Heart Quest (22 page)

“I'd like to keep you away from some of the more gruesome aspects. Though since I've been assigned to the Nobles, it hasn't been as—rough—as when I worked Downwind or on the docks, years ago.”

“Ilex, I was there this morning. Two women, one dead, one dying.”

He didn't want to tell her, to scare her, but he didn't want her ignorant any more either. His fingers traced her collarbone, touched the amulet with his forefinger. “Promise me you won't ever take this off.”

She leaned back in surprise, then wariness entered her eyes. “Ilex, you're frightening me.”

“Good. There have been four murders—of young people who have unsteady Flair and Fams.”

Her body jolted against his and he hated it. She just kept staring into his eyes. “That's why you moved in? Why you've been watching me?”

“No. Yes. I mean, I want you safe, intend to ensure you're protected, but I wanted to be near you too,” he said starkly. Just like her to focus on the relationship angle first.

A little of the tension drained from her. She rested back on his arm. “Tell me.”

So he did, and when he was finished her eyes were damp. She sniffled. “People like me—except
Noble.
”

“Don't count on that. Don't pretend being middle-class excludes you. Take good care of yourself.”

She gave him a watery smile. “Well, I won't be out questing for my HeartMate.”

Something in him lightened. Just being in her company, having told her the worst about his fears, relieved the burden of his hiding. They might not agree about how to handle their HeartMate status, but it was out in the open and not a hidden thing anymore.

Her emotions settled, and her gaze intensified. “Your—your manager—”

“Chief Sawyr.”

Her fingers curled around the retrieval stone; her body quivered with a fine tension against his, danger-awareness racing, flickering through their connection. “Your Chief said this had cost you.”

He glanced away until her fingers stroked his jaw, made him meet her eyes.

She said, “I paid T'Ash for the stone and his work. But that wasn't the half of it. You paid for the retrieval spell. What did that cost you?” Her eyes were jade, unavoidable. He couldn't lie to her. He couldn't evade her anymore.

She let him feel the pressure of her fingernail along his jawline. It didn't have a warning effect; instead, his sex hardened again, his hips thrust instinctively against her. She wriggled closer, making him groan.

“Ilex, I want an answer.”

“I want you.”

“Pleeease.” She batted her eyelids and he laughed. It felt good—until he thought of his mother, sitting like a desiccated spider in her web. All lust drained from him.

“It cost me some gilt. More. I had to…request it from my mother. We don't get along.”

Her eyes widened and she was silent a long moment. Confusion pulsed through their bond. “You said that before. You don't get along with your mother.”

“Not all of us have close, happy families.”

Another minute of silence, and he realized his muscles had stiffened with stress and he relaxed them, one by one.

“I'm sorry for you,” she said finally.

“I'm sorry for my brother, the Heir,” he said, and realized he'd impulsively spoken bitter truth.

She sighed. “Both of you are…alienated from your mother and your home?”

“Right.”

With a little cough, she said, “There are only two of you?”

“Yes.”

“How much did the amulet cost you?”

“It is a
gift
to my HeartMate.”

“But not a HeartGift.”

His chest constricted. “No. I made that—many—years ago.”

“What did the retrieval spell cost you?” she persisted.

“Nothing I wasn't willing to pay.”

“Ilex—”

“Darling Trif. The transaction is done. Over. Nothing to dwell on.”

She seemed struck silent at his endearment. Her lovely, full breasts rose and fell.

He cast his thoughts away from loving—sex. The amulet was the least he could give her. He touched the stone, warm and slightly damp from her skin, tingling with her Flair. “Let me give you this.” It was for his peace of mind as much as a present for her.

“Thank you.” She pressed against him and set her lips on his. He thought his bones melted in the kiss.

She drew back until he felt her breath on his lips. “More,” she said.

He shouldn't. Her face was so open, as was their connection. She was completely vulnerable to him, and he was—not using her, he'd never do that—but taking advantage of the situation when he had no intention of letting it progress into marriage and HeartBond. He gritted his teeth and pushed away from her, rose, and grabbed his uniform.

“Will you stay?” she whispered, not looking at him, but her yearning for him pulsed down their bond—his touch, his kisses, his form covering hers.

Every muscle in his body went rigid. “I—”

“I want you to stay. Tonight and forever. I want you as long as you will stay. I. Want. You.”

I
lex couldn't remember the last time he was speechless. Af
ter letting a slow breath out and taking a deep one in, he said, “Yes.”

She jumped from the bedsponge and flung herself in his arms, and nothing in his life felt as good as having her there. He dropped his clothes, held her close, and his pulse throbbed heavily. Passion arrowed through him. He never wanted to let her go. Gently he laid her back down on the bedsponge. For a moment he just stood and looked at her, knowing he'd remember her like this for the rest of his life.

His short life. “You are so perfect for me. And I want you too, more than I ever imagined. More than I can ever say.” He held up his trembling hands for her to see, let her feel through their connection how tenuous the control on his raging fever for her was. “But I will not HeartBond with you. I will not—”

“Come to me.” She lifted her arms. Waiting for him. He shuddered. She smiled slowly, with infinite allure and feminine mysteries in her gleaming eyes.
Come
. The call of her heart to his swept through their link.

He could not resist.

Their mouths met as they savored each other, drank from each other with more than lips.

He had to know her, in every way. First his hands explored her, learning her shape…and what pleased her. Then he cherished her with his mouth, discovering the varied tastes of her…the throbbing vein in her throat, the exquisite curve of her breasts, the sweetness of her nipples.

She arched and moaned against him, and he let the fire of his need burn him slowly, knowing he'd be consumed by it and never whole without her. He moved upon her tenderly, using hands and tongue and lips until there was nothing they wanted more in the universe than to come together.

Lifting himself, he sought her gaze, found her eyes unfocused. But through the link her soul cried for him.

He slid inside her. Slow, strong, deep.
HeartMate!

They shattered in ecstasy together.

She sent him the HeartBond, a wave of heart and mind and soul to bind them together.

He blocked it for the second time.

And held her tighter.

 

S
he fell asleep in his arms, and though remorse at his id
iocy should have eaten at him, he felt nothing but complete contentment and let himself drift into sleep entwined with her in every way.

Sunlight creeping through the windows woke him, and he felt her awaken too. She stretched beside him, and he dared to look at her. She was fully as smug as Greyku at her worst.

Good. He'd loathe it if she had regrets.

He squeezed her a little, then got off the bedsponge and stretched, flushing at her obvious enjoyment of his body. Glancing down at his uniform, he shook his head. “That's got to go straight to the cleanser.” He shut his eyes, concentrated on the uniforms in his closet, summoned one. When he opened his lids, his clothes lay across the bottom of the bedsponge.

Greyku pranced in and Ilex stared. “She really does sparkle.”

“Yesss…” the little cat said, and promptly jumped onto the bed and settled on his uniform.

A crack of laughter escaped him at the same time Trif giggled. A giggle that went straight to his groin. He reached out and yanked his loincloth from his clothes and put it on. Hands on hips, he stared at the cat and just shook his head. “I still have trouble believing the kitten was tinted.” With a finger, he stroked Greyku. “It's Flaired tint, not physical.”

“Yesss,” Greyku said again, craning her head over her back to admire herself.
This will last longer
.

“Lark Apple is back in town and she used to tint the walls of her room. As a friend, she might consider tinting Greyku for fun instead of gilt.”

Hopping to her feet, Greyku stalked off Ilex's clothes, leaving wrinkles and multicolored cat hairs. He'd have a hard time explaining that….

Lark Apple is a Healer, not an artist. I wanted an artist.

“And you got one,” Trif soothed.

Ilex took his clothes and snapped them; a flurry of hair floated. He dressed, then looked at Trif lounging in the bed. Vibrant and beautiful as always. His heart squeezed. “I happened to meet Holm Apple—fully armed with blood in his eye for me—yesterday.”

Trif pursed her lips. “Is that so?”

“So.”

She laughed. “Holm's wife, Lark, is my best friend,” she said complacently. “So I have connections with one of the best fighters on Celta. And with the rest of the Hollys too. But you know about that, don't you?”

As she ended, her tone had developed a sliver of steel. He studied her. She was maturing. Was he stealing her youth as well as her gaiety? But a mature Trif Clover…would be irresistible, unstoppable.

“I did give Tinne Holly recording spheres of your music,” he said mildly. “You love music and were wasting your talent in working at your Family's furniture business.”

“Oh?” Her eyes narrowed.

He finished dressing. “I love my work…my vocation. I wanted you to love your work too.”

Her mouth pursed, relaxed. “You're right.” She grimaced. “Though I think you could have given her some of my better efforts.”

“All your music is wonderful.”

She just stared at him, and he had to kiss her. He trusted himself to bend down and brush her mouth with his—a tender kiss. A loving kiss. A kiss a HeartMate might bestow—he cut the thought off.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded, picked up his wrist timer from the floor, and strapped it on. “I must report to Chief Sawyr.”

Her face went still and through their link he felt her heart pick up its pace, and he cursed himself for reminding her of his wretched case.

“The murders,” she whispered.

“Yes. We have some leads. We
will
find these…wrong ones. Please promise me that you'll be careful. That you'll teleport as often as you can and don't go out at night.” He touched her amulet. “Wear this always.”

“I'll promise, if you give me your word you'll be careful too.”

He blinked in surprise. “If you insist.”

“I do.” She rose, not languidly like a tempting lover, but with brisk efficiency. “I'm meeting D'Holly at Clover Compound at Mid-Morning Bell.”

“Get her out of T'Holly Residence. Good idea.”

“Tinne's,” she said.

A tiny spurt of jealousy went through him. Tinne Holly was much more her age, handsome, wealthy, honorable. But perhaps too much like her own temperament. Still, in his mind's eye he could see them together. Ilex knew it was small of him, but thanked the Lady and Lord that Trif Clover wasn't Tinne's HeartMate.

Ilex jerked a nod. “You are keeping quality company.”

“Am I? The Hollys are cursed.”

“You see that?”

“Easily. I…I think that their Family must have been very loving and close until T'Holly and D'Holly broke their Vows of Honor. As close as we Clovers perhaps.” She made an abbreviated gesture. “Yet their Family is broken. Suffering. The atmosphere of the Residence is…unhealthy.” She shivered.

Cocking her head, she said, “But you seem close to the Hollys and are keeping quality company too.”

He shrugged. “We're distant cuzes.”

A frown line creased between her brows. “But you were with Mitchella's husband, Straif T'Blackthorn, last year and he's a FirstFamily Lord.”

“Yes. I've been assigned to handle any cases in which the FirstFamilies are involved.”

Her eyes brightened. “Like what?”

“Like T'Ash's HeartGift being stolen. Apprehending the dangerous outlaw Ruis Elder. Monitoring the Hawthorn-Holly duel…and accompanying Straif Blackthorn, a man suspected by the FirstFamilies Council of being negligent of his title and his estate, to a mine in the Hard Rock Mountains.”

“Zow. Interesting stuff.”

“No,” he said. “Babysitting.” He couldn't stop his lip from curling. “Not good work for a guardsman or a detective. Political work.”

At that moment her scrybowl pinged.

She made a face. “I
must
get rid of that bowl.”

Greyku bounded in.
It's Mitchella Clover. I think she must want to speak to Me. Get it, get it, get it!

Ilex snorted.

Trif jumped from the bed, hauled on a slinky pink robe that had his blood humming again. She gave him a smacking kiss on the mouth and ran into the mainspace. “I wonder if Straif is back.”

That would be good, Ilex thought. His hopes rose a little. If the best tracker of Celta was back in the city, they'd be able to find the evil group. As far as Ilex could tell, this adult gang had left very few tracks, teleporting to dispose of their victims…but Straif had great Flair.

He heard the message cache play Mitchella Clover D'Blackthorn's sultry voice. “Greetyou, cuz Trif. You
must
come by to tell me everything that's going on in your life. The Family is very excited. All they can talk about is your new status. I might be able to give you a few tips about dealing with the Hollys. Come for breakfast.” Her voice broke a little. “Straif is still out of town and I'm lonely.”

That would definitely ensure Trif went to T'Blackthorn Residence for breakfast.

It was best that they go their own ways. Sensible.

It would have been irresponsible to stay here and make love all day.

It would have been the best day of his life.

Trif returned the call. “I'll be right there. Let me dress!”

Before she reached the bedroom again, Ilex swept by her in the narrow door between mainspace and bedroom. He enjoyed—too much—the brush of her body against his.

“Greyku and I are going to Mitchella's for breakfast.” She sounded breathless.

“I heard.”

She kissed him again, an absent touch of the lips that had everything inside him clenching. “I'll see you later?” Though her tone was light, the golden thread between them took on a black tinge of anxiety.

“Yes.” He couldn't deny her. Couldn't resist temptation.

Her smile was bright and carefree and all the reward he'd ever need for one small assent.

“Good.” She hurried to the waterfall and he let himself out of her apartment.

Only as he strode down the hall to the landing pad in the lobby did he realize that she hadn't even noticed the guardsman uniform, she'd only seen the man.

But the uniform he lay dead in was like the one he wore today. Deep inside he might have thought that perhaps…somehow…he could have her, avoid his fate. He had to stay strong and refuse the HeartBond. She was the most important thing in the world to him. The best person who'd ever come into his life. He had to reject her to keep her safe.

 

O
nce in his office at the guardhouse—the familiarity of
which soothed his ruffled nerves—Ilex sat behind his desk and looked down at his daily list.

He scried Danith D'Ash and learned that Calla Sorrel's housefluff was unavailable for questioning. The little animal had been sent deep into a Healing coma, and Danith had distanced its memories and emotions. She'd tried to save the memories in a holosphere, but the emotions of the young housefluff had been of overwhelming terror and despair. Those feelings had naturally wiped whatever true memories it might have had.

No help there.

At that moment, a young guardswoman entered carefully holding a spellshielded holosphere. “This just arrived in the guardhouse cache for you. From your cuz, Dufleur Thyme.” The guardswoman sighed. “The image on the sphere shows her wearing a spectacular tunic, embroidered in metallic thread…I don't suppose you know where…” She flushed.

Ilex stared at her and she took a step back. He realized then that he'd never said more than a few words to the woman since she'd been assigned to the guardhouse a couple of months ago. He wasn't usually so unsociable, but he'd obviously been obsessed by Trif.

He tried a warm smile, and the guardswoman smiled back. “My cuz is an embroiderer, so she probably decorated her tunic herself. She works at Dandelion Silk.”

The guardswoman grimaced. “Too rich for my blood. Thank you, though.” With a little salute, she walked away. The roll of her hips would once have had him riveted. Now he only vaguely appreciated her stride—like fine art. Yes, he was well and truly hooked—on Trif.

Carefully, he dispelled the protection around the fragile holosphere. He noted that it neared the end of its life, the image was dim, and he wished he'd thought to give Dufleur a new one to record her memories. He fisted his fingers in anger. There were plenty of treasures in D'Winterberry Residence that could be sold to provide basic amenities for his cuz. Yet his mother hoarded all the possessions as if they belonged to only her, and not his father's Family. Typical.