The Price of Discovery (9 page)

His pulse jumped at the sound of her voice. He turned and leaned against the car, hoping it wouldn't be difficult to keep his distance today. “You might want to put up the window. Rain is coming.”

“I know.”

She stood up on the porch, dressed in light brown pants and a striped shirt. She clutched a notebook to her chest and sunglasses covered her eyes. Nonetheless, his body reacted as if she were nearly naked beneath him. He hardened at the memory.

The sound of shuffling feet caught his attention and he saw Brundor come around from the back of the house, a scowl set in his features. His heart lurched when he saw his brother head for the steps.
Move, Erin, move
. With the mood Brundor was in, there was no telling what he might do.

Instead, she stuck out her hand as his brother started up the stairs. “Hi. I'm Erin Price. You must be Drakor's brother.”

Drakor held his breath. He wanted to rush over and yank her out of harm's way and yet he wanted to see if Brundor could prove himself. So, he stood poised, ready to act if necessary.

Brundor stared at her hand and then up at her face. An awkward and tense moment passed. Finally, his brother ignored her greeting and continued up to the door. “I am.” And with that clipped response, he then went inside the house.

Drakor released the air in his lungs and looked over at her. She looked perplexed for a moment and then scribbled something on her paper. What was she doing? She's a reporter, someone who investigates and reports for the media.

She was dangerous.

“Did I forget something at your home?” Drakor leaned against her car.

She started down the steps and he tensed. “Um, no. I was hoping you could help me with something.”

Thunder echoed in the distance.

“I'll try, I guess.”

“Remember that story I was doing about Mickey's?”

He nodded. Her scent swept over him as she came closer. His body temperature rose, making the humid air feel like a steam bath.

Erin jumped up and sat on the hood of her car. “Ouch!” She slid off again and rubbed the back of her pants. “That was hot.”

Drakor drifted away from her. He wanted to rub the spot for her, he wanted to feel it under his bare hands again.
Helta
, he wanted to drive himself deep inside of her…

Erin tucked her hair behind her ear. “Anyway, can we go somewhere and chat? I want to ask you a few questions. How about inside?”

“Not a good idea.” More thunder grumbled. Closer this time. “My family is inside and I really don't—”

“Your family?” She touched his arm. “I would love to meet them.”

He tried not to flinch, but the contact burned him. She pulled her fingers away and stared at them. “You feel warm again. I know it's hot out here, but…”

Breathlessness engulfed him. His knees weakened. Without thought, he reached out and pulled her hard against him. Her notebook fluttered to the ground. “It's you. Whenever I'm near you…”

Despite the startled look in her eyes, he could feel her body respond to him. He inhaled the sweet scent of her desire. She relaxed against him, pressing her cheek to his neck. “I should stay away from you,” she whispered, and he suspected she didn't mean to say it aloud.

He wrapped his arms around her, clenching his hands to stave off his urges. “Great Sun, I should stay away from you too. But whenever you are near me, I can't help but want to hold you. Touch you.”

He wanted to kiss her, to devour her with his lips and tongue. But he remembered the night on her couch, he remembered the pain from not completing the act. He couldn't do that again. He couldn't stop himself again.

A thunder crack made her jump. She backed away from him as the raindrops started. Bending to retrieve her notebook, her gaze rested briefly on his groin. He saw her swallow.

“I-I need to get behind you. To close the windows.”

He stepped out of her way and went around to the other side. They rolled up the windows and ran up the steps of the porch, just as the storm crashed overhead.

Erin laughed when they reached the door and the sound poured through him like the heavy rains on the drain spout. An image of being on Elliac and running through the storms flashed in his mind. She laughed like this, and he pulled her into an embrace, allowing the rains to drench them. Then, during their mate-union, they stood under the heat of the sun and pledge themselves to each other. To be with one another only. Forever.

His chest constricted and he reached for the door handle. That vision would never be a reality. Erin was not his
Mharai
.

But his real one—the only one he could ever have—would be lost to him within a few days time.

 

The first thing Erin noticed on entering the Victorian this time was the smell. Some type of freshly baked sweet bread made her stomach growl.

Drakor noticed it too. He lifted his nose and sniffed the air, his eyes widening. His sexy mouth twitched and she couldn't understand why he looked annoyed. It smelled heavenly to her.

He ushered her into the formal parlor and pointed to the flowered Victorian couch. “Please, sit. I will return in a moment.”

Once he disappeared up the central staircase, Erin opened up her notebook. Scribbling quickly, she added to the notes she made earlier.

 

Brother rude. Would not make eye contact. Would not shake hands. Face sweating and red, but outside air is warm. Seemed to want to avoid meeting me. Looks very similar to D. Dark hair and eyes, olive skin. Tall, though thinner.

 

House. All Victoriana artifacts, either accurate reproductions or antiques. No personal items, such as photos, magazines or books. Have not yet seen rooms other than kitchen, foyer, and parlor. Grand, wooden staircase in center of house. D. often disappears up there, presumably to meet with family members.

Need to find shiny spaceship? in backyard.

 

Heavy footsteps came down the steps and Erin snapped the book shut. She looked over to see an older version of Drakor walking toward her. His face was rounder, fuller, almost puffy looking. Dark circles surrounded his sunken eyes. She knew immediately that he wasn't well.

“You must be Erin Price.”

She scrambled to her feet and held out her hand. “Yes, sir. You must be Drakor's father.”

He nodded and shook her hand. “Please, sit down again.”

She did and he sat next to her on the couch. Drakor chose the cream-colored chair across the table. The thunder roared overhead and lightening flashed behind him out the window, creating a halo affect around those strong, sculpted shoulders. Her pulse quickened just thinking of how they felt under her fingertips.

“I never got your name, sir,” she said, holding the closed notebook firmly on her lap.

“Mutazor.”

Another strange name. Was that his first or last name. She never did learn the surname for Drakor and Ankra. Somehow it just never seemed like the right time to ask such a question. Especially when they'd never offered it to her. But if she was going to do this article, if she was going to get all the information on these people she could, she had to ask.

“I'm sorry. Is that your given name or your surname?”

He looked at her blankly, then turned to his son. But Drakor could not answer either, he just looked uncomfortable and cleared his throat.

“I am not sure I understand,” his father finally admitted.

“Well…most people have a name that was given to them by their parents at birth. That's their first name. Then, they have a family name, which is called a surname. Many people often have a third name, which is between the two. It is called a middle name.” Both men blinked at her. She continued, “For instance. My first name is Erin, my surname is Price, and the name in the middle was my great-grandmother's, Oriana.”

Drakor gasped but then his face turned stony.

“Ah,” his father turned his attention back to her, “so you wonder if we have a name other than the one we've told you already?”

“Yes.”

“No. My name is Mutazor. Thus, all my sons will have a single name, but it will end with the ‘or' sound. My wife's name is Carolita, so all daughters are named with the ‘a' sound at the end.”

Erin wished she could take notes, but she'd have to force it in to her memory instead. “Or” sound for males, “a” sound for females.

The wind pushed the rain against the house and she had to shout over it. “You have no family name that all of you share?”

“No, this is our culture. We name according to the custom I just told you.”

Now was her chance. Despite the book closed firmly on her lap, she had the opportunity to get as much history as she could here and now.

“That's an interesting method for naming. Where is your culture from?”

Drakor made some sort of groan, but Erin continued to watch his father. He, too, tightened his hands and stiffened his shoulders. He flinched at the crash of thunder. “Far away.”

“What country? You know, most European countries have the custom of given names and surnames. I really have yet to hear of a place that doesn't.”

“You wouldn't know of it,” Mutazor mumbled. He looked away and glared at his son.

“We choose not to speak of it.” Drakor's bewitching eyes stared her down, dared her to ask anything further. “We have left that place and do not want to speak of it again.”

Erin didn't quite believe him. Their secret loomed above them like a mist. She could clearly see it there but could not grasp a hold of any solid matter.

“Can you at least tell me the name of the country or city? It would be interesting to read up on it on the internet.”

Mutazor shook his head. “No. We have told you enough already. Please, excuse me.” He stood slowly, in obvious pain, and waved at his son. “Drakor, please come with me upstairs a moment.”

Once they got to the top of the stairs, Erin yanked open her book and quickly jotted down notes on the strange naming custom and nervous behaviors of Mutazor and Drakor.

Once done, she shut the book and tapped her fingers, waiting for them to return. She glanced over at the large vase of flowers, the heavy mirror on the wall, the clutter of knick-knacks so common in Victorian times.

She got up to wander the room when the smell of the bread tickled her nostrils again. She had to find it. Maybe she could have just a small piece. She'd been stupid to skip lunch.

Erin followed the scent to the kitchen. She knocked once then pushed the door open. A thin woman with dark hair pulled up into a tight bun looked up at her. Her startled dark eyes widened. She seemed too petrified to say anything.

“I'm Erin Price.” She was about to hold out her hand for a handshake, but it was probably futile. “Are you Drakor's mother, Carolita?”

The woman remained immobile, but there was shuffle behind her and then a little girl appeared.

“Hello,” Erin said to the angelic face, which of course was adorned with large dark eyes and had dark flowing hair down her shoulders. If nothing else, all the members of this family looked alike.

“I'm Sitora.” The little girl smiled.

The woman shushed her and pushed her back.

“I won't hurt you.” Erin spotted the sweet bread on the counter. Her stomach growled. “I'm Ankra and Drakor's friend.”

Sitora peeked around her mother's skirt and smiled again. Erin crouched down and covered her eyes. Peek-a-boo worked with babies. Certainly it would work with a five-year-old, right?

The child giggled and they played. Erin kept waiting for her mother to pull her away, but she let them continue.

The wind outside splashed the rain against the window. Erin stood at the sound, glad she wasn't out driving in it. A storm like this had taken down the plane that killed her parents. Trees bowed in the wind and the purple sky shifted and blinked with the lightening. The ground looked completely soaked, it might even be flooded soon if this downpour didn't let up.

She looked again at the wet grass and stepped closer to the windows. The trees, the yard, the grass—everywhere dripped with the rain. But in the center, not too far from the back of the house, an enormous spot on the ground looked different from the rest.

This huge, uncovered area didn't glisten or bend with the weight of raindrops. It was dry.

Chapter Eight

Drakor closed the door to his father's room and let out his breath. He knew Erin's questions would arouse suspicion. But Father decided that gleaning information from her—on how to heal their people or even how to locate Alaziri—was enough to justify her seeking information from them. But was she really here to do research a story on the dance club or was she after something far more dangerous?

He went down the steps and headed for the parlor. The room was empty. Her notebook sat on the couch. Dare he take a peek at what she had in there? Drakor glanced around for her and went around the corner to check the bathroom. It was empty too.
 

Shrugging, he took the opportunity presented to him and flipped open the book. Brief, messily written notes were littered on the pages. He could barely make out some of the words. What he did understand confirmed his fears.

His stomach knotted and his throat tightened. Erin was investigating them.

He heard the kitchen door swing open and footsteps come down the hall. He shut the book and stood, but it was just his mother and Sitora.

“In the kitchen,” Mother hissed as she pulled his little sister up the steps.

“I like her.” Sitora's eyes beamed.

Drakor waited for them to reach the top of the stairs and then headed for the kitchen. He pushed the door open to find Erin's staring out the back window, with something in her hand.

He went near her, but not too close. He struggled with wanting to send her from his house and wanting to pull her tightly against him. Every ounce of blood pumping through his body wanted her as close to him as possible.