VirtualDesire (8 page)

The woman seemed to value the documents more once he had
written on them.

The snake man came to his side. “Gwen told me to see if I
could help fend off some of these fans.”

“Help me?” Vad frowned. “Everyone is very polite. I enjoy
their conversation. They see to my comfort.”

“Really? How many cups of punch have they brought you?”

“Punch?” In truth, he understood only one in every five
words they said. But he was learning their language.
Caramel, com, turmeric,
quickie
. Each woman added to his vocabulary. “What is your status here,
Neil? What is the meaning of the snake in this place?”
What harm could come
from asking?

“I’m part owner of Gwen’s shop. When my father died, he left
me a little money, and I used it to invest in Gwen’s business. She wasn’t doing
so well after her husband—lifemate to you—died. She needed a partner. I used to
work at Virtual Heaven when I was in high school, so I knew the business.

“And the tattoo means I was drunk one night and not thinking
clearly—typical college state, I’m afraid. Other than that, don’t read too much
into it.”

Vad took a deep breath, but kept himself from asking for a
better explanation. Involuntarily, he looked about the room for Gwen. So she
had lost a lifemate. It explained the contrasts of wealth and poverty in her
home.

These festivities did little but delay his mission. He
kicked a boot at the polished floor. Snow lay over everything—or had until the
loud one had opened the door. Sparkles radiated from glowing colored glass in
the ceiling. It was all false. Like the spectacles after the harvests.

His head ached. When he lifted his hand to his brow, it
trembled. Quickly he tucked it into his knife belt.

“You’d be perfect!” Liz yelled over the loud hum of
conversation. “Come on.”

“Where?” Gwen asked as Liz hauled her through the crowd.

“Over there!” She pointed vaguely toward the ceiling. “I
need an ordinary woman to kiss that hunk in the corner. What a shot that will
be—front-cover material.”

“Whoa.” Gwen skidded to a halt. “No way. I’m not kissing
anyone.”

Liz leaned down from her nearly six-foot height. “What’s the
matter with you? Think of the PR for Virtual Heaven. Not to mention an
opportunity to lock lips with—”

Liz’s words were lost as she hustled Gwen at a quick trot
through a wall of people. “There he is!” Liz cried as she halted in front of a
mob of women waving programs for Vad to sign. Mini-explosions of camera flashes
reflected on the wall of windows behind him. So Liz was not the only woman
intent on a photo op.

“We’ll need to stand on a chair to see over this crowd,” she
said to Liz.

“Watch this…” Liz’s iron grip on Gwen’s arm tightened as Liz
used her elbows to hurl Gwen through the mass of women and into Vad’s chest.

Vad grunted and closed his arms about her.

“Liz, I don’t think—” Gwen began.

“Quick. Kiss each other; I don’t have all night.”

“Oh, sure, I guess—”

His mouth closed on hers. All coherent thought washed away
like a sand castle at high tide. His lips were firm and warm.

The room spun a bit, but his hands were there to catch her.
He wrapped his arms around her, drew her against the hard length of his body.
She felt a moan rise in her throat and had enough sense to clamp down on it.

He really knew how to kiss.

She thought of power and heat. Then she thought of nothing.
Her mind zapped white for a brief instant; then her body zapped red-hot.

His kiss was a long, lazy perusal of her lips. He tasted of
caramel-covered popcorn. She lost all sanity. Giving no thought to who watched,
she raised her hands and gripped his head. She drew him closer and bit his
lower lip. With a jerk of his head, he responded; his hips moved against hers,
and his arms tightened.

His mouth no longer explored; it pressed hard, crushed,
possessed.

Gwen moaned softly, dug her fingers into his hair, and
opened her mouth. He opened his, and she plundered his mouth with her tongue.

With a groan he lifted her high into his arms. Her arms
slipped about his neck. She felt naked against him, every bone, every muscle
defined.

A white-hot blade skewered his vitals. It twisted and dug so
deep he gasped. The woman in his arms led him places he had only imagined. He
followed. The path led to short breath, a rapid heartbeat, sweat on his brow.

Now. End it now. Now…

He spread his hands over the delicate bones of her back and
held her even closer.
End it. End it.
The words ran over and over in his
mind.

He ended it. He put her away from him, safely at arm’s
length. His mouth ached. His loins throbbed.

She stared up at him, her lips half-open. Then she snapped
them closed. “You’re about as comfortable to kiss as a stone wall.”

So she was going to pretend she’d felt nothing? He unlaced
his tunic and opened it.

An audible moan rose from the women surrounding him.

“Geez, keep your shirt on. These women are rabid,” Gwen
said. Her hands drew the edges of his tunic together.

“You will protect me, I think,” he said, and flicked her
hands away. He drew out various colored lumps wrapped in smooth paper. “You
flattened my sweets.” She burst into laughter. “You have saltwater taffy in
your shirt?” Her smile reminded him too much of the heat of her kiss.

“Aye,” he said. “The women offered it. It would be unkind
not to accept it.” He felt as if he had some of the sticky goodness stuck in
his throat. “We crushed it, didn’t we?”

In truth, the sweets were soft and warm from his body and
hers. “You were overly fierce in your attentions.”

“Me?” She smacked his arm. “You’re the one who crushed me.”

“I did nothing. You kissed me—”

“Now, children! Enough bickering!” Liz angled her camera
between them. “Maybe you could open your shirt just a wee bit more…” Deftly,
the loud woman spread his tunic open, revealing his chest. “Boy, you must work
out 24/7!”

His precious square of scented cloth slipped to the floor
from where he’d tucked it in his tunic.

Gwen was glaring in the strange woman’s direction. He bent
and retrieved the scented cloth.

“Or maybe you’ll catch cold,” the tall, yellow woman said,
jerking his tunic closed. She stepped away from Gwen’s glare.

The crowd enfolded the loud woman. Gwen turned back to Vad.
“Let me help you,” she said, even though he was sure she knew he was perfectly
capable of lacing a garment on his own. “Why do you have a dryer sheet?” She
drew the fine cording together at his throat.

He shrugged and changed the subject. “So I am like embracing
a stone wall, am I?” he asked.

“Yes. Too bad you’re not comfy like that Gulap over there.”

He frowned.
Not comfy
. The word he did not know, but
the meaning was clear. “When is this festivity over?”

“Oh, we can go back to my place in about an hour.”

Go back to her place? Perhaps she could show him what
comfy
was.

“And you can explain your dryer-sheet fetish.” She made a
low, musical sound of laughter in her throat.

It did not please him to amuse her. “What is a fetish?”

“A passion for something,” she said, and walked away.

As he watched the sway of her skirts, he imagined she could
define all the words he did not know if given the proper persuasion.

A sudden hush fell over the crowd. Only the pulsing beat of
the music continued. Gwen looked toward the door, in the direction of
everyone’s gaze. A blond man of about twenty stood in the doorway, his hair and
Tolemac warrior costume drenched with rain. With a collective sigh, the crowd
turned away.

“Uh-oh. I think the model from the agency is here,” Gwen
said to Neil. That made it more certain than ever that her other warrior was a
practical joke waiting to happen. She hurried to the dripping young man, who
stood not much taller than she did. “I’m Gwen Marlowe.” She held out her hand,
but he ignored it as he tossed his dripping blond hair off his face.

“I’m Vad, and your directions stink,” he said. “I got off
the wrong exit of the Atlantic City Expressway and I’ve been driving…”

Gwen tuned him out. He was a fairly attractive young man,
but she was sure Tolemac warriors didn’t whine. “Look. Have a cup of punch.”
She snagged one from a passing warrior and offered it to the model. Maybe a few
cups later, he’d be bearable—unless Neil had weeded out all the spiked stuff.
While he sniffed the cup, she slunk away.

An hour later, the crowd fell silent again, eyes on the
door. She ignored them. All the Vads were in the house. “Holy mackerel!” Mrs.
Hill cried, and ran past her.

“Gee, what’d you do to get him here? Sell your soul to the
devil?” Neil asked.

Gwen turned around. Another warrior was making an entrance.
This man, who easily stood an inch or two taller than Vad, scanned the crowd
with a frown. His hair was a sun-streaked brown, pulled back and secured at his
nape. His black-and-white costume was a twin of Vad’s. A sword hung at his side.
There was nothing of the prop about it, however.

The three heartbeats of silence ended. In a squealing rush,
women hurtled in the newcomer’s direction.

“It’s Kered!” Liz cried, and hugged Gwen in an embrace that
would bruise. “Who’d have believed it? Does this mean
Tolemac Wars I
will be available again? Just think…two Tolemac warriors in one room.”

Gwen glanced at the short, wet version of Vad busily gorging
himself at the buffet. “Don’t you mean three?” Gwen muttered, and disentangled
herself from Liz’s vise-like grip. “I guess the practical joke is just about to
crank up a notch. Now, where’s Kered hiding my dear friend Maggie?”

“Why didn’t you do some promo on this meeting of the two
Tolemac warriors?” Liz asked, quickly loading new film.

But Gwen didn’t need to worry about her answer. Liz was
flying across the room, camera over her head, flash working overtime.

Gwen turned to Neil. “He hates publicity. I didn’t really
think he’d come. And where’s Maggie?”

“Don’t bother about that right now. Look.” Neil held her
arm.

Warrior God Number One was stealing away with Warrior God
Number Two. “Damn, they can’t leave,” she said.

But Neil held her still. “Let them go.”

A wall of fans followed the two men to one of the rank of
double glass doors, but Kered turned at the door and held up his hands. As if
by magic, the crowd halted. He closed the doors in their faces.

Her warriors had deserted her.

“They’re still outside. Stop checking on them.” With a
groan, Neil swept a pile of fake snow into a dustpan. “We’ll never get this
cleaned up. And were you into the punch again? You can’t stand still.”

“I’m not drunk. And you disposed of the punch, remember? I’m
just worried about Vad out there in the rain. He felt kinda feverish this
afternoon.”

“Did he?”

Neil’s grin annoyed her. “I was just helping him shave, and
he felt hot.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered. Neil was right. She couldn’t
stop pacing. Her ball had completely collapsed when the two Tolemac warriors
had gone outside. And she’d never even awarded the prize for best costume or
best Vad look-alike, as the soggy Vad had informed her before departing in a
huff.

She knew
her
Vad and Kered were only a few feet away
outside, standing at a railing, their faces to the icy wind, because they were
illuminated on a regular basis by the flashes of jagged lightning.

Uncannily, not one guest had trespassed on their intense
conversation, but the ball had died with their exit nonetheless.

“I am sorry, my friend,” Kered said. “I will not be
returning to Tolemac.”

Vad gripped the iron railing and felt waves of grief as huge
as those splashing below wash over him. He had crossed the ice fields in vain
and had known it since Gwen had mentioned that Maggie was with child. Kered
would never leave her now. So be it. He would survive this as he had survived
so much else—being orphaned, fighting for his place at Kered’s side, the curse
of his face.

No one must ever know how he felt. No one. With a deep
breath, he turned to his friend. “You have not been here even one conjunction
and already your speech is deteriorating—”

“Vad. You must listen. This is where you belong, too.”

“No, do not try to convince me again to remain here with
you. My honor lies in Tolemac. If
you
choose not to return, then it is
left to me to prove us innocent of the council’s charges or our names will be
forever inscribed in the rolls of traitors.
My
sword displayed there for
all to see.”

“It doesn’t matter. This matters! Here. Now. This place.”
Kered clamped a hand over his on the slick railing.

“What is here for me? If it is as you say, and I came from
here at some time, long ago in my childhood, then where is my family?”

Kered’s hand on his reminded him too poignantly of years of
friendship, years of serving beneath this man, trusting him, obeying his commands,
looking up to him not just as a leader, but as a brother. Now his life felt
blasted in a furnace of betrayal.

“I’m sorry, my friend. I tracked them down and they’re dead,
but I could show you their graves.”

“Graves? What use have I of graves?” Vad’s jaw ached from
clenching his teeth.
Long
moments of silence reigned between them. “So I
have only you, as was true for so many conjunctions. My adoptive brother…my
commander, fellow traitor.”

“You’re not a traitor! Neither am I. This is where I belong.
It is not dishonorable to follow what you know in your heart is right. One day
you will understand. No matter your ties there, you will find a need to be
here—”