Prince of Fire (19 page)

She had not lost control of her shape-shifting abilities since that first time, though she did often check his back for scratches, just to be sure.

The light he created illuminated his face nicely. She reached up to caress his cheek. "If I was swept up in the beauty of your precious
now
and told you that I love you, what would you do?"

He did not hesitate in answering. "I would turn my back on you," he said gently. "We cannot allow the falseness of romantic love to come between us. What we have is good, Keelia, but it won't last. It is not meant to last. We'll succeed in our mission and go our separate ways, or else we'll fail and you'll kill me. Don't ruin the only good part of this endeavor we have set for ourselves with talk of forever, trust, and love."

"If this is the only good part, then it is because it's the only good part you will allow." He was still inside her, and yet he argued that this was no more than a casual coupling.

Keelia accepted that she had little choice in the matter. She couldn't command Joryn to feel more than he did. Was it possible that as a Caradon he was incapable of love? No, she didn't think that was the case. He was capable of feeling more, he just didn't. All she could do was continue to enjoy what they had, or else sever their sexual relationship until he came to his senses and realized that she was right and he was wrong.

But they didn't have the time for such foolishness. Since she could not see into him, she could not know if he'd be saved or not. If that was the case, diey didn't have weeks and months and years to define and explore their relationship, they had days. Precious days and a few precious nights.

Even joined, she could not sense anything of him. She did not know if he cared for her or only for the pleasure she provided. She did not know why he was so determined to save his people. She knew nothing, and it was alternately refreshing and maddening.

Keelia took a deep breath and rested her hands on his hips. "And you say I'm stubborn."

9

During a too-brief nap, Joryn dreamed that Keelia offered him her throat. When presented widi the pale, delicate column, he lunged for her flesh and bit. Hard and deep, and without hesitation.

In mountain cat form he'd done battle with other animals, and he'd gone for die throat in more than one life-and-death struggle. As a man he had never bitten anyone, much less gone for a woman's neck with a killing chomp. And yet in his dream he was a man, not a cat, and still he attacked. He bit down. He devoured her.

It was Keelia's ridiculous talk of trust and love and forever that spurred the nightmare.

In sun-lit reality, she moved forward with determination. In harsh afternoon light her hair was snarled and her clothes were torn, but she continued to move with the grace and dignity of a Queen. He would do well to remind himself often that when this was over, she'd return to the palace of the Anwyn Queen, where she'd be waited upon by an endless number of servants, and her commands would always be followed without question. Each day a finer gown would be provided for her, and talented maids would wash and scent and style her hair, which would not dare to snarl beneath the Anwyn crown.

If he occasionally suspected that he felt more for her than he should, it was because he was very possibly going to die in a few days. If they did not find the wizard and destroy his enchanted stone, then Keelia would be forced to kill him. It was no wonder that he preferred getting lost in her body and her nonsensical ram Mings about forever and lifetime mates to dwelling on the possibilities that awaited him.

What she spoke of was fantasy, which at the moment was much better than his reality. It was true, he had never before thought binding himself to one woman was a
fantasy.
It fell more into the nightmare category. Again, he wrote those occasional thoughts off to the venom coursing in his blood. The cursed toxin had changed him somehow. He was no longer himself.

Yes, better to blame his odd, rambling thoughts to the bite of a monster than to consider that they might be the result of a woman's heartfelt passion.

Keelia turned to look at him as she took a sharp turn in the rocky path. No matter what her situation or her mood, she was always regal. Not untouchable, perhaps, but definitely unlike any other woman he had ever known or ever would know. Maybe he was drawn to her simply because she was unlike other women. What man wouldn't be intrigued by her? What male wouldn't want to become the lover she had dreamed of?

Joryn could so clearly picture the fine, feminine throat she had offered in the dream that had stayed with him all day. Like the Anwyn, the Caradon put great significance on such a gesture, though he suspected that among his people the offer was made less frequently than among the too-trusting Anwyn. To offer one's throat was akin to offering one's very soul to another for keeping.

He did not have to worry about his nightmare of a forever woman coming true. While Keelia might offer her body willingly enough, and even hint at offering her heart, this was not a woman who would ever offer him, or any other man, her throat.

* * * * *

The Grandmother paced in her parlor, attempting—and failing—to discern exactly where Joryn and the Red Queen were located at this moment. She had thought they would be here by now, but they were not so late that she should be concerned.

And yet she was concerned, mightily so.

Druson had visited her often in days past, as anxious as she about Joryn's mission.

"The bracelet you fashioned from the ancient silver, you said it would protect Joryn from the Queen," Druson said, worry evident in his voice.

"I lied," Vala said crisply. She never could've made Joryn understand and accept why his thoughts were dark to the powerful seer. Perhaps she would be able to explain now, if she had die chance.

Druson was apparently shocked by her answer. "But, why? Did you give Joryn no defense against the Anwyn Queen? Did you send him out there ..."

"Joryn needs no defense against the Queen," Vala said, impatiently interrupting her disappointed student. "The bracelet has served its purpose."

"Which was?" Druson asked crisply.

"To send those who searched for the Queen astray, to hide Joryn from those who would kill him for touching their Queen." The Anwyn army who had attempted to recover their beloved ruler had made so many misguided turns they were nowhere near the woman they sought. There was still much magic in the silver, but from now on whatever magic existed there was of Jo-ryn's making. Joryn and the Queen.

Vala continued to pace in the room which suddenly seemed too small for her and one overly anxious student.

"They should've been here by now," Druson said.

"Yes, that's true "

"Where are they, Grandmother?"

"I don't know."

Druson clenched his fists. "What do you mean, you don't know? I thought you saw everything?"

"Not anymore," Vala whispered. "As the darkness grows stronger, my gift dims." She had so much to tell Joryn and the Anwyn Queen, but they had not come here as quickly as they should've. She did not think they were dead, but in truth she did not know that with any certainty. She no longer knew anything with any certainty.

"I'm going to search for them and bring them to you," Druson insisted. "Surely I can detect the scent of an Anwyn Queen in Caradon Territory."

Vala did not trust Druson entirely. He had always wished for more magic than he possessed, and that desire made him prone to jealousy of those, like Joryn, who had been born with great gifts. But he was her student, and while he wanted more than he'd been given, he had not yet chosen a dark path. He simply had not chosen a path of goodness, either.

"Perhaps that would be best," she said, surprising him. Judging by the expression on his face, he had expected resistance. "Find them and bring them to me. But no matter what happens, you must promise me that you will not harm the Anwyn Queen."

"What if she's killed Joryn?" Druson snapped. "What if she's the reason he did not return to us?"

"She did not harm him," Vala said softly. If she knew nothing else, she knew that to be true. "She would not. And whether you like the fact or not, we still need her."

Druson huffed at that, but did not argue.

A soft knock on the door surprised Vala. The fact that she was startled was evidence of her weakening gift. No, the gift was there, but she was no longer able to access it as she should. She was tired. Tired of the constant battle, the constant vigilance.

Druson was not surprised, but he did seem annoyed as he went to answer, throwing open the door with more energy than was necessary. "I told you to wait," he said tersely.

A soft female voice answered. "It's getting cold, since the sun set. Can I come in? Please?"

Not only a female, but a human one. Why on earth would Druson bring a lowland human here?

When the girl entered the room, Vala understood. Small but nicely rounded, fair of face and with a thick fall of silky black hair, the girl was quite beautiful. Like most males, Druson was a fool where women were concerned.

The girl grinned at Vala, and dimples flashed on full, pink cheeks. "I'm sorry to intrude, but it is rather cold outdoors." Her gaze flitted to Druson and she gave him a seductive smile. "For someone who has no Caradon blood, that is. I didn't expect it to be so chilly here at night this time of year, but then we are very high in the mountains." She continued to walk toward Vala, and when she was close, she offered her hand in a human custom which was usually reserved for their males. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Grandmother. Druson speaks very highly of you."

Vala did not see the danger until it was too late. While the girl offered her right hand, her left remained hidden in the folds of her voluminous skirt. At the last possible moment, that left hand swung up and sliced through the faded cloth of a simple dress and into Vala's old flesh. She felt the bite of the cold metal, gasped, and dropped to her knees as Druson shouted, "No!"

Too late. Druson was always too late and too slow.

Above Vala, the girl continued to smile sweetly. "That should take care of you, you interfering old bitch." She leaned forward, still grinning, the bloody knife still clutched in her hand. "I should tell you, before you die, that all your efforts have been wasted. You have actually helped things to unfold as they should, and for that the Isen Demon thanks—" The girl's hateful speech ended when Druson yanked her up by the hair, deftly took her knife from slender fingers, and spun her around to slit her throat with her own weapon.