The Charmer (6 page)

Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye,
she asked, “What is this charmer business about, anyway?”

He looked at her; obviously surprised she
would choose to speak to him. He took a moment to answer. “A
charmer makes men want her. It’s the special pheromone she produces
that makes the Haunt male wild.”

“I thought a Haunt was a guard,” she said
with a sharp glance.

“It is a guard, but also the term for our
race,” he explained, looking at her curiously. Her interest would
have to be powerful indeed to cause her to seek knowledge from him
so soon after his...chastisement.

She kept her eyes straight ahead, ignoring
what his accent was doing to her insides. “So what does this
pheromone do to me?”

He stopped in surprise, caught himself, and
continued on. But his tone carried definite inquisitiveness as he
answered, “Nothing. You’ve possessed it all your life and it’s done
you no harm.”

She clenched her fists. “Then it doesn’t make
me…” she left the rest unsaid, not wanting to make a fool of
herself. Too late.

She saw him grin out of the corner of her
eye. “No,” he answered with an insufferable note of male pride.
“You can blame me for that.”

Humiliated all over again, she kept her head
down and walked faster.

Chapter 5

“Are you all right?” Wiley demanded the
moment she and Lemming entered Jasmine’s room. The door closed
behind her, sealing off the illumination from the hall and
enclosing them in the deepening gloom.

Jasmine looked at her broodingly from the
couch she was lying on. “Where’s your keeper?”

Her friend waved an impatient hand. “Gone.
But how are you?” She knelt in front of the couch, concern etching
her brow. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” Not wanting to pursue that path any
further, she quickly asked, “How did he know? There shouldn’t have
been enough time for them to figure anything out.” She’d been going
over Keilor’s dreadful timing, but had yet to understand how they’d
given themselves away. They’d thought they’d been so careful.

Wiley snorted and moved to an armchair,
tucking one long leg under the other. “Lights,” she ordered and
then, “Shutters.” Satisfied with their privacy and the improved
illumination, she said, “They figured it out right away.” Her lower
lip protruded just the tiniest bit. “The Haunt brought me back here
and Jayems told me that they knew.” She shivered, remembering what
else he’d said. Her eyes swept down. “I was afraid of what Keilor
would do when he found you.” She peeked through her lashes to see
Jasmine busily avoiding her eyes. Her voice ached when she asked,
“What did he do, Jas?”

Hearing that note, Jasmine looked at her and
then up at the ceiling. If she didn’t tell her, she’d imagine the
worst and spend days brooding about it, convinced it was somehow
all her fault. Besides, this was Wiley. “He tied me up to a tree
and kissed me,” she confessed quickly, hoping she’d drop it,
knowing she wouldn’t.

“
What
?” Wiley looked as if she didn’t
know whether to be outraged or titillated. Her expression became
thoughtful, even speculative, and her eyes moved as if replaying
something in her head. As if thinking out loud, she asked, “How was
it?”

Jasmine bounded off the couch, putting an
armchair between them as if to stop the flow of curiosity. “Wiley!
How could you ask me that?” A casual friend would have raged over
Keilor’s behavior and called lightning down on his head. Someone
else would have made dire threats against his manhood and
commiserated with her.

There were definite disadvantages to having a
friend who knew you so well.

Wiley regarded her with a touch of
skepticism. “I know you’re attracted to him. I saw you eyeing his
backside earlier.” When Jasmine flushed and mumbled, she went on
knowingly, “And if he’d hurt you, or you’d hated it, you’d be upset
in a different way. So come on,” she coaxed. “Spill the beans.”

Jasmine kneaded the back of the chair and
then grumbled, “It was...okay.”

Wiley’s eyes brightened and she sat up
attentively, drawing her other leg under her. “Just okay?”

“Bah.” Jasmine hunched her shoulders and then
admitted with extreme reluctance, “All right! Better than okay.
More like…” she hesitated as she allowed herself to recall the feel
of Keilor’s lips on hers, his gentle hands. A shudder passed
through her and she admitted softly, “All the stars fell and lit up
my sky.”

Wiley’s eyes widened. “Wow,” she
breathed.

“But it’s not going to happen again.” She
walked around the chair and sat down. Drawing her knees to her
chest, she hugged them protectively. “I’m not going to let that
snake get within ten feet of me next time.”

They sat in silence for a while, each with
their own thoughts. Finally Wiley stirred and sighed with regret.
“I guess we won’t be going home any time soon.”

Jasmine grunted. She wasn’t the sort of woman
who gave up easily, and it galled her to admit she felt cowed, but
the memory of Keilor’s brand of sensual domination was enough to
wipe out any immediate plans for escape.

She groaned and buried her face in her knees
as the memories flashed across the backs of her eyelids. “A gun,”
she muttered, scrubbing her face. “That’s what I need the next
time. A gun to shoot the son of a bitch before he gets his hands on
me.”

Wiley turned troubled eyes on her. “I don’t
want anyone to get hurt, Jas,” she said slowly. “Besides, he
doesn’t seem like the kind of man to take it well if you turned a
gun on him. He might...take it personally.”

Jasmine stiffened, considering the
ramifications of a really enraged Keilor. If he did what he’d done
to her that afternoon over a minor infraction, what would he do to
her for threatening his life? It didn’t bear thinking about.

Besides, she didn’t think she could shoot
him, not even a warning shot. Just the thought of it turned her
insides cold. She sighed, admitting temporary defeat.

She’d have to sleep on it.

“Of course it would work,” Jasmine insisted.
Gravel crunched under her boots as she followed the path to the
stables. This pair was made of a tough black fabric with panels
that breathed, and were much better suited to the warm, humid
climate than her leather-hiking boots. Her brown ponytail swished
across the back of her neck and her black T-shirt while she checked
out the area, taking mental notes.

They were speaking in Pig Latin again to
ensure their privacy. Acting on a suspicion, Jasmine had subtly
tested her Haunt guard’s hearing and found it amazingly acute. She
didn’t dare risk whispering as they had yesterday.

A groom led a haltered riding beast past
them, and she saw Wiley raise a bare arm to shade her vision as she
eyed the stocky creature. The lucky girl had the good fortune to
end up in the Haunt world with a tank top. The beast turned too
intelligent eyes back at them and stared evilly, snorting in
contempt for good measure. It had the body of a horse, but it
sported more muscles than a body builder. More disturbing, its gray
hide was covered with scales, and it had the clubbed tail of a
stegosaurus. Rhinoceros-like horns sprouted from its nose.

She nudged Wiley. “The Arnold Swartznegger of
horses.” Wiley’s snort of laughter made her smile as well, and she
felt her shoulders relax a bit. They could do this.

Jayems hadn’t seemed to mind their request
for riding lessons; in fact, he’d volunteered himself and Keilor as
instructors. Keilor had seemed about to object until he’d noticed
Jasmine’s obvious displeasure, at which point he’d graciously
agreed.

The man did love to torment her.

Jasmine spied a row of tightly capped bottles
full of a milky liquid sitting in the sun. She hefted one
thoughtfully. With a naughty smile she spun it by its neck and
launched into the routine from the bar scene of
Cocktail.

Wiley put one hand on her denim covered hip
and chuckled as she watched her friend’s antics. “You’re going to
break that.”

She grinned and passed the bottle behind her
back and up over her shoulder. “Never.”

Wiley snorted and flipped the end of her
French braid back over her shoulder. “That’s what you said the time
you dropped the shampoo bottle and it broke open all over the
kitchen floor. We were skidding across the tile every day for the
next three months.”

“Shoddy craftsmanship,” she retorted, but
caught the bottle deftly and studied the cloudy liquid. “What is
this stuff, anyway?” She looked up and saw their instructors
approaching. Both were dressed for action in the black uniform and
buckled leather vests of the Haunt guard, but with the addition of
red embroidered patches on their left breasts, possibly an
indication of rank. The patches looked like Celtic knot work.
Jayems also wore a torque around his neck.

Of course the tanned skin in place of the
pelts of the Haunt made an enormous difference in how she saw the
package. Jayems’ muscles flexed naturally as he walked, and for a
moment Jasmine envied her friend. She looked up and caught Jayems
surreptitiously admiring Wiley’s backside. He noticed her noticing
and raised a regal brow. What of it?

She refused to look at Keilor.

It was Keilor who answered her question. He
took the bottle from her hands and considered it thoughtfully.
“Partly digested feeder beetle and browse.” He smiled faintly when
Jasmine leaned back in disgust. “For the orphaned young stags.” He
nodded his head towards the nearby pen holding three of the young
creatures and replaced the bottle with the others.

“Stags are omnivores,” Jayems explained.
Jasmine noticed he stood just close enough to Wiley to make her
friend fidget, but not close enough to excuse her from seeming rude
if she moved away. The fact that Wiley was fidgeting and not
freezing made her frown. She almost acted as if…

“They nurse at birth, but as they grow, they
need more nourishment than milk provides. Gradually their mothers
wean them onto regurgitated browse and prey…” Jasmine gagged, and
even Wiley made a sound of disgust, “until they are old enough to
find and digest their own food,” he finished wryly.

Jasmine, always the one with the weak
stomach, looked at the stags with something close to horror and
spoke before she thought. “And we have to ride these things?” She
grunted when Wiley jabbed her hard in the ribs with her elbow.

“You need the exercise.” Wiley told her,
giving her a significant look. “You wouldn’t want to lose the
little muscle you’ve got, would you?”

Jasmine bristled. “Just because I can’t run
triathlons doesn’t mean I’m not in shape. I work out.”

Wiley snorted. “
Sweating to the Oldies
doesn’t count,” she said contemptuously. She regularly won
triathlons, and she could be a bit of a prig about physical
fitness. Unfortunately, she’d also decided to make keeping Jasmine
in shape her life’s work, in spite of Jasmine’s asthma and the fact
that Jasmine could care less about clogged arteries or decaying
bone density.

“I never—” Jasmine protested hotly, but
Jayems cleared his throat, cutting her off.

“Ladies.” He looped his arm through Wiley’s
with smooth finesse, much to her consternation, and made a sweeping
gesture with the other. “Adventure awaits.”

Keilor reflected wryly that he was hanging
himself with his own rope. Proximity to the charmer was what he
needed to avoid, yet where was she? Nestled between his thighs and
teasing him with her luscious scent.

Not that she’d wanted to be there. It had
taken some well chosen baiting on Rihlia’s part and a flat refusal
on Jayems’ to ride with anyone other than Rihlia to get her into
the double saddle at all.

He poked her. “Stop slouching and straighten
your back. The stag won’t respect a spineless rider.” She obeyed
him, but persisted in leaning forward to avoid body contact. He
sighed in frustration and pulled her back flush to his chest with a
small jerk, holding her shoulders to keep her there. “Unless you’re
racing, you must sit straight in the saddle. You’ll never have a
proper seat otherwise, and the ride will be uncomfortable.”

He released her, and she silently did as he
instructed. If her muscles got any stiffer, though, he’d be able to
take her off the stag and use her for a poker. With that in mind,
he began to massage her shoulders.

She hunched them, trying to discourage him,
but he persisted, and slowly she relaxed. “Better,” he told her. “A
relaxed body will obey you better and help to keep your mount
calm.”

As they continued down the deserted sunny
road in the opposite direction from the gate site, her continued
silence began to annoy him. “Are you sulking because we’re nowhere
near the gate or because you can’t shove me off this stag and
trample me?”

Her answer, when it came, was not what he’d
been expecting.

Jasmine turned her head to look at him. “Why
do you make her stay here?” she asked quietly. “I don’t
understand.” They both looked to where Jayems and Rihlia rode,
several lengths ahead.

Keilor had seen Jasmine display many
emotions, but this aching quiet stirred an answering sympathy in
him. He felt the need to comfort, and he hadn’t felt such tender
emotion in a long time. “Do you know anything of your family?” he
asked gently, aware that the subject was likely painful for
her.

She shrugged, but her voice was harsh. “Sure.
My mother was an exotic dancer and my father was some guy she’d met
at a party. She found out later he had a wife and three kids. He
owned a used car dealership. What about it?”

He paused, taken aback by her revelation.
“You met them?” he asked tentatively, almost dreading her
answer.

“My mother,” she paused and then admitted
with great reluctance, "When she was drunk, before she died, she
used to rant on about how I’d ruined her life.” She was silent a
moment. “It was a lot more pleasant when she was stoned. Then she
just ignored me.” What could he say to such a revelation? Would she
even accept comfort from him? He cleared his throat. “It wasn’t
like that for Rihlia. She was the baby of the family, and very
spoiled. Jayems and I adored her from the moment we saw her. She
was terribly charming, and very bossy.”