Homecoming (7 page)

She averted her eyes from his. She’d been sneaking a peek again. Focusing firmly on his face, she asked, “Do women do that, too?”

“If they like. Would you like instruction?”

Was he planning to teach her himself? She chewed her lip, pondering how unwise that would be.

“Tomorrow I’m bringing in a tutor for you. You’ve missed a great deal of history.

I thought you might want to catch up on some of it. I also brought you this.” He reached over to the side table and picked up a folder. He handed it to her.

Inside was a picture of a man. She stared at it, but it didn’t ring any bells.

“It’s your father, Crewel Sotra,” he said softly.

Wiley looked at it, feeling numb. She didn’t remember his face, had forgotten long ago what he looked like, except for the dark hair. Dressed in the black uniform of the Haunt, he had an indigo shirt under the leather vest, and a red Celtic knot, a symbol of rank, on his shoulder.

“He loved your spirit. He would have been proud of you for surviving the way you did. He was a good man,” Jayems said quietly.

An ache started in behind her eyes and spread to her throat. She looked down to hide her expression, but her eyes kept returning to her father’s face. Afraid to cry in front of Jaymes, she laid the picture on the coffee table and got up to look out the huge window. The three moons were rising as the world faded to dusk. The child moon was closest to the father moon that night, while mother moon looked coldly on from a distance.

Jayems came and stood beside her, silently offering her support. In the pain of the moment, she took it. “I was such a brat when I first came to the orphanage. I remember

having screaming fits, especially at night. I’d yell until I was hoarse, “I want my Daddy! I want my Jayems!” They kept asking me who my daddy was. I don’t think they understood when I told them he was Crewel. They asked if Jayems was my brother. I remember thinking they were stupid. I just kept telling them that he was ‘my Jayems’.”

She’d rarely revisited the memory. Only now did she realize that she’d been calling for the man beside her.

Chagrined, she turned her back to him. “You wanted me to
change
, didn’t you?

Fine.” It was easier to hide in Haunt form, where he could not expect her to talk. While she would never admit it, there was a soothing power in becoming half animal. As if someone had poured cool oil over her burning nerves, her muscles would relax.

Too bad the pain in her heart wasn’t as easy to tame.

His hand came to rest on her shoulder. She started, surprised that he would touch her in Haunt form. Then again, the
change
was nothing to him.

“I’m here, little one. If you need a friend, I will be right here. I never left.” His thumb made soothing little circles on her shoulder, a silent comfort, an unspoken invitation.

Unable to bear it anymore, she shifted back to human form and threw herself at him, crying in his arms while her heart broke. Taking fistfuls of his waistband, she anchored herself to him, needing a support that wouldn’t move.

He didn’t. He let her cry until the sobs nearly doubled her over, then carried her over to his armchair and held her on his lap. All along, she cried like a child who’d just lost her father, the pain as fresh as if it had happened again.

In her heart, she knew things would never be the same again.

* * * *

She was asleep.

Jayems peered at her face, then settled them more comfortably in the chair. The last hour had been draining for both of them. Good, though. She’d brought him hope.

“I want my Jayems!”
His heart had jerked when she’d said she’d called for him.

They’d had a special friendship when she’d been a child, and he’d loved her. It was an innocent love, and an unexpected joy, watching the child who would become his wife, grow up. Of course, there’d been nothing of lovers between them, and he’d respected the boundaries that he would with any child. But he had been her Jayems, and when she’d disappeared …

He flinched, unwilling to revisit those memories. The important thing was that she was opening to him now. It had been such a relief when she let him in, and he planned to keep the lines of communication open.

It was different, though. He smoothed the hair from her face and felt again that tender wash of desire. She was no longer a child, and he was already bound by their betrothal. Although political marriages tended to also be celebrated in public, the only wedding their law recognized was a very private one.

They needed to talk about that, but the morning would be soon enough. She was exhausted. So he carried her to bed, removing only her boots and socks before covering her. He wanted her to know that she could trust him in her most vulnerable moments, waking or sleeping.

“Goodnight, sweet one,” he whispered, kissing her temple. He turned and walked away before he could be tempted further.

* * * *

Wiley woke to a sense of comfort that went deeper than her down pillow. She’d been loved last night.

Jerked out of sleep by that thought, she looked frantically around, then felt her body. She was fully clothed. Then what … memories flooded back, and she groaned, burying her face in the pillow. She’d bawled like a baby and then fallen asleep in his arms. It was a wonder he hadn’t taken it as an engraved invitation--most men would have.

Feeling battered, she got out of bed and washed her face, grimacing at her puffy eyes. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Stupid thought; she’d bawled like an orphaned calf last night. Of course he would notice she was red-eyed this morning.

Straightening her spine, she joined him at the breakfast table, keeping her eyes averted. A slave to her appetite, she filled her plate with baked fish, crusty rolls and sweet potato wedges. It was different than the Frosted Favorites she’d grown up on, but tasty.

Best of all, she wasn’t the one who had to cook it.

Jayems let her eat in peace. He didn’t say a word until she’d taken her last bite.

“Your tutor will be here in an hour, and the riding lesson you requested will happen after that. Until then … you hinted that you had experienced intimacy, but that you had never finished the act?”

Stunned, she blurted, “Holy cow! You just dive right in there, don’t you?”

Before she could lambaste him, he added calmly, “There are things about your body you’re probably unaware of. It sounds as if your instincts saved you, but I wanted to make certain that you hadn’t come to harm.”

“Nobody harmed me,” she said coolly. It was tricky deciding what to add. Did he want a history? He wasn’t getting one.

“Then you were aware that, once mated, there is no going back for us? You knew that once the male and female sexual fluids mix, you cannot mate with anyone else without going insane?”

“Huh?” She blinked at him, feeling stupid. First off, his choice of mealtime conversation was stunningly blunt, but what was he talking about? A blush crept up her neck. Where was he going with this?

He searched her eyes, and then nodded gravely. “It’s a chemical reaction, one that takes about a year to subside, sometimes a little longer. Most of us wouldn’t dare to resume intimacies with someone else for at least fourteen months.”

“Fourteen?” Her mind boggled. It wouldn’t be worth the bother if that’s how long someone had to wait. What if you met the love of your life right after having sex with the wrong person? What a disaster!

Feeling a little green, she asked tentatively, “Can this insanity be treated?”

“No. Usually the afflicted one has to be committed or executed, depending on the severity of the case. Extreme aggression and a tendency to repeat the act, with or without a willing partner, are usually the results.”

Now she was seriously worried. There were times when she felt out of control herself. Before she’d sworn off men, she’d certainly felt the need to spoon often. It was the unsatisfying conclusion to those encounters that made her give them up. Men just didn’t understand when a woman brought them to the edge, then told them no.

Compelled to make certain she wasn’t losing her mind, she said hesitantly, “I’ve

had my share of boyfriends, and I’ve made out, uh, up the point of no return, but I haven’t, um, completed the act. Am I in any danger?”

“We can touch and kiss as much as we wish, as long as the man does not

penetrate the woman with--”

“I get it!” She threw up her hands to ward him off.

He smiled and looked down, then slanted her a boyish look through his lashes.

“But you didn’t do it. I’m glad to hear it.”

Heat pooled in her cheeks like liquid flame. Unable to meet his gaze, she looked around. “So, is that all you wanted to say?”

“That was all.” There was laughter in his voice, but he didn’t tease her.

“Fine. I’m going to talk to Jasmine before this tutor of yours shows up. I want to see how she’s doing.” She wanted to get away from his laughing eyes, too.

He was getting to her.

Jayems dismounted from his stag and helped Rihlia down. It had been an uncomfortable hour physically--he ached in places not normally tensed by a riding beast.

They were intelligent animals, but few would call them beautiful. With heads like rhinoceros, scales like dragons and the spiked tails of stegosaurus, the muscular beasts would happily trample anyone who didn’t watch their back.

No, he ached from the sweet smelling body that was Rihlia. It had been both bliss and torture to ride with his arms around her, directing her use of the reins. They’d both been tense, and his stag hadn’t liked it one bit.

Keilor pulled up beside them and handed Jasmine down. If he looked a little pained as he swung down, Jayems wouldn’t tease him over it. There weren’t many men he’d trust to ride in such proximity to the Sylph for over an hour and not get out of control.

Eyes slightly unfocused, Keilor told him stiffly, “I’m going to … go take care of a few things. I’ll meet you back at the Citadel later.”

Assuming Keilor was either going to lose his mind in a bottle or go bash a few soldiers on the practice field, Jayems smiled and waved him off. Part of him couldn’t help thinking that Keilor had met his match in the feisty little human. It would certainly solve his problems if his cousin would take the girl for his own. Until then, he tried to hold his breath and walk upwind. The medics were working on some kind of nose filter to combat her pheromone, and he was watching their progress with great interest. He had dibs on the first one.

Lemming had been walked on a leash while her mistress was riding, and she sniffed Rihlia all over when she took the lead.

“Stags must smell as funny as they look,” Jasmine said as Lemming nosed her as well. “It’s too bad horses couldn’t survive here--they’re much nicer.”

“But an inferior steed,” Jayems said dismissively. True, he’d never ridden one, but he knew his history.

“What’s that?” Rihlia gestured to a grove of log posts to their right. Each log was covered with plate sized and smaller, frilly yellow mushrooms.

“Honey fungus. You had some in your dinner last night. We cultivate the mushrooms on the logs, and then use the spent wood for fuel or mulch. We raise other kinds of mushrooms, but those are the most popular.” They passed the mushrooms and came to a grassy park bounded by flowering shrubs and hedges. Children were running full tilt, or playing on the equipment, watched by their mothers or fathers.

Rihlia stopped and looked over the low hedge. He couldn’t tell from her expression what she was thinking.

“Still want to have a dozen?” Jasmine said with grin, poking her lightly in the ribs. She dropped down on the bench to watch the children in comfort. “Yikes! If I only had half that energy.”

“You need to exercise more,” Rihlia said absently, then frowned. “I said five, not

a dozen. Just because you don’t like children doesn’t mean you need to tease me.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like them. I just can’t see myself pregnant, you know? And giving birth! I’d rather adopt. There are lots of kids out there who need homes … better yet, someone else already went through the labor for them.”

Jayems hoped she truly did want to adopt. The odds of her producing offspring with his race was practically nil. The bloodlines did not cross gracefully, and most babies miscarried in the first three months. Of course, they still had to find someone who’d accept her as a wife--he had no question she’d be wanted for a lover. The pheromone made sure of that.