Heart Fortune (Celta) (19 page)

Too tired to snap at him, she said, “No.” If she let it, panic would eat at her that she might fail, fail her fieldwork, and remain a SecondLevel Librarian.

He rolled the writestick and smiled angelically. “Whatcha doing?”

“Writing a paper.”

His brows wiggled. “
Writing,
huh?”

“All right, trying to write.”

Tilting his head, he whisked a sheet of papyrus from the table, read, and winced. Glyssa sat in stiff mortification.

Jace grabbed a legged chair with his ankle, dragged it over, and dropped into it. “This doesn’t read like a scholarly paper to me, GrandMistrys Librarian.”

And more tears came and everything poured out, Camellia and her need to have her ancestor vindicated, wanting Glyssa to write a popular piece instead of a restrained research monograph. Glyssa’s review with her Family, how she felt set up for failure.

He
listened.
More, he patted her back . . . and that simple touch of affection sank into her, warming her all the way to her heart. Yes, he was her HeartMate, and his touch helped.

“Just tell the story,” he said. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and folded his hands over his flat stomach, stretched out his feet and began . . .

The blood pulsed hot and fast through him again. He lived. He’d survived, and he was on his way to a new home and future. Even with his eyes shut in the cryonics tube, Netra Sunaya Hoku sensed the thrust of the starship through endless starry space . . .

Glyssa stared. “Where did you learn to do that?”

He shrugged. “When you’re in the wilds around campfires with folk, most don’t carry vizes or recording disks. We tell stories.”

She could feel her eyes round. “Saved! I’m saved!” Hopping up she hugged him hard, noted he stiffened and withdrew, too happy to care that he hadn’t wanted her touch.

“Will you help me? I’ll give you the recording of the transcription of his journals. You can tell the story, and I can write it.” She glanced at his surprised face. “I’ll be deeply, deeply grateful. And, of course, I will give you credit as the author.”

“Of course you would.” His brows lowered as if in consideration. He shifted, shook his head. “I don’t know how to write, either.” His hands flexed, then he shook his head. “I don’t think I want people thinking I wrote stuff. I don’t want the credit.”

Lepid whined.

Jace said, “But I’ll help you. Show me what you’ve got.”

She handed him the first pages of the transcription of Hoku’s journals to read and he moved to a more comfortable chair.

She went to her desk and wrote down the first lines he’d reeled off.

When he looked up again, she read them back. “Sound good?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

“You don’t think he’d be lonely? He signed on alone, none of his family came with him, whatever family he had.”

“Why would he be lonely? It’s an adventure! A damn fine adventure and away from those fliggers on Earth who wanted to kill people with psi . . . Flair.” Jace’s eyes gleamed.

Glyssa tilted her head. She read Hoku as a quiet, precise, serious sort of man, especially after the deaths he felt responsible for. But giving him a little of Jace’s joie de vivre . . . why not? . . . especially in the beginning. Who’s to say he didn’t have that quality? Her own writing didn’t completely reflect her, either.

“As for family,” Jace said. “Plenty of time for that later. Right now he’s concentrating on being a starship pilot.” He smiled and his expression looked distant again.

“Yes,” she said. One last time she read Jace’s opening aloud. “It
is
good.” She aimed her writestick at him. “Tell the story.”

He did and she wrote it down. Then she sighed. “I can’t pass this off as my own work for the FirstLevel PublicLibrarians.”

He sent her an unbelieving stare, narrowed his eyes. “You said that earlier and you believe that.”

Offended and sitting up straight, she said, “Of course I do. Besides, your style isn’t mine. Everyone would know that.”

He shook his head, then rubbed his temples with his hand. “All right. Then tell the story yourself. You’ve got a mouth on you,” he said. “I’m thinking you’d feel better if you recorded the story.”

Her spine stiffened more. “I’ve tried and tried and I can’t. You can help me.” She wouldn’t mention Zem.

She didn’t have to. “You saved Zem’s life.” Jace nodded. “I like telling stories. I’ll do it.” He rolled a shoulder. “You tell your folks or not, as you please, and your friends, but nobody else needs to know I did this.”

After nibbling her lower lip, she said, “Maybe I can convince my Family to accept this, even though it isn’t solely my work. I know Camellia and Laev will.” She pushed the dark threat of her Family’s disapproval at her failure away. “We can do this.” She hoped.

* * *

H
e came to her that night in her lucid dreams, setting a hand on her
shoulder and awaking her. She glanced up, saw him dressed only in a loincloth. She, of course, had her long sleep tunic on, old and soft.

“Glyssa,” he said.

Nineteen

G
lyssa,” he repeated.

At least he knew who she was in dreams now.

He reached over and took a handful of her hair, fisted his fingers around it as if savoring the texture of the springy stuff.

“Your hair feels like no other’s.”

Since even in dreams grimaces weren’t romantic, she fixed a pleasant expression on her face. Her smile curved naturally as she noted his sex stirring. Old nightrobe or not, she tossed the sheet away and stood before him, thinking she could smell the spicy musk of him as if this was no dream.

He looked down at her, his smile spreading as he touched one of her tight nipples beneath the sagging cloth. He took a step back to scan her and her nightwear. She’d always come to him in the sexiest clothes that she thought would arouse him.

“Interesting,” he said.

She would
not
blush in her own dream—all right, their shared dream.

Now he cupped her breasts, his big hands covering her modest gifts. She shifted as her lower body began to ache for completion. She wanted sex. She wanted loving, too, but she’d settle for fiery sex.

She wanted him.

“Are you sure you want to lay—play with me?” she asked softly. “You’ve been angry with me.”

He shrugged. “That doesn’t seem important now.”

Letting her vulnerability show, she said, “I don’t want you to regret this.”

Another shrug. “Too much talking.”

All right, then. He’d been stroking her breasts. Her turn. She reached out and laid her hand on his shaft.

Jace jerked, probably because she’d never done that before. Giving him one long stroke, she stepped back and whipped off her sleepwear.

He liked her in clothing, seemed even interested in her regular night tunic. She preferred naked herself, but there might be something in this idea of arousing one’s partner while he was dressed. He wasn’t wearing much, but she was pleased to work with what she had.

Unable to stop her grin, she came in close, very close, until their bodies touched, her hips pressed tightly to him, her breasts flattened against his chest. She slid her arms around his neck, found his skin slightly damp. Even better.

He set his hands on her hips, didn’t go for squeezing her derriere. That would change soon. She took his mouth, running her tongue over his mouth and when he opened his lips, she plunged her tongue in to taste him.
Nothing
was like the taste of her man. She sucked his tongue, tangled her own with his, thrust and withdrew as she slowly rubbed her body against his, feeling his sex stiffen, enlarge. His hands moved to her bottom and she broke the kiss, took a pace back.

His pupils were dilated, lips redder from their kiss, his fingers flexed. Again she glided forward, reached for his cock behind his loincloth, stroked hard, down, then up, then down and cupped his balls.

Jace picked her up and threw her on her bedsponge, whipped off his loincloth and pounced.

Her body was ready, needy. She arched up, waiting for his first lunge, and his face set, his eyes wild, he thrust into her.

The race to the shattering ecstasy was on.

No. He stopped. No!

Her nails dug into the back of his shoulders. “Move!”

“Not . . . yet.” His gaze was steady now. “Slow. Love being in you. Here. Best. Slow, slow, slow,” he chanted softly, propping himself on his elbows and withdrawing incrementally.

She grit her teeth, closed her eyes, experiencing all the incredible sensations of her man moving inside her.

He pulled nearly out, and she whimpered at the loss, her desire ratcheted up.

Then he thrust hard, going deep, she cried out.

He halted and she panted. So delicious, this filling! This connection. She wrapped arms and legs around him, tried to pull his torso closer for a kiss, no go. Tried to arch so he would move. Nothing.

“Open your eyes. Look at me. I don’t want you thinking about anyone but me. About Andic.”

She followed his demand, lifted her eyelashes. Jace was blurry. “Andic who?” she slurred.

He laughed and sensations rippled through her. They groaned together. He took a couple of short breaths, the cords of his neck showed strain. “Too good. Dammit. Too damn good.” Lowering himself, he kissed her, her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

“Jace!” she cried when his mouth left her own. “I need you.”

“Glyssa,” he groaned and then he was moving in her like she wanted. Her mind vanished and she clawed at him, moaned, whimpered, demanded. Only craving existed. Only the shattering was necessary.

Her lover would give her that, and she would empty him.

Her HeartMate.

And then she reached the cliff of rapture and held him close and jumped off it and soared and glittering fireworks exploded around her, through her.

His body tensed against her. She felt the rumble of his release, his moan leaving his chest on a long breath, and his weight settled against her.

She recovered quickly, too quickly, as was usual in this dreamtime. In reality, her body would be languorous for long minutes. She said nothing, wanting to prolong the time together, wanting him to stay.

Wanting him to walk—run!—from his tent to hers so they could make love in more than dreams. Eyelids cracked, she looked at his face. Satisfied. Soon he would leave like usual, just vanish, sliding deeper into sleep or waking in his tent.

Her breath sighed from her as she closed her eyes again, looking internally for their bond. Huge and pulsing red, changing to orange as passion subsided, soon to return to the standard yellow. She searched her mind for the golden HeartBond, the connection that would forever tie them together. Nowhere.

Like always, it didn’t appear in dreams. Now she quietly bit her lip in heartache, and held her arms loose around his back and shoulders, not trying to trap him here, with her, in sex or in a relationship.

He grunted, said hoarsely, “By the Lord and Lady, that was good.”

“Yes.” She held her breath. He didn’t leave. He was
communicating
after sex. She stroked his back, long sweeps.

“Always good with you, Glyssa.” He kissed her, a soft touch of lips, then he was gone.

* * *

J
ace’s eyes popped open, adjusted fast to the filtered twinmoonslight and
brilliant starlight sifting through the vents in his tent. He smelled of sex. Naturally. Glancing over to Zem, he saw the hawkcel hunched away from him on his perch, and enveloped in a blue white Flair aura. The sight interested, embarrassed, and reassured him all at once. His Fam had the energy to use his Flair and encase himself in—Jace studied the field—a soundproof bubble.

He cringed, rose from the bedsponge, took off the sheets and dumped them in the cleanser along with his loincloth. They’d be pristine by morning.

He waved a hand to freshen the sponge, and suffered through a thorough scrubbing himself. Not so quick as a whirlwind cleansing and dressing spell. The thought made him smile. Andic might have seen Glyssa nude, but Jace knew how she looked in the throes of passion.

And what passion! He shook out his limbs, still energized from the dream sex. The cleaning spells were easy now, taking minimal Flair, he did them so often and knew them so well. He wrapped on another loincloth.

Zem, you want some food?
Jace eyed the no-time. He could do with some fancy tasting vittles. Maybe even eat some holiday food, though no ritual time was near. The new twinmoons had passed, he wasn’t quite sure when first-quarters or half-moons was, and Mabon, the autumnal equinox, was two weeks away.

But he felt good, and surely the everyday should be celebrated . . . or just get the food in your belly when you could, before the no-time got taken away or the food disappeared for any other reason.

Click-click-click-click of claws, Zem slowly turned around on his perch. His eyes gleamed in the night. He sniffed.

Jace frowned, stamped his foot on the floor tarp and said a Flair spell that took a little more energy out of him, but sent the fragrance of herbs—thyme, sage, manly type stuff—through the area. He didn’t mind the smell of sex, but now he had a picky roommate.

Zem lifted his head, opened and closed his beak.
Thank you, FamMan, smells nice.

Jace nodded.

I think you should add some bayrum scent to that mixture.

“Maybe,” Jace said.

I would like some food, thank you,
Zem said.

Jace took the pace to the no-time and opened it, examined Zem’s menu. “You have skirl, mouse, and portions of rat and mocyn.”

Zem snapped his beak and replied with greed,
All instants after death.

“Yeah.” That depressed Jace’s appetite a bit.

I will have the skirl. The fox did not mangle it as much.

“Okay.”

I feel like eating guts.

“Great.”

Zem glided down to the top of the no-time, beyond his plate, tilted his head with gleaming anticipatory eye.

“Right.” It would be cowardly to put on a glove to handle the thing. Jace drew in an unobtrusive breath, opened Zem’s drawer, and pulled out the bloody skirl. He set it on the plate and pretended not to notice the ripping and gurgling sounds as he looked at his own menu. He decided to go with a spinach, cheese, and egg pastry pocket, yanked it from the no-time still steaming and tossed it around to cool it.

Zem’s slurping stopped.
You should have a plate and fork to save your fingers.

“Yeah, yeah.”

A few minutes later, they’d eaten and he put the now-cool remains of the skirl back into Zem’s drawer.

The pastry had been excellent. He’d had three. He subsided onto the newly made bedsponge, didn’t get under the top sheet. Too hot and humid for that. Stacking his hands behind his head, he breathed deeply of the air that no longer held just day heat and night coolness, but the slightest hint of autumn scent.

Zem flew out of the tent to do his business, then back in and to his stand. Jace thought he looked healthier, chipper, even.

Glyssa was most kind to give us the no-time,
Zem said, grooming his feathers and not looking at Jace.

“Yes.”

You should be nice to her.
Zem hesitated delicately.
She gives you pleasure.

Jace’s whole body twitched. He’d been trying not to think of that and keep from getting hard. Too late now.

* * *

T
he next morning, Glyssa participated in the short ritual for good hunting a
nd blessing the animal to be found and used for food. Then Del,
Raz, and Maxima Elecampane and their Fams went out on the bissert hunt along with Sanicle and some others—and Lepid. When they returned with the dead thing, Glyssa took one look and stayed away from the butchering and rendering . . . or whatever.

In this particular instance, she liked being citified. Hunting and killing animals for food would only happen if she were starving.

That afternoon Del and Raz surprised the staff again by stating that they would accept volunteers to go down into
Lugh’s Spear
, if any wished. Every person—being—since Lepid had surged forward—would be fitted with a live viz recording that would send video back to someone monitoring the expedition in the communications tent.

Jace and Sanicle volunteered, and though Sanicle looked askance at Jace, he said nothing.

Lepid had reported that gossip about Jace had turned favorable since he’d humbled himself to ask Glyssa for help in saving Zem. People might be reconsidering recent events and believe he was the easy-going guy they’d always known and not some villain hiding behind a smiling mask.

So, once more, the hole to the breach in the starship was opened and a team of four men and one FamFox went down.

Glyssa watched the live feed with Maxima, pulse racing at her first real glimpse of the place. So very dark! Just snips and slices of a view.

Then the team was back up with another crate and a sack that some colonist had left in the corridor—it was littered with personal sacks and boxes—Maxima left to check out and record what was in the sack. And Glyssa spoke with Camellia and Tiana by scry in the communication tent about the fiction project.

The conversation went well, despite her previous dread. It was great to see her friends and hear their laughter. When Glyssa thought about missing them, it was more than she could bear. They’d gotten together at least once every week, usually more often.

But she knew they could “see” some of the images she had through their bond with her . . . and Camellia had her HeartMate and her businesses to run and probably wouldn’t come here, not even for a visit . . . not this year.

Tiana was focused on working her way up the ladder of priestesses, determined to wipe away the smear on her Family’s name by attaining the highest rank in the highest Temple, Lady of RoundCircle Temple in Druida City. Tiana wouldn’t be visiting, either.

Glyssa sucked in her breath. Of course the lives of her friends wouldn’t stay static. And hadn’t
she
been the one to leave? She could have stayed in Druida City, done her “field” study and research there. And let Jace go, frittering away their lives. No, that had been no option.