Protector of the Flight (26 page)

Thunder
and Dark Lance trumpeted and sent strong mind images.
Volaran Hall!

“Volaran
Hall,” Marrec repeated.

“What
was it before?” asked Calli. Gazes sharpened at her accent. Calli disregarded
that. She hadn’t been in Lladrana very long and her accent was better than
Alexa’s.

“Stinton
Hall,” someone said. “Their line died out.”

“Our
line will not die,” Marrec said.

People
exchanged glances.

“Calli
and I will be bonding with children,” Marrec said. “We intend to have a large
family.”

There
was some muttering…instinctive blessings, Calli thought, wishing them long
lives. The evening seemed chill.

Marwey
said, “And the Chevalier Exotique Pair’s children will have the other Exotiques
as godparents.” She sniffed and waved to a tall, thin, older man who Calli had
been told was the Hall’s hereditary keeper. “I think you have the keys, please
open the door.”

The
large wooden door opened silently into darkness.

Marrec
swung Calli up into his arms and stepped over the threshold. Lights went on.
Calli stared up at him, openmouthed. His eyes glinted down at her. “Alyeka told
me this was a wedding-ritual custom?”

Calli
could only nod.

He
turned a full circle, still holding her, nodded himself. “Good place.” His
approval of the house slipped through him, through them both. The last faint
image of a sprawling ranch house disappeared from her brain.

Carefully,
he set her on her feet, then looked at the keeper. “We wish a tour.”

The
man bowed low, eyes down. Then led them up an imposing staircase that dominated
the middle of the hall. His voice was whispery and respectful. With each step
Calli experienced an echoing tone in her mind, as Marrec
felt
the stone
of this house and the land beneath and was bonding to it.

By
the time they’d been shown the most important rooms, the feeling that this
place was home, was
theirs forever,
had insinuated itself into her very
bones. Magic, again. She’d fight for this land that would house and breed
volarans…and children.

But
it overwhelmed her before they even finished looking at the bedrooms on the
second floor.

“Calli,
Lady Gardpont, is tired,” Marrec said, and handed over a clinking pouch and a
small, smoky crystal ball. “We will return to the Marshalls’ Castle. Clean and
furnish this place, and keep me informed.”

Calli
wanted to see the stables, whatever setup there was for horses and volarans,
but Marrec’s words seemed to have sunk her into a swamp of exhaustion. Even his
strong hand under her elbow and sturdy endurance couldn’t keep her from
swaying.

Once
again he picked her up, and she was barely conscious for the ride home and the
walk up to their new apartments in Horseshoe Hall.

A
s they walked to
their new suite in Horseshoe Hall, Marrec
felt
it before he saw it, a
vile, crackling, invisible spiderweb of destructive force. Everything inside
him clenched. The spell spread over their door and attached to a trigger.
Narrowing his eyes, he saw a small glove—almost a child-size glove—near the brown-stained
wooden footboard at the threshold of the door. It looked like a worn glove, the
fingers curved upward, reaching to grab them.

Danger.

An
evil trap.

19

H
is pulse picked
up pace. His breathing hitched. Sweat slithered along his back and arms.

Calli
leaned heavily against him, weary and still thrumming with the exhilaration of
their ride, the pleasure of their discovery of her house. No,
their
house,
their
land,
their
people.

His
woman. Whom he
had to protect. He didn’t want her to see the trap, sense the danger.

Marrec
kept his voice soft and murmured words of affection as he angled Calli’s body
away from the threat of the door trap, placing himself between it and her.

Suppressing
a shudder, he sent a mental probe sliding around the door near the knob. It
wasn’t one of those evil horrors, a sangvile. The taut threads of Power held
notes of a vicious human. An enemy in their midst. Wearing a pleasant mask, no
doubt.

To
keep her safe, and angle her farther away from the door, he drew Calli into his
arms. Then he set his hands against her back and stroked her torso, enjoying
the suppleness of her muscles. A few minutes ago he’d been concentrating on
sex. Now he was focused on keeping her safe. He rubbed his chin against the
side of her head. The silkiness of her hair, that wonderful, beautiful hair,
caressed his cheek like nothing he’d ever felt before. “We’ll go straight to
bed.”

She
chuckled, an image rose in her mind—something of Exotique Terre—of herself in a
long, fancy white gown and him in silly black-and-white clothes, then they were
rolling naked in their bed. “Honeymooners,” she said, and though he didn’t know
the word, he knew the concept. Newly bonded people who couldn’t get enough of
sex with each other. His pulse leaped, but arousal stayed a second priority
behind the fierce desire to protect her.

Fear
snaked down his spine, he made his voice steady. “We’ll go to sleep. It’s been
a long day for you.”

“A
very long day,” she sighed out. Yawned. Leaned heavier against him.

His
mind went over the evil threads attached to the door. A few days ago he
wouldn’t have had the vision to notice the spell, wouldn’t have had the
Power—or the innate knowledge—to disarm it. Definitely wouldn’t have had the
ability to split his focus on cuddling a woman and working on tracing the lines
to a knot around the latch, picking at one and pulling, slowly, slowly
unraveling it.

“I’m
glad it was you,” Calli said. She glanced up at him, ran fingers along his
tight jaw. “Always so serious. You don’t need to be, with me.” She kissed his
jaw.

He
fumbled with the web, unraveling string after strained string. Worked silently,
fast, sweat coating his body.

Finally
he reached the last thread, taut and straining, ready to snap and unleash a
spell that would lash them with energy, straight to their minds—to the seat of
their Power?
Calli’s
Power? Overwhelming her? Burning her Power out? He
thought that was the intention.

He
let his hands wander down her, shielded her with his body. Sweat rolled down
him; he followed strings, unwove. Paused. One. Last. Tiny. Tug.

The
thick atmosphere around the door dissipated with a little “Pop!”

A
lash of pain whipped him. His mind went gray. He struggled to stand, to force
the edges of fog shrouding his vision back.

Calli
tilted her head, frowning. “What was that?”

“What
was what?” His tongue was thick. Second by second he fought to stay conscious.

She
looked around, blinking. He hoped she couldn’t see the glove. His back was to it.
Should he have tried to destroy the glove, the holder of the Power? He’d have
died.
They’d
have died, because Calli was bonded to him.

He
must get Calli inside and in bed, asleep.
Then
he’d figure out what to
do next. His fingers went to the doorknob, slid off. Too sweaty.

A
deep, erotic chuckle came from Calli. “Hot and impatient, cowboy?”

That
note in her voice plucked a chord directly to his groin. Concentrate! He didn’t
want to. Relief rushed through his veins, sweeping the fog away. Now he wanted
to throw her on the bed and pound into her, explore this woman he’d just saved
with his hands and body and keep her under him and safe.

This
time he managed the door, shoved it open with his shoulder, scooped her up and
kicked the thick slab of oak shut. He probed the room, the suite. It was free
of any evil. More than that, their new home at the Castle felt like sanctuary.

Calli
licked at his neck.

With
quick steps he crossed into the bedroom. Calli’s hands were busy, stroking his
chest. He laid her on the bed and her hands went to the front of his breeches.
He jerked. Maybe sex was a good notion. He’d tire her out.

“What’s
this?” she asked, prodding. Her fingers were a couple of inches from where he
wanted them.

“What’s
what?” he said thickly.

She
reached into his pocket and held up his worry stone.

“Mine!”
She barely glanced at it before her fingers curved over it in possession. She
sat up. “It feels good. Like you.”

“You
gonna take everything I have, woman? My knife and my stone?”

“You
still have Dark Lance.” Her smile was sultry. “Yeah, I’m gonna take everything
you have.” She wiggled her hips.

“You’re
welcome to everything I have,” he muttered.

Now
she looked at the stone, sniffed it, put it in her mouth.

Song
in All! If he’d used the stone as his token on the Choosing table and she’d
done that, she’d have made him climax in public! His thoughts ricocheted, then
snagged on a dim recollection. Another object imbued with an evil spell.

Definitely
an enemy in their midst.

That
cooled his ardor enough that he went to Calli, removed her shoes, stroked her
face and said, “Give me the stone.”

She
opened her mouth and tongued it into his palm. Now it radiated of her, smelled
of her, probably tasted of her—the warm, wet places of Calli. He shuddered,
made to put the stone back in his pocket and she caught his hand.

“Mine,”
she said, then nodded to the bedside table.

He
put the worry stone on the table, lifted Calli’s feet to the bed, lifted and
moved her so her head sank into a pillow of the finest down. She smiled at him,
lips and eyes welcoming.

Keeping
his gaze locked on hers, he leaned down and swept some strands of hair from her
face, feathered his fingers back over her forehead, set his index finger
between her eyes and sent
Sleep!
The word had Power behind it, the calm
insistence he used to settle an anxious volaran.

Her
eyes closed and she dropped into sleep.

He
let out a long breath. Not thinking about what he did, he stripped her. Sex
must come later. Would come later. Good thing he wasn’t a man who was used to
getting a woman whenever he wanted. He lifted the covers, then hesitated. The
summer night was warm, the room cozy.

When
he returned he wanted her there, on the bed, naked and waiting for him.

With
a shrug at his needy thoughts, his deep masculine yearning, he turned away. His
eye caught the worry stone on the table. He didn’t reach for it. It wasn’t his
anymore, but hers.

Lips
curving, he figured she must have had something with her that she could give to
him. He’d insist. This partnership already tilted one way then the other,
unbalanced. Her with her incredible Power, the zhiv and land and status she
brought to the pairing. Him with his knowledge of Lladrana, volarans,
experience in the culture and battlefield. They’d have to work to find a
reasonable balance.

Though
he’d noticed she liked leaving doors open behind her, he shut the bedroom door,
ran a finger down the long crack around the door. “Keep her safe,” he chanted,
sending all his will along with licks of Power into that spell.

He
went to the outer door, frowning. This suite was more like homey rooms than the
security of a fortress like the keep’s towers. There weren’t enough shields
between her and the outside, between whoever laid the trap, whoever walked
Horseshoe Hall with malice, hiding behind illusion.

Which
meant he’d have to learn how to set shields inside the rooms.

He
opened the outside door, examined every inch of it, the lintel and threshold
around it, then turned his attention to the glove.

Squatting,
he stared at the glove, noted the faded purple patterns and embroidery.

It
was Alexa’s glove.

Why?

And
how?

M
arrec studied
the glove for several minutes inside their rooms that pulsed with silence. Then
he sent a mental question.
Bastien?

A
startled
Ayes?
came back to him.

Marrec
had given a lot of thought as to whom he should trust. Despite the fact that he
was a Chevalier and would naturally look to Lady Hallard as their
representative, and as his former leader, his concerns must be understood by
the greatest in Power.
I must speak to you and the Marshalls—only those who
are Paired.

Oh?
When?

Now.
There’s danger to Calli.

Meet
us in the Marshalls’ Council Room.

That
wasn’t a room Marrec had ever entered. Hadn’t ever thought to enter. His life
had certainly changed. He shrugged,
Ayes.

A
tapping came at the long glass window-door of the balcony. He glanced out to
see a pair of peacocks. Opening the door, he stared down at the faint auras
surrounding them. He could easily distinguish which of the two feycoocus was
female.