The Charmer (9 page)

After all, it had worked so well on
Rihlia.

“Lights.” He folded his hands behind his back
and regarded her with a cool stare. “It appears your tactics were
successful, charmer. My cousin has agreed to dine with her mother
this evening. She is selecting a dress as we speak, and she wishes
you to come and choose your own.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s
not my mother.”

“I see. You’re content to prod her into
facing her demons, but too cowardly to stand at her side?” He
watched with satisfaction as her lip curled.

She stood up slowly, one hand braced against
the wall as if to hold her back from kicking him. “I did this once,
and by myself,” she told him defiantly, before her eyes clouded.
“Wiley’s an adult, and she doesn’t need—”

Not about to let her slip back into self-pity
since he’d gotten her this far, he stepped into her space. Boxed in
on all sides, she had no choice but to look at him.

He let his eyes light with golden fire and
spoke with contempt. Fear would serve her better than pity, would
stir up constructive anger. “I order you to serve my cousin
tonight,” he told her with soft menace. “If you doubt my authority
to do so, I will gladly demonstrate why the Haunt are so
feared.”

Anger narrowed her eyes, and just a trace of
doubt. He could see she was thinking, considering, and that was
bad. If he let up now, she’d slide right back into her
depression.

“You don’t know me, woman,” he whispered
harshly in her ear, careful not to touch her, but close enough to
vibrate the fine sensors on her skin. “And you don’t know what I’m
capable of.” He gave her a couple of seconds to dwell on that and
then lied through his teeth. “It’s no secret the Haunt male is
excited by the sight of his lover’s blood. And charmers blood…” he
let his voice drop an octave, savoring her heady scent. “...is said
to be the sweetest of all.” Her perfume curled around him,
beaconing, lulling. He lost the battle with his control and leaned
in that extra fraction to touch his lips to her silky neck.

She giggled.

He pulled back, indignant. “What is so
amusing?”

She caught sight of his face and clamped a
hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter, but it didn’t help.
Instead she raised her hands and attempted to keep a straight face.
“All right, O Fearsome One. Far be it from me to disobey the big
scary Haunt.” She brushed past him and sauntered over to her
armoire, presumably in search of a washcloth for her face.

Unwittingly, she drew his eyes after her. He
was still deeply submerged in her sensual scent, and it was all he
could do not to follow her. Hunger curled in his belly, wound him
tight. He wanted to stop her laughter his mouth. Let her be the one
ensnared, he thought angrily, taking a step towards her. She
shouldn’t have this power over him.

A flicker of common sense stopped him. She
was doing as he had asked, no,
ordered
her to do. A wise man
would let that be enough.

He was beginning to fear he wasn’t wise.

Lust was clouding his thinking, he told
himself. He leaned against her bedpost and watched her. He knew
what she was, yet he lingered in her presence, allowing her more
and more sway over his will. Knightin lusted after her, too, yet he
had no trouble in distancing himself from her at every opportunity.
Why did he find it so difficult?

Keilor stiffened, appalled at what he was
doing. He’d given up standing around like a lovesick cadet years
ago, and he wasn’t going to take it up again for a human, of all
things. It was time he took another lover, someone to clear his
mind and satisfy his body, to give him back control.

Determined this night would not be spent
alone and unsatisfied, Keilor walked out.

Wiley’s eyes were glazed as she stared at the
door. The late afternoon sunlight from the hall windows gave it an
almost holy glow. It was covered with mother-of-pearl and inlaid
with golden scrollwork, but it was doubtful she even saw the art.
“I can’t do it. My mother’s in there.”

She turned and gripped Jasmine’s arms. Her
hands trembled.

Jasmine wore a Grecian inspired gown of dark
red with slit silk sleeves. Three tiny gold clips held the seams
together, and her grip caused one of them to dig into Jasmine’s
arm.

“You’ll be fine.” Jasmine pried her fingers
loose one by one and smoothed the spot the clip had bruised. Her
ribs felt oddly constricted, even though the wide black sash around
her waist wasn’t tight. She adjusted the tasseled golden cord that
was wound on top of the sash and forced herself to stop fidgeting.
She looked fine. Wiley looked fine. They could do this.

She studied Wiley critically. “You’re right.
You’re not ready.” She gripped Wiley’s shoulders and straightened
them. With the back of her hand she chucked Wiley’s chin up gently
and used her thumbs to draw the corners of her friend’s lips into a
smile. When she took her hands away, the smile stayed, and grew.
“Now you’re ready.”

The Haunt guards began to open the door. They
flinched as Wiley suddenly slammed it shut. With her hands on the
door, she hurriedly told Jasmine, “I forgot to tell you, you need
to pick a male dinner partner when we go in.” She backed off and
the door started to open again.

Jasmine slammed it shut.

The Haunt looked at her strangely.

“What do you mean, I have to pick a male
partner? What for?” she demanded.

Wiley shrugged her ignorance. “Custom. Just
pick somebody. Anybody.”

Jasmine didn’t budge. “This is some sort of
social trap, right? I pick the wrong guy and I offend someone for
life.” She shook her head. “No way. You pick for me.”

Wiley shifted, impatient, and gestured to the
guards to open the door. They tried to obey.

Jasmine braced her back against it and glared
at them.

“You won’t offend anybody, just pick
someone,” Wiley insisted.

As Jasmine opened her mouth to argue, the
door was forced open from the inside. Keilor stood there,
frowning.

Wiley’s laugh was high-pitched. “Jasmine’s a
little nervous. We’re ready to go in now.” Jasmine glowered, but
kept her mouth shut as Keilor took her arm and led her into the
banquet hall. She felt like the opening band at a rock concert as
three brightly robed women and one man looked her over curiously,
then turned their attention eagerly back to the door.

Well, the women looked back.

The stranger’s eyes froze on her face, then
drifted down her body, retracing their path no faster than they had
to. His loose, navy blue trousers and gold trimmed tunic were cut
in the Chinese style and edged in gold. His blond hair was pulled
back neatly with a clip and fell to his shoulders. By his bearing,
he was a commander of some sort.

Keilor’s touch at the small of her back fell
away as the man took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips.
“Fallon, sweet lady.” His intense green eyes sizzled. “Your
servant, day or night.”

A little shocked, mostly because such a
risqué comment was directed at
her,
she stammered, “Uh,
thanks.” She looked back at the door and he reluctantly parted with
her hand. It was difficult to pay attention, since he remained
close enough for her to feel him breathe.

Wiley stared at an older woman with braided
silver hair, and the woman looked back at her with sky blue eyes
alive with emotion. Wiley had a look of consternation fixed on her
face, but the other woman…

The queenly lady glided forward, entranced,
until she stood blinking fiercely at Wiley. Her voice was hoarse
when she whispered, “Daughter?” Suddenly she hugged the stiff young
woman, shaking her head over and over. “Rihlia,” she said, and her
eyes were wet with tears.

Chapter 8

Jasmine hadn’t meant to drink so much, but as
she looked up and saw Wiley seated at the opposite end of the table
with her family, she felt the need for fortification.

Something had to warm her insides.

Wiley’s family consisted of her mother, Lady
Rhapsody, Rhapsody’s sister Lady Portae, and two cousins. Urseya, a
young woman about their own age, was a sloe eyed beauty of perfect
dimensions and practiced poise, while her older brother, the
handsome Fallon, looked to be in his late twenties. They were all
that was left of the extended family who had existed before the
devastating assassinations swept the Haunt. The murders had wiped
out most of their bloodline and resulted in the loss of Rihlia, as
Rhapsody explained during dinner.

Quite a loss, if the stunning male specimens
present were any indication.

Fallon, who’d single mindedly secured her for
his partner during the blessing, favored her with another one of
his sexy smiles. The benediction had been spoken with a man
standing protectively behind every woman, hands on shoulders,
giving thanks and promising to use the strength given by the
nourishment to protect and provide for their family and loved ones.
Fallon’s hands had settled on her shoulders with a definite
sensation of promise.

The man was gorgeous and ruthlessly charming,
and at another time he would have had her falling at his feet.
Tonight his interest left her cold. It was the last thing she
needed.

He lifted the green glass wine
decanter

a work of art with its woven rush
covering

and offered silently to pour for
her. She covered her glass with her hand and gave him a faint
smile. “No, thank you. I think I’ve had too much of a very good
thing.”

In a voice as smooth as molten caramel, he
countered, “Ah, but is there ever too much of a good thing?” He
refilled his glass and set the decanter aside, and she tried very
hard to not to feel anything at all.

Keeping her eyes on the pale amber liquid
that remained in her glass, she answered, “In the case of wine,
yes, of course.”

He sipped his wine and watched her with the
lazy gaze of a hunter. “And in the case of men?”

What could she say to make him stop? Men
didn’t play these kind of games with her.

Keilor was useless as a distraction. He was
deep in conversation with Urseya on his left and unconcerned with
her torment. The bits and pieces she caught of the flirtatious
exchange did not help her peace of mind. It seemed Keilor wasn’t
above playing with whatever new toys came his way. The knowledge
that she held no more interest for him than a night’s diversion
sent dark eddies through her. As a result, vinegar seasoned her
response. “A curiosity best left...unexplored.”

Green eyes full of amusement studied her as
he swirled his wine in its crystal cup. “Hm. How do you know the
unexplored isn’t hiding pleasures you might find to your liking?
Perhaps you might sample a little excitement and find it’s to your
taste?”

She snorted, and the wine must have rotted
her brain, because she told him candidly, “The last guy who
promised me a little excitement turned out to have a tongue like a
slug. No thanks.” Conversations stopped, and even Keilor turned to
look at her.

Fallon looked startled. “A slug?”

Perhaps she’d taken the right tack after all.
At least he’d stopped flirting. “A cold, wet slug, and once was
quite enough, thank you. I’m swearing off men. You’re all a pack of
trouble.”

Jasmine stood up and nodded at Wiley’s
mother. “It was a pleasure to meet you, ma’am, and congratulations
on your reunion, but your wonderful wine has gone to my tongue, and
you’d be better off without my company. So if you’ll excuse
me…”

Astonished she’d managed to pull off such a
diplomatic speech, she left before the poor woman could reply.

It seemed like the smart thing to do.

She dreamed of her mother that night.

Jasmine lay curled on the tile next to the
commode, waiting for the next upheaval from her stomach. She tried
not to think, other than to chant the mantra, “I will never touch
Haunt alcohol again. I will never…” Then the knocking began.

“Jasmine, are you ok?” Wiley sounded worried.
Maybe she’d noticed how much she’d been drinking the night
before.

“Hung over. Go away,” she croaked, and she
was left in peace for a little while.

She was in stage two with a horrendous
headache and a cold, soggy cloth over her eyes when Wiley tried
again. “You’ll feel better if you eat something,” she coaxed.

Jasmine groaned a denial and tossed a pillow
at the door.

By stage three it was late afternoon. She’d
taken a bath and her body was beginning to function better, but
unfortunately so was her mind. She’d just sent Wiley away again and
was lying on the couch in her jeans and t-shirt, staring at
nothing, when she heard Keilor’s deep voice over the intercom.

“Open the door, Jasmine.”

Immediately she got up and padded across the
hardwood floor with bare, silent feet. She didn’t even think of
telling him to go away, not when he was using that tone.

He entered her room and strode to the table
with a covered tray. He set it on the table while she shut the
door. “Sit down and eat.”

Her feet dragged as she moved toward him, but
the moment he uncovered the steaming sweet and sour fish and snowy
rice underneath, her mouth began to water. She devoured everything
on her plate.

Keilor opened the shutters and sat in the
chair opposite her. He kept his eyes mostly on the view, though
occasionally he glanced at her to gauge her progress. As she
finished the last few bites, he stood up and walked around the
table.

She rubbed the edge of the table with her
thumb. What would he say first? That she’d made a fool of herself
last night? That she ought to be nicer to Wiley? “What if I
promised you I wouldn’t cause any trouble if you agreed to take me
home?”