern. He could only flush again.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his back. Resting against him, she sent affection and caring through their link. When she spoke, her breath tickled his chest hair. “Nightporting is an unconscious method of dealing with personal problems. Nightporting to the Great Labyrinth signals that your subconscious knows you have concerns that must be resolved. The Great Labyrinth is a perfect meditation tool, forcing one to walk out, and just by following the path in a steady walk, the rhythm and the innate pattern is impressed upon the mind and heart, helping you to understand your own needs.”