VirtualDesire (6 page)

Vad bit his lip. The woman had lied to the man—with a
remarkably agile tongue and straightforward gaze.

The lieutenant tapped his writing tool against his teeth.
Vad decided the man looked a bit like an amiable rabbit. He had hair cropped
quite close to his scalp. What hair he had was tinted an unfortunate reddish
hue, and yet Vad sensed a quality about the man that would be alluring to
women. There was no softness about his belly. Vad stood up straighter and
sucked in his stomach. He squared his shoulders.

The lieutenant scowled. “Why does this remind me of the
stories you spun in college, Gwen? When you were playing that stupid
Tolemac
Wars
game? When it was still just a pencil-and-paper amusement. You know,
the one like Dungeons and Dragons? The game non-athletes played.”

“Yes, R. Walter. The stupid game I loved and you hated.”

The man had insulted the woman. Vad clamped his hands on her
shoulders and held her in place. Her small fists were clenched. The Rwalter man
rose from his seat at the mother’s battered table.

All the names confused him. Later, when he had gained this
woman’s confidence, he would delve into why this unlikely man had angered his
little friend.

Nay, not friend
.

Possibly an ally.

He shrugged. As it stood now, she was his only ally. But she
was an ally who glibly lied to men in authority. And with but a word, the snake
man did her bidding.

At the door, the Rwalter man turned. “Hey, Vad. Mind if I
bring my son over to meet you?”

Vad dropped his hands from the woman’s shoulders and bowed
formally from the waist. If the same rules applied here as in Tolemac, the man
would recognize an obeisance of equal to equal. As superior as Vad felt to this
man who came only to his shoulder, he understood the tactics of flattery. The
man did not return the bow. Was the man ignorant or deliberately insulting him?

Once they were alone, Gwen slumped onto the sofa. “I think I
just aged ten years.”

“Why did you lie for me?” Vad stood before her, tall, angry
and magnificent. He spread his legs and crossed his arms on his chest.

Oh, brother
. How was she supposed to think with a
Tolemac warrior looming over her? “I lied to save your butt, you ungrateful
idiot. If I’d known you wanted to spend the night in a cell, I wouldn’t have
bothered.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. His eyes narrowed.

“Would you sit down? I have a headache.” That was no lie.
Her head pounded. What were the chances that Walter would come to her apartment
after seven years of silence? And just when she was making a complete fool of
herself. She’d given him one good dig—he hated being called R. Walter. She
glanced at her warrior. At least Walter and her family would know she didn’t
need them, had someone in her life.

The thought depressed her. There was no one in her life.
With a conscious shake she chastised herself for her soppy mood. This was how
she wanted her life to be—well-ordered, with no messy entanglements. No lovers
to desert her or her husbands to die on her. Besides, she couldn’t get burned
if she avoided the fire.

The warrior inspected his cloak. He crouched down and spread
the furs out, ran his hands over them. She cocked her head and enjoyed the play
of muscle beneath the soft velour of the robe. She sighed. Her hand went to the
tight waistband of her jeans. She should have lost those extra ten pounds
during the summer.

Contemplation of her weight always made her cranky. “There’s
no way I’m putting up with that smell. Give it to me.” She leaped up from the
sofa and grabbed his cloak.

He trotted after her as she hustled back to the bathroom.
“Just great,” she muttered, and stared at the floor. Every towel and sheet she
owned lay in a sodden mess. “Now I remember why I didn’t want a man in my
life.” She glared at the warrior.
And the last thing I need
, she mused
silently,
is to be attracted to a man who thinks I’m a slave.

She flung open the folding doors that concealed her washer
and dryer. Stepping gingerly over the piles of linens at her feet, she tossed
the furs into the dryer. She added a scented dryer sheet. He made a strangled
sound in his throat. “Don’t worry, big guy.” She patted his rock-hard chest.
“This will make you sweet-smelling again.” On second thought, she added two
more dryer sheets. “Oh, what the heck.” She added the whole box.

He bent over and peered at the control panel as she punched
the button for air fluff first, then one hour.

With a sigh, she scooped up the soapy sheets and towels,
wrung them out in the tub, then dumped what she could into the washer and
squashed the rest into a laundry basket.

Vad opened the dryer door. The light popped on and he nearly
put his whole head into the dryer looking about. He closed the door. She pushed
the on button. Two seconds later, he jerked the door open again.

She patted his arm. “Relax. Nothing’s going to happen to
your precious coat. I’m just airing it out.”

Like a soldier called to battle, Gwen pulled out a mop and
tackled the floor. She consoled herself with the idea that the job was overdue.

Behind her, Vad’s stomach growled. “I suppose that means
you’re still hungry. Why don’t I get us a pizza?” she said, shoving the mop
behind the washer.

A curious expression crossed his face. “Pepperoni,” he said
softly. He said the word as if it were too big for his mouth.

“Sure. Pepperoni. I’ll just run down the boardwalk and pick
one up.” She contemplated her large guest. “Maybe I’ll get two…or three. If the
dryer buzzes, your coat’s done.”

He watched her pick up a black leather pouch. With a wave
and a smile, she left him.

Wandering about her small home, he rolled the odd word about
on his tongue.
Pepperoni
. The word had popped unbidden into his mind.
His headache returned with a vengeance. He massaged the ache in his temples and
groaned. What did the word mean? Where had it come from? The woman certainly
understood its meaning.

The sound of the door opening drew him to the front room.

“Your clothes,” the snake man announced, standing at the
door with a bundle in his arms. “Where’s Gwen?”

Vad tried the unfamiliar word on the snake man. “Pepperoni.”

“Oh.” The man nodded, then stepped in and closed the door
behind him. He tossed his bundle on the table. “Look, bud. Gwen’s a nice lady.
Don’t screw around. Get it?”

Vad searched the man’s face. Although the warrior lacked a
few inches, he did not lack bravery. He had no weapons save his audacity. Vad
understood the import of the man’s words, if not their actual meaning. “I will
not harm her.”

The snake man paced to the glass door. He opened it and
stepped into the rain. After standing there a moment, hands on hips, the man
came back inside. Challenge radiated from him in tangible waves. He pointed to
the bundle of clothing. “Get dressed. When Gwen returns I’ll take you to
Atlantic City. She doesn’t need any hassles, and you look like a king-size
hassle to me.”

“What is in this Atlantic City to interest me?”

“A thousand people just like you.”

A thousand!

The snake man tore a thin, clear wrap that looked like spun
glass from the garments. An unpleasant smell wafted from the package, yet his
clothing was clean. The leather gleamed. His shirt was completely free of
wrinkles. Garbed thus, he would once more feel himself. And surely, if his
friend had crossed the ice fields, he would be at this Atlantic City. Someone
there must know him. “I will do as you ask.”

“Great. Gwen should be back in about ten minutes. After you
eat, I’ll run you up.”

Vad frowned. He did not relish running with this pain
pounding through his head. Nor did he relish being lured to an enclave of a
thousand warriors, all of whom might be snake-men. He would seek his friend—and
entrance to the war talks—in his own way.

When the man left, Vad carefully folded the robe and
dressed. The familiar feel of his clothing canceled much of the confusion from
his mind.

In a whirlwind, he searched the place, looking for other
weapons he might use. His mind reeled at the strange and inexplicable objects
he found. He saw tiny portraits of people in strange garb who looked almost
alive, the artist who had painted them so talented Vad could discern no brush
marks. And then there were the silken articles of clothing hidden in a chest
that seemed to have no purpose. And the chest had odd boxes in it that slid. It
was marvelous, and he wasted time shoving the little boxes in and out.

Perhaps he could pay the woman for her services and see the
gossamer garments on her lush flesh. His head throbbed with an intensity that
made him groan. He stuffed the garments away and closed the door on temptation.

He had taken a personal oath against spending his seed with
cheerful abandon—once a rather bad habit of his, but one he thought he had
learned to control.

Cooler of mind, he rummaged in jumbled boxes in the alcove
where the woman had prepared his broth. He found only a paltry collection of
small knives. One, with an oddly curved blade, he shoved into his boot. Finally
he fetched his cloak from the bathing chamber.

The scent it gave off was intoxicating. Her scent. It clung
to all her silky garments. As he shook out his furs, small white squares of
fabric fluttered to the floor. He lifted one to his nose and took a deep
breath. She would not miss one. He tucked it into his shirt; it would serve as
a remembrance of her.

Using the tip of his knife, he made a tiny slit in the
lining of his furs. A polished blue-green stone dropped into his palm. He
placed it in the center of her scarred table.

Footsteps pounded on the staircase. Soundlessly he moved to
the glass door, and with barely a fumble at the catch, he was through it. He
swung a leg over the railing.

An arm snaked around his neck and jerked him off his feet.
The colorless world tilted, spun. A vision of a dark face rose in his mind as
the scent of dirt and dust filled his nostrils. Black mist swirled through the
air and blinded him.

A distant voice called his name. He felt the clasp of a hand
on his. He coughed, then tried to grasp the hand, but it slid away. He thrust
his out, groping in the darkness, but felt nothing. With a mournful howl, he
gave himself to the ebony mist.

“Vad!” a voice said by his ear.

The arm about his neck slid away along with the encroaching
darkness. He took in a deep breath and steadied himself.

Where was he?
Ah, yes. Ocean City.

A metallic taste filled his mouth. He shook his head and focused
on the man who had called his name. The snake-man stood over him, his features
blurred and foggy. “Are you all right? You nearly went over the railing,” the
snake-man said, taking his arm again.

“I was deliberately going over the railing,” Vad said,
jerking his arm from the snake-man’s grasp and stumbling back into the chamber.
The room spun around him, changed for a moment, filled with blues and greens.
The furniture shifted, stretched, the shapes elongating or shrinking from one
moment to the next.

He gripped the back of a chair and took a long, deep breath.
He’d dreamed the black mist, the strong grip of the hand, and the grief of its
loss before—but never while awake. He had also dreamed the blue and green room.

This time when the snake man took his arm, he did not shake
him off.

“I don’t think Gwen would be too happy about—” the snake man
began.

“What wouldn’t I be too happy about?” Gwen asked from the
doorway, her arms full of white boxes decorated with royal purple. Her gaze
swept over him, lingering on his cloak, and a look of distress crossed her
face, then quickly disappeared behind a bright smile. Her helmet of golden hair
was wind-tossed. It gave her the look of a small child. “Oh, I see,” she said.
“You were leaving.” With no ceremony she plunked the boxes on the table. She
shrugged. “So why don’t you go? I certainly can’t keep you here. Go if you
want.”

Her words might appear to be uncaring, but a tiny hint of
something else colored them. Finding his friend was all important; he should
not concern himself with one woman’s disappointment.

Vad sighed. He’d never been very good at ignoring a
disappointed woman.

“You brought food?” he asked, stalling for time until the
room settled down and the colors shifted back.

The snake man lifted the lid from one of the shallow boxes
and revealed a tray of flat bread. “Why don’t you have some pizza? As usual,
she bought too much. This is enough for an army.”

“An army?” he repeated, eyes on the woman. “I thought you
said there was no army in charge here.”

“Oh, we have armies for keeping peace in other places,” she
said with a negligent wave of her hand. “Neil’s just being sarcastic, aren’t
you?” She disappeared into the curtained alcove and then returned with
gold-rimmed plates.

Vad hated the confusion he felt, the words he did not
understand, the lack of familiar objects and places to rest his eyes. He rubbed
his temples. His head pounded, as it had when he’d first awakened in this
strange, colorless place.

“Vad.” Gwen touched his shoulder and held out a plate. “Why
don’t you eat something? Then you can go if you want. We won’t stop you.”

The plate she offered him held the unappetizing flat bread
cut into a triangle. Its scent was pungent and familiar. For a moment he was a
child again, sitting on a bright blue chair, eating���then the image slipped
away. He accepted the plate and turned it around and around in his hands.

“I suppose there’s no pizza in Tolemac.”

He shook his head and regretted the action; pain jolted
behind his eyes.

“Go like this,” she said with a whisper of a laugh. The
sound ran up and down his spine like warm fingers. The image did nothing for
his resolve to ignore her. She bit the point from a piece of bread. He stared
at her mouth. It was a mouth made for pleasure.

He followed her lead, biting carefully into the bread. His
mouth flooded with flavor: strong, spicy—cheese, bread, tastes he didn’t
recognize. The childhood image returned, sharper, bolder this time. He could
smell a sharp, metallic odor and the tang of the circles of strange meat on his
bread.

“It would be nice if you could come to my ball,” Gwen said.

Her words ended his musings as effectively as an ax chopping
off a tree limb.

“What is a ball?” His plate was empty. Somehow the bread had
disappeared, though he couldn’t remember eating all of it.

“Oh…hmmm…a ball’s a festival of sorts, similar to what you’d
have after the harvest in Tolemac.” She smiled warmly, but he was not going to
be distracted by frivolous activities.

“I have more need to go to the war conference in Atlantic City.”

She trilled a laugh. The snake man shook his head and
scooped up a piece of the bread, eating it from his hand.

“Well, Vad,” she said, “you might as well wait right here. I
think everyone who was at the conference will be at my ball tonight.”

Waiting was not something he did well, but could he risk
missing an opportunity to complete his quest? “I will attend your festivities.”

Gwen thrust another piece of bread onto his plate. “Great!
Now eat up, and then you can shave.”

The smile she gave him could melt the ice through which he
had traveled. Such an alluring manner, calculated to distract a man from his
goals, must be useful in a slave.

“I will not shave,” he said around a piece of the
tantalizing bread.

“If you don’t get that cut cleaned up, it’ll scar,” said the
snake man. “It looks bad.”

Vad did not want to give up even one whisker of his
disheveled beard. Women would surely recoil from a man who looked as he did
now. “No. I will not shave.” He placed his plate on the table, crossed his
arms, and spread his legs.

“Neil’s right, though; your cut needs tending. You can’t do
much with it unless you shave around it. You don’t want it to become infected,
do you?”

“Infected?” Another word he did not know.

“Sure.” Gwen nodded. “You know, rot, grow disgusting and
putrid. Like worms eating your flesh.”

Vad glanced from Gwen to the snake man, who rolled his eyes.
She knew of the flesh-eating worms. He had battled them only once, an
experience he did not wish to repeat. “I will perhaps shave around the cut.”

“I’ll help you,” she said with a look that boded ill for his
composure.

“Gwen—” the snake man started.

“Neil? Could you go over to the Music Pier and see if the
food’s arrived?”

The man went to the door, a huge grin on his face. “I can
tell when I’m not wanted.”

Vad did not understand the man’s amusement, nor the small
woman’s ability to command his swift obedience.

When the door had closed behind the snake man, she went to
the bathing chamber door. “Be careful where you put that coat this time,” she
called to him.

A repeat of her stormy emotions over the table would drain
the last of his energy, so he draped his cloak carefully on the back of a
chair. He scooped up the stone he’d left on the table and took it to her in the
bathing chamber.

“This is for you, for your trouble.” He held it out. The
stone—its color—was sacred. If the stones meant little here beyond the ice
fields, he truly had nothing but his wits on which to depend.

She took the stone with the tips of her fingers, as if
reluctant to touch him. “It’s beautiful. The color is gorgeous.” Her warm brown
eyes looked up at him. How small she seemed.

“I had such a stone, decorated with silver, as a talisman,
but in my journey here, I seem to have lost it.” The loss of the stone boded
ill for his mission. It had served as a reminder that the person he sought was
real. But with its loss went some of his conviction that he would succeed. He
was not used to feeling unsure.

“It’s almost the color of your eyes. Not quite as…lush a
color, but almost.”

Her skin flushed red, and he knew she regretted making the
personal remark. All of the inhabitants of this strange place must have
changeable skin, perhaps to compensate for the lack of color in their world.
The woman who had given him the pendant—the woman who had journeyed beyond the
ice fields and beguiled his friend into leaving Tolemac and all he’d held most
sacred—had had such skin.
This
warrior would not be so easily beguiled.

He shrugged. “It will perhaps pay for any damage I have done
to your bathing chamber.”

With a slow, sensuous motion, she rubbed her thumb back and
forth over the stone. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”

Her words pleased him. She understood its value.

“The philosophers say the stone’s color will intensify
through time from contact with the skin.” Her color deepened to a darker rose.
“It is also said that one may know the health of the stone’s holder by how rich
the color is.”

“I guess you must be very healthy, then.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Your dagger handle is so beautiful. I assumed it was just
from being handled for many years.”

He touched the knife’s hilt self-consciously, but tipped his
head in acknowledgment of the compliment.

She put the stone into an opening in her men’s breeches.
They were tight. His body heated as he watched her hand slide down her hip and
tuck the stone away.

“Come on.” She led the way to a small white seat. It was
hard and uncomfortably low for his long legs. He put his hand into his boot.

“I borrowed this small knife.”

“What were you expecting? Killer grapefruit?” She took the
knife and hefted it in her palm. “Why don’t you keep it? It’s not worth what
the stone is by any means.”

“What has this knife to do with grapes?”

Unexpectedly, she placed her fingers under his chin. A
soothing warmth spread from the contact. With a gentle pressure, she urged his
chin up. He could not avoid her intense gaze. Her smile continued to hold a
hint of amusement.

“The knife is for a special fruit. It has tiny sections and
the knife’s curved tip helps to cut each… Now, look, I don’t think I really
need to explain it to you.”

If she was going to refuse to explain, then he must accept
it. A warrior did not need the condescension of a mere woman.

He slid the knife back into his boot. When he looked up, her
chest was dangerously close to his face. So was a small pink object she held.
“Now, let’s deal with your cut.” Her tone brooked no disobedience.

Gwen sat abruptly down on the edge of the bathtub. What had
she done? What had she unleashed on the unsuspecting female world? She licked
her lips. He’d dozed off for only a moment when the devilish thought had burst
into her head, and before she’d been able to stop herself, she’d acted on it.
Now Vad was glaring at himself in the mirror, looking ready to strangle
someone—her.

He swung around, fists on hips. She clutched the edge of the
tub. Oh, Lord, he was even more devastating in person than on his poster. The
artist had not captured something…intangible, slightly dangerous about him.

“Stop staring at me,” he said between tightly clenched
teeth.

“Huh?” she said. The room was suddenly way too small and way
too hot.

“Not you, too.”

Gwen’s back stiffened at his haughty tone. It matched the
haughty face she saw every morning on the poster in the shop. “I beg your
pardon? What does that mean? Not me, too?”

“I do not need—nor wish—your attention.”

“Well!” She shot off her seat and ducked under his arm,
escaping to the clearer air of the living room. All her pictures rocked askew
as he thumped after her. “If that isn’t the most conceited comment I’ve ever
heard. I-I-I was just checking out your hair. It’s terrible.”

His hand went to his head. His haughty look vaporized to one
of confusion. “My hair? What has my hair to do with the fact that my beard is
gone?” His anger rumbled through the small apartment. “And I liked my beard!”

“It was a pretty scruffy beard, believe me. Here.” She
pulled out a chair. “Sit down and let me fix your hair. If I didn’t know
better, I’d say you really were crossing the ice fields—without a hat.”

She whipped a comb out of her purse and separated the dry,
broken strands of hair at his brow from the rest of the shoulder-length mass.
She tried to ignore the fact that he was frowning at the center of her chest
again. Of course, the last time he’d stared at her chest, he’d fallen asleep—not
much of a compliment.

“So what did you want in Atlantic City?” she asked to
distract him, but when he looked up, her hands fum­bled at her chore. His deep
blue eyes were fringed with dark lashes—not gold, not brown, but a pewter
color.

“I am seeking my friend Kered,” he said, interrupting her
thoughts on eyelashes. He was silent for many moments, and she thought he was
wrestling with some decision. Perhaps he was going to tell her he was from the
modeling agency.

“Your friend Kered? Sure. I guess all you warriors are
friends.” She swallowed a smile. “I know his wife—lifemate—Maggie. Did you know
she’s going to have a baby?”

His smooth brow wrinkled in a frown. “Nay. I did not know.”
The expression on his face was troubled. His blue eyes locked on hers. “He
possesses a dagger I must retrieve and return to the council. I would not tell
you this, except that I fear that without someone’s assistance, I would become
lost searching for Kered.”

She
was lost, almost unable to tear her eyes from
his. They were the blue of a stormy sea right now.

“Uh, what? A dagger? What kind?” She forced her mind to
focus on what he’d said. His hair was very thick and heavy in her hands, like
skeins of rough silk.

“A jeweled dagger. About this long.” He spread his hands about
a foot apart. “‘Tis just a trifling piece.”

His broad shoulders rippled as he shrugged and she almost
sighed aloud. She knew just the knife he wanted. Maggie had given it to her
with a cryptic message that one day she, Gwen, would believe Tolemac really
existed. “If the dagger’s not worth much, then why do you want it?”

“That is not something I can tell you, a woman.” His eyes
dropped to her chest again; his frown deepened. Despite the cold words, she did
not sense that he was insulting her. Warriors rarely gave women any credit, she
imagined.