Between Light and Dark (20 page)

He frowned. Perhaps he would miss the desire. Though
he had not yet made love to Laurell, if their passionate encounters thus far were any indication, he would very much
enjoy the consummation of their relationship. He had wondered about lovemaking.

Though Mobius spoke little of what had occurred between him and the mortal woman he had joined with during
his own Earth mission, Axiom had noticed a wistfulness in
his friend's expression whenever she was mentioned. Mobius had warned him not to become too enamored of the Earth
woman assigned to mother the Balancer, not to confuse the
yearning and the needs of his human body with real emotion. He'd reminded Axiom his time on the Earth plane was
limited.

Axiom had no intention of developing tender feelings
for Laurell. But when he had watched Laurell from the
Light Realm, he had found her attractive in a way he had
not found her mother to be. Some part of him had been
grateful the mother had not been able to fulfill her part in
the mission. He was glad the job of mothering the Earth
Balancer had fallen to Laurell instead. Not that he would
have wished Elaine dead. Of course not.

But he looked forward to mating with Laurell with an
anticipation he had not experienced with her mother.
Something about the feisty brunette called to him. He had
sensed a kinship with Laurell, though he knew better than
to share that information with Mobius. When he watched
her one night, huddled in her little apartment all alone,
Axiom had understood her emptiness.

He knew what it meant to be an outsider, to never belong.

"I don't pick up anything out of the ordinary," Wayne
remarked, ending Axiom's reverie. He pivoted to face his
friend. Wayne ran one hand over his lined face and broad
nose.

"You do not sense the Umbrae or any Finders?" Axiom
asked. Wayne shook his head and pulled his signature Stetson hat down.

The two had been walking the perimeter of the property,
inspecting the wooded area for anything suspicious. In particular, they had surveyed the east side, where Dawna had
had her strange experience the evening of the full moon.
After talking to her about that night, a quiet unease had
settled inside of Axiom.

Something seemed amiss, though he could not discern
what that might be. Although he did not have the ability
to feel the presence of the Umbrae as Wayne did, his keen
eyesight allowed him to make a quick and efficient sweep
of the property.

Now, his silver gaze investigated the twisted limbs of the
mostly barren trees, the collage of brown, amber, and green
that made up the forest. Above, a few birds flitted between
two towering oaks, beaks open as they emitted occasional
screeching sounds.

Perhaps his concerns were unfounded. He had to be wary
of the emotions of his human body. He lifted his hands to
his face, inspecting his long, thick fingers and clean, short
nails as though they were something foreign. He had to be
certain his worries were not merely paranoia brought on by
this flesh. The Liaison had informed Laurell they were safe
in the covenstead, undetected by the Umbrae. He would
have to trust that information.

"I don't know what to tell ya, Ax," Wayne said, using the
nickname he had recently taken to using when addressing
Axiom-and which, for some reason, Axiom enjoyed.

Wayne meandered over with his usual relaxed stride, cowboy boots kicking up dirt and twigs. "I think the girl just got
spooked. She's powerful, but she's never been in such a dangerous situation before."

"None of your group has ever been in a situation such as
this," Axiom pointed out.

Wayne's mouth curved in a lopsided grin. "Good point,
my friend. Good point."

The bird hopped from branch to branch, observing the two
men as they walked back through the trees toward the house.
It flew after them, stopping every so often to survey its surroundings. Detecting movement below, it spotted a rodent scurrying through the bushes. It poised to dive for its next
meal, but those controlling the bird held its small body still
and turned its head to the south. The bird obeyed, knowing it
could do nothing else, and soared to the place where They
wished it to go.

Once there, it fluttered to the foliage nearest the girl with
the long black hair. She crouched near the ground, conversing telepathically with a raven. Though she used no words,
the bird could hear the conversation nonetheless.

They wished to view this one, the woman who talked to
birds. The bird had been scouting for Them ever since it
had come across the other woman in the woods far south of
here. The woman who had been running. That's when
They came and took over the bird and made it follow the
woman here. The bird looked out at the world through its
own eyes, yet They peered through them, too. And They
determined when the bird could eat.

Soon, They said. For now, just watch. So the bird rested.
And still as stagnant water, it observed, so They might learn.

Laurell sensed Axiom's presence before he appeared beside
her. Even when warded, the yearning still seemed to know
when he was near. A shiver of desire whispered over her
skin, and she quickly stifled it, returning her attention to
her lunch.

His arm brushed hers as he seated himself at the dining
room table. "What are you reading?"

"A book on herbs Hillary gave me." She glanced up from
the book. Axiom had forgone his usual formal attire for jeans
and a cream-colored sweater. He looked different, more relaxed. More human.

Axiom nodded and took a bite of cheddar cheese. He
motioned to his plate. "Would you like some?"

Laurell started to decline, but stopped herself. A variety of
cheeses occupied his plate. She'd just finished a bowl of soup,
but the cheese beckoned. "I'm from Wisconsin, so how can I
refuse such an offer?" she joked, accepting a couple slices of
herb-crusted white cheese. The flavors of tomato, basil, and
sharp cheddar exploded in her mouth. Ummmm. Delicious.

Axiom smiled, seeming to enjoy her sighs of pleasure.
"Please, have more if you wish." He lifted a grape to his lips
and chewed slowly. He followed that up with a nibble of
the cheese.

Laurell realized he was purposely trying to control his food intake for her benefit. She'd made fun of his eating habits
before, and remembering this now, shame pierced her.

"So, what have you been up to?" she asked, hoping to
make pleasant conversation.

"Wayne and I inspected the property to be certain all is
secure." He lifted his water glass and took a sip.

"Oh? You had reason to believe it wasn't?"

"Only a feeling I had," he explained. "Nothing to worry
about. This body experiences emotions at times that are
not always my own. I must be careful to differentiate between the two."

Laurell stared. She had no idea what he'd just said, but
nodded as though she understood. "Fiona tells me there's a
ritual planned for tonight. For Samhain." October thirtyfirst, the witch's New Year-and according to Hillary, the
time when the veil between the worlds was thinnest. She
wondered what ghosts or spirits might attempt contact that
night. Hopefully, not Mother.

"Yes. I believe she plans a Dumb Supper," Axiom responded. Hillary had explained that at a Dumb Supper, a
place would be set at the table to represent the deceased
ancestors of those present. Also, all would remain silent
during the meal to honor the dead.

He'd said he wanted to be friends. Laurell struggled to
find something to talk about. You'd think there would be
lots to discuss, seeing as how they were to have a child together, but she found it tough to produce banal discourse.
Axiom's presence made her want to touch, caress, kiss,
not talk.

She cleared her throat. "Exactly how old are you?" She'd
wondered about his background and statistics. As good a
topic as any.

"It is difficult to say," he responded. "The Grays are younger gods, by definition. Source started creating us approximately two hundred years ago in Earth time. The Light
Gods and Goddesses have been in existence for as long as
anyone can remember. None can recall a point of origin,
just that they have always been."

"So, none of you were actually born? I mean, there is no
beginning for you guys?"

He shrugged. "It is possible we have no particular starting
point. Or perhaps it was so long ago, the memory of that
time has disappeared from our consciousness."

"Do you recall your first moment of consciousness?" Laurell asked.

The fingers that had been about to press another slice of
cheese between his full lips stilled. "Yes. It would be fifty
years ago Earth time."

Laurell's eyebrows rose. "You look good for a fifty-yearold. You don't look older than, maybe, thirty," she teased.
"Earth time, that is."

His piercing silver eyes roved over her face and settled
on her mouth, which curved wryly. "When you smile, your
face could light an entire room."

Laurell blinked. Where had that compliment come from?
A rush of pleasure bubbled through her. Wait a minute. Is he
trying to distract me?

"What was it like being born from Source?" she pressed.

He shifted, and his fingers drummed an agitated tune on
the tabletop. "I do not remember. No one does. I recall only
that it was very lonely." A private pain flitted across his fine
features.

Laurell placed her hand atop his, quieting his restless
tapping. "Why were you lonely?"

"Most of the Light Gods were kind to us, but they made it
clear we did not belong. I was one of the fortunate. By the time I came, the Grays' ability to neutralize Umbrae had
been discovered. Those that came before me were studied
and observed, but not integrated with the rest of the gods.
Some were sent to Earth and not allowed back into the
Light Realm."

Laurell's jaw went slack with shock. "Why in the world
would they do such a thing?"

"Even gods fear what they do not understand," he murmured.

"I don't get it," she said. "I don't see what's so scary about
you.

His slate eyes pierced her, penetrated to her soul. He
didn't have to say it. She knew he remembered a time
when she'd found him quite terrifying and had made sure
to tell him so. Contrition lanced her. For the second time
in the space of just fifteen minutes, she'd been made to regret her words.

She squirmed beneath the scrutiny of his stare. "I'm not
afraid of you anymore," she managed to eke out on a shaky
breath. Axiom's gaze softened. His arm snaked out and he
trailed one finger down her cheek. Electricity slithered
through her veins.

"I am glad to hear this," he said, leaning close, so close
their lips almost touched. But he didn't kiss her. His mouth
hovered over hers, teasing, tantalizing. Sandalwood and spice
engulfed her, his scent intoxicating.

"You are?" she whispered, the words released on a heady
sigh.

She had to remind herself to breathe. Air swooshed in
and out of her lungs. Blood rushed in her ears. Her heart
raced in a chest grown tight.

She wanted him to kiss her. Abruptly, he pulled back,
and instead of his lips, his finger traced her mouth.

"Yes," he said. "Because tonight you begin your ovulation. Tonight, we will mate."

The throbbing in her sex began as Laurell dressed for dinner. She'd showered, slathered Hillary's homemade, organic, vanilla-and-lavender lotion all over her body, and
had just slipped into the chocolate brown peasant-styled
dress Lynn had given her that evening, when the first pulse
of desire hit.

Someone had told the coven she was ovulating. She suspected that someone was Axiom. First Reese had knocked
on her cabin door announcing he'd readied Shakti's Den
for them. Then Lynn had appeared at her door, sapphire
eyes sparkling, dress in hand. Despite her embarrassment at
the fuss, she'd been grateful for the dress, having run out of
wardrobe ideas.

She was able to ignore the pulsing between her legs
while she blow-dried and styled her hair and applied mascara, blush, and lip gloss. But how was she going to keep it
under control during the Dumb Supper, when Axiom
would be in the same room with her?

In the dining room, the coven crowded around the table,
enjoying their lasagna. Periodically, one of them glanced at
the empty chair next to Fiona, where a dinner setting had
been arranged to honor the deceased family members of
the coven.

Despite the distraction of the yearning, Laurell noted
the sorrow behind the poised exterior of their High Priestess, whose hands shook a bit when she lifted her fork. A
picture of her dead sister, auburn hair wild about an open
and friendly face, sat at the empty spot, along with a faded
photo of Hillary's mother and one of Thumper's deceased
golden retriever.

Fiona had asked her if she wished to include a picture of anyone. Laurell had searched her wallet for a photo of
her grandmother. No luck. While digging, though, a very
old picture emerged from between the mess of credit-card
receipts, business cards, and forgotten "notes to self." Laurell had stared at it, trying to remember what it had been
like to be the little girl in the photo, held on her pretty
mother's lap.