Rejar (29 page)

The humor of the situation got to him. A dimple curved his twitching mouth. Since Lilac was still looking at the floor, she missed his expression, hearing only the sternness of his voice. “So, you would discuss me to others.”

Her head snapped up. He quickly lost the dimples.

Lilac grabbed his lapels, her tear-streaked face beseeching him to understand. “I would never do that, Nickolai! I wasn’t paying attention—not really. I was embroidering!”

“Ah. That explains it. It is difficult to think and do such intricate work at the same time.” He teased her.

She looked down again and sniffed.

His arms came around her. “Do not worry about it, Lilac. There is no harm done.” He kissed her forehead.

“Do you mean it?” Her sweet, imploring face tugged at his heart.

“Have I not said? Best we go back into the room before we give them more to gossip about.” He tugged her topknot, smiling to himself when it listed to the side.

Unaware that the bun on the top of her head was lopsided, she rejoined the group, taking a seat on a couch next to Lady Hendrake. The elderly woman, dying for an ear to gossip to, dived into a tedious story about some earl’s son who had run off with a baker’s daughter. Lilac listened silently, pouting at the boring tale.

With her pouting mouth and sagging hair, Rejar thought she had never looked more adorable.

Taking a glass of claret from a passing waiter, he sat behind her, in a chair near the wall.

Truthfully, he was getting tired of the evening’s excesses. He longed to go back to the house, back to Lilac’s bed. His sights sought out his brother, Traed. He was surprised to see him talking with Lady Harcorte.

* * *

Traed spoke in a low, commanding voice to his erstwhile hostess. It was time to inform her that her game with his brother was finished.

“If you desire to hunt, I suggest to you, Lee-oh-nah, that you have a care for your choice of prey.”

Leona was not easily intimidated. At the veiled threat, her eyes instantly narrowed. No one told her what to do. Ever. “I see.” She ran the lip of her fan mockingly down his chiseled cheek. “And what prey would you suggest?”

Traed watched her from beneath lowered lids. The woman was overly bold. “Never play with something unless you know the danger of its bite,” he said quietly.

Instead of dampening her interest, his words of warning only served to entice her. “Perhaps we can discuss this dangerous bite later, hmmm?” Not giving him a chance to answer, she left him, her steps seeking out Rejar’s location.

Traed’s green eyes watched her from across the room.

He would have to shift her focus. He did not like the unhealthy interest she was showing in his mated brother. As Rejar’s Chi’in t’se Leau it was up to him to protect him—from any threat.

In his opinion, this woman could cause much trouble for his brother. Traed had noted the hurt look on Lilac’s ‘face when she had not been included in the woman’s false invitation to hunt.

Traed smiled sardonically.

Familiars were not the only ones who had a talent for the sport. Aviaran warriors were known on occasion to engage in the pastime.

* * *

Rejar settled back in his chair to watch his mate.

He noticed every tiny nuance of her.

The texture of her skin, the shape of her hands. The curve of her ear, the softness of her skin. Her smile.

He loved to see her smile.

Feeling suddenly frisky, he decided to share his provocative thoughts with her. {Do you know what I am going to do to you when I get you home, souk-souk?}

Lilac looked up at the opposite wall, hunching her shoulders. She had received his message.

{I am going to lick you all over, exactly the way you told those women. Lap you up like sticky spun crystal... }

Still looking at Lady Hendrake, Lilac pushed her sagging topknot to the crown of her head with a shaking hand. Nickolai was speaking in her mind! Lilac responded to the chattering elderly woman with an ashen smile.

She would kill him! He had promised to stop that naughty behavior!

He continued relentlessly. {I will scrape my tongue across your velvet skin so I can feel every curve, every ripple, every little nuance of you ...}

Lilac broke out in goose bumps.

She glanced over her shoulder at Nickolai. His seductive, lazy gaze bore into her from over the rim of his wineglass.

Deliberately, he watched her while he gradually sipped at his wine.

Taking his sweet time, he dipped the tip of his tongue into the glass, moistening it with the wine. He stroked his tongue delicately around the rim. Just to torment her.

Lilac fidgeted in her seat. Rejar smiled. {Then, when you are ready, my beautiful little wife, I will give you that special kiss we both know you like so well. I am going to glide my tongue right between your—}

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Lilac stood up.

“Excuse me?” Lady Hendrake was appalled.

“Forgive me, Lady Hendrake. I’m not feeling well this evening.”

“Perhaps we should leave.” Her husband came up behind her. There was a satisfied smirk on his handsome face. Once again, he had gotten what he desired.

Lilac was tempted to stomp on his arrogant foot.

Ignoring the darts her eyes were throwing at him, he took her hand and, collecting Traed, said good night to their hostess.

* * *

Leona Harcorte stared out at the cloudless night before pulling the draperies shut. The night had not gone as she had hoped. The Prince was not yet ready to accept her blatant offer. It was painfully apparent by the smoldering glances he kept sending his wife that the rogue was still enamored of her. Consequently, she was alone this evening. How utterly boring.

Standing before her boudoir mirror, she plucked the carmine plumes from her hair, releasing it from its intricate style. The soft brown waves cascaded about her shoulders. She ran her fingers through the tangled mass.

A movement in the mirror caught her attention. “Who’s there?” she called out, hoping her strong voice masked her trepidation. Leona never allowed herself to show fear.

The Prince’s brother stepped boldly out of her dressing room.

She was surprised. Immensely pleased but surprised.

“However did you get in here? I saw you leave with your brother and his wife.”

Tread crossed his arms and leaned against a wall. “So you did.”

Leona raised her chin. The man was arrogant. Albeit captivating. She would have to nip that annoyingly arrogant attitude in the bud before sampling the dangerous delicacy. Her men always danced attendance on her—not the other way around.

“You are a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? I don’t recall inviting you to my bedroom.” Not in so many words, at any rate.

“Do you not?”

His cool appraisal unnerved her; the brooding handsomeness was really rather alluring. It struck her clearly that this was a man who would always do as he pleased. Both in and out of the boudoir. There would be no “nipping” with this one.

A sizzle of excitement raced through her. It would be different...

“Should I leave?” He raised a self-assured eyebrow, already knowing what her answer would be.

It would not do to play with him, she realized. Dropping her false outrage, she smiled seductively while sashaying provocatively towards him. “Why be hasty?”

“Why, indeed,” he murmured.

Leona stood on tiptoe, reaching behind the strong column of his neck. She released the queue which held back his midnight-mahogany hair. The waist-length strands shifted to fall about his shoulders.

Lord, he’s stunning, she thought. Positively stunning!

A rumble of thunder sounded above, interrupting her impression. Funny, the sky had looked clear just a few minutes ago. ...

As if to belie her observation, an arc of lightning flashed, illuminating the room; it silhouetted the arresting, masculine face before her. The sight of those intense, chiseled features alight with the passion of the storm made Leona’s breath still in her throat.

Eyes of the clearest green surveyed the length of her. When he raised his dark lashes, she could have sworn those pastel eyes were sparking.

She shook her head, thinking herself the silliest of women; it must be the lightning making them appear that way.

“The weather seems to have changed.” She stated the obvious in an attempt to regain normalcy in a situation which seemed to be going completely awry.

“Consider it atmosphere.” The corners of his mouth curved enigmatically.

There was a wealth of secrets in that smile. He really was exciting her. However, Leona preferred to be the one in control.

In a typical power play, she stepped back from him. “I think I should like a drink. There are many questions I have about your—”

A strong arm came around her like a band of iron; the fingers of his hand splaying against her scalp. Without delay, he pulled her head back, exposing the arch of her throat to him. “Yes or no,” he whispered against her lips.

The string of pearls around her throat snapped, scattering and rolling across the bedroom floor. Overcome, Leona clutched at his powerful shoulders. “Yes,” she breathed.

He took her to bed.

She begged him to stop. She begged him not to stop.

Lady Harcorte knew not which.

Traed ta’al Yaniff, Aviaran warrior, did not pay the least attention to her passionate entreaties one way or the other. He simply proceeded.

After all, she had been warned.

Chapter Fourteen

Aviara

“Lorgin! Lorgin, wake up!” Deana shook her husband’s shoulder. Normally the lightest of sleepers, tonight of all nights, he seemed to be in a dead sleep. Probably because I’ve been keeping him up all night, every night, she reluctantly admitted.

Well, these last months were no picnic, and why should she have to suffer alone? It was his fault to begin with! Not telling her how the Transference really worked...

She punched his arm.

“Mmm ... I am not hungry.” Lorgin tried to burrow under his pillow.

“Who cares if you’re hungry? Lorgin ta’al Krue, wake up this minute!” She pounced on his broad back.

“I am up.” The resigned voice came from under the pillow.

“Good, because I want you to go into the village and get the healer.”

His golden blond head rustled out of the bedcovers. He turned on one side to face her. “The healer? Are you ill?”

She whacked him with her pillow. How could such a brilliant, magnificent warrior be so dumb? “No, I am not ill! It’s time.”

His brow furrowed. “Time for what?” Time for what!

“Time to have the baby!” A dull pain gripped her lower back. “Please hurry, Lorgin!”

Lorgin came instantly awake, all peripheries working. He leapt out of bed. “You are sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure—now go!”

“Let me see.” He ran his large palm gently over the swell of her stomach. He looked at her. “You are right, Adeeann. The babe is ready to come.”

She knew that... but how did he know that? Chocking it up to another Aviaran oddity—and they were legion—she motioned for him to leave. He grinned. “You do not need a healer, Adeeann.”

“Are you nuts? And who’s going to deliver the baby? You?”

“Yes.”

Deana’s mouth gaped. “Stop trying to make me laugh—this is serious, Lorgin.”

“Very serious,” he agreed.

A sweat broke out across her brow. When Lorgin had that look, he usually meant what he said. Oh no. “Don’t do this to me now, Lorgin. Go get the healer.”

Lorgin sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in his. “There is no need to be concerned, zira. It is a time-honored tradition. Aviaran fathers teach their sons how to birth their children into the world. I will bring forth the babe.”

Deana stared at him, stunned.

“Does this not make you happy?” he asked sweetly.

She started screaming her head off like a woman possessed.

“I want a doctor, do you hear me! I want a hospital! I want people wearing scrub suits around me with masks!” A particularly sharp pain gripped her lower belly. “I want morphine!”

Lorgin’s eyes widened; he backed off from the bed—carefully.

“But, zira—”

Deana would later swear that her head turned one hundred and eighty degrees just like the kid in The Exorcist. Surely that deep, inhuman voice which came from her mouth was not her own. “GET THAT HEALER!” said the voice from hell.

Lorgin stood transfixed in the middle of the bedroom, gaping at the changeling that was once his lovable wife. He swallowed, trying to figure out how to deal with this zealous creature. It. would not do to provoke it.

“Are you having some difficulty, Lorgin ta’al Krue?” The amused question came from the bedroom doorway.

Lorgin gratefully greeted the visitor. “Yaniff! Why does she act this way? Our custom is one in which wives find much joy. Surely she misunderstood me?”

Yaniff chuckled. “I think not, Lorgin. Things are much different in her world.” His sights went to the corner of the room where their tree had already grown a small connecting room for the babe. Over time, Yaniff knew, many rooms would be added to this house and they would all be filled with happiness.

A loud wail came from the bed, followed by a scary roar of outrage.

Lorgin paled.

“I will speak to her. Perhaps I can ease your path.”

“Thank you, Yaniff.” Lorgin ran his damp palms down his thighs. He was so concerned, he had not even realized he was standing in the middle of the room stark naked.

Yaniff found this extremely humorous. Lorgin was their finest warrior; in the past he had faced down countless enemies, not to mention dangerous beasts of all kinds. Yet, here he stood like a youth in his first battle. Truly, he loved his wife.

“You may wish to put on some tracas while I speak to her. She may feel more comfortable giving birth into the hands of a man who at least has on some tracas.” Yaniffs eyes twinkled.

Lorgin looked down, surprised to see he was completely unclothed. He stormed over to a cabinet and, pulling out a pair of black leather pants, slipped them on.

Yaniff approached the bed. “Adeeann.”

“Yaniff!” She grabbed the old wizard’s hand. “Help me! You said you would send me back when ever I wished – well, I want to go now! You may deliver me to a place called Mass General. The front door will be fine.”