Something Wild This Way Comes

by Autumn Dawn

  Fortunately for her, Mathin decided to flip her upright before they arrived at their destination, cradling her in his arms to allow her blood to return to its proper flow. “I can walk,” she told him stiffly, disliking the sensation of being carried like a doll. She refused to look at him.

  "And a beautiful walk it is,” he agreed easily, smiling down at her. “But wait until you get your balance back. You wouldn't wish to upset your grandmother, would you?” Before she could do more than give him a startled look, a Haunt guard opened the thick wooden door ahead of them and Mathin swept through.

  The room beyond was sunny and brimming with familiar knickknacks and gewgaws. Indeed, they covered every surface. Hooked rugs in a riot of clashing colors and Afghans and slipcovers—the very ones she'd packed away—covered the furniture in a miasma of dizzying shades. Bewildered by the display, she said nothing as Mathin set her on her feet and untied her wrists. What did this mean?

  "Surprise!"

  Andrea yelped and jumped as her beaming grandmother popped out from behind a couch and ran to her, enveloping her startled grandchild in a rose-scented hug. Confused, Andrea just stood there stiffly, allowing herself to be crushed. “Grandma?” she finally asked tentatively. Perhaps she was the one who had been slipped the drug?

  Her grandmother pulled back and gave her a brilliant smile. “Oh, isn't it wonderful! That sweet Fallon has arranged for us to live here in the Darklands. Isn't it beautiful? And such lovely weather. I've always said he was a sweet boy."

  Behind them, someone guffawed.

  Ignoring the sound of amusement, Andrea demanded, “What are you talking about?” And pray God it would make sense because she couldn't stand much more bewilderment. It was hard to say which was worse; finding herself here or confronting her grandmother in such an alien atmosphere. What had happened to the cruise to Tahiti?

  "But I just said, dear,” Matilda answered with a happy smile. “I arranged for you to come up and meet his nice Haunt friend and fall in love—one look at him and I knew you'd fall in love—and for me to come here with you to help raise the grandbabies.” She beamed at Mathin over her shoulder. “You'll have such beautiful babies."

  Appalled and more than a little nauseous at her grandmother's unqualified approval of Mathin, and growing more furious by the moment, Andrea demanded, “Are you saying you traded me for a chance to come here and ... and ... I'm not having his babies!” The tail of her sentence was dangerously close to a shout. Shock and fury had her teeth chattering. She'd just come in bound like a prisoner and her grandmother was prattling about babies. With Mathin! Was she crazy?

  Her grandmother didn't even blink. “Of course you are, dear. And don't raise your voice to me. Your mama taught you better manners than that, bless her dear departed soul.” She sniffed. “She would be so proud to see you here, so near to your wedding."

  Frozen in rage, unable to do more than blink, Andrea stared at her happy grandmother, her fists hard with the desire to beat some sense into her. Not that she could. Besides the fact that it was wrong, her last spanking had been at the age of fourteen, administered by her father because she'd sassed her grandma. Respect for her elders was far too ingrained now to ever wash out, no matter what the provocation.

  She would have to find another target.

  The blood pounding in her head, she spun on her heel, passing between both Mathin and Keilor without a thought. Not even a blink was spared for the Haunt outside the door, so blind was her rage. Outside she looked desperately around the pale stone hall for something to wreak havoc on, burning with the need for release.

  Almost as if he read her thoughts, Keilor moved ahead of her, opened a door to a room and gestured inside. While he was at it, he untied her hands. “This is unoccupied if you'd like to be alone for a while."

  Grateful for his actions but unable to speak a polite word she passed through the door, locking and slamming it behind her.

  The room within was completely done in white and smelled musty with disuse, though no dust was in evidence. Even the wood of the couches and upholstered chairs was snowy cream.

  Andrea was not normally a violent woman. She'd always considered fit throwing and tantrums to be the province of the childish. That day was another matter. Furious at her captivity and her grandmother's betrayal, she grabbed one of the many porcelain statues from one of the pedestals that lined the walls. It smashed to shards against the white carpet.

  The action sobered her somewhat, and she stared at the mess, aghast. Until she remembered Mathin and her grandmother.

  Again fury swelled but this time she headed for a more repairable target—the enormous white-swathed bed visible through a door in the living quarters. Here she didn't hesitate to toss pillows to the floor and stomp on them. When that didn't satisfy she leapt atop the bed, jumping up and down to the sound of the creaking suspension. Even that was not enough, so she grabbed a fat pillow by its lacy case and used it to beat the tall bedposts senseless. “Stupid, stupid jerk!” she chanted, whacking the innocent post with all her might. “How dare he kidnap me! I'm not sleeping with him,” she shouted rebelliously, huffing for breath as she swung the heavy pillow. “Who does he think he is, Conan? Overgrown jerk!"

  Only when she was dizzy with lack of air and covered in sweat did she release the poor, limp pillow and collapse on the bed to recover. That was when the grief hit. Not once during her tantrum had she allowed herself to think of her grandmother, but now she did. How could she do this to her? Had she been brainwashed?

  The thought gave her hope, and she lifted her head, not really seeing the pale wood of the room's furnishings or the sunlight streaming in. What if? Wasn't that one of the werewolf abilities? She frowned. Or was that vampires? But if Mathin could be believed they were nothing like either.

  Groaning in frustration, she kneaded her forehead with her palms. The shock was overloading her body's ability to cope, leaving her shaky and cold. Like it or not she had to rest or she'd have a full-blown attack just like the one she'd had that morning.

  Lying back on the bed, she closed her eyes, praying that Mathin would respect the lock. Whether he did or not she had to rest. She just hoped that when she woke up it would not be to a nightmare.

  * * * *

  "You gave her what room?"

  Keilor winced at his wife's incredulous demand. He had retired with Mathin to his private suite after their conference with Jayems. The open design of their house allowed a good view of Mathin, who was pretending to be completely engrossed with their one-year-old boys as they played in the sunken living room. Light flooded the house from the clear wall behind the kitchen, making the need for other illumination unnecessary.

  A pen of sorts had been erected around the perimeter of the living area, leaving the twins with plenty of carpeted area to tumble and play. It also kept them out of the fireplace and their mother's collection of potted fruit trees.

  Keilor shrugged and snatched a piece of the vegetable she was chopping for their dinner. “She didn't seem picky at the time.” Before his wife could berate him further he added, “Besides, we could hardly take her to Mathin's room. They're not mated yet."

  Reminded of the source of her ire, the petite terror turned her wrath on Mathin. “And how could you, Mathin? What possessed you to drag the poor girl here when there are plenty of Haunt women chasing you?"

  Mathin scowled as he tried to pry a lock of his long hair from a giggling twin while gently fending his brother off with his knee. She'd already heard the full story, and he wasn't about to go into it again. “You could have a little faith in my premonitions. They've saved your life often enough."

  "Escorting me through the swamps was one thing.” She leaned against the long island and waggled the hand still holding her cleaver at him. “This is entirely different. She probably thinks—” she broke off, unable to say it without blushing. Agitated, she brushed a brown lock of hair off her forehead and glanced at Keilor. “Does she know you're not going to, um, hur
t her? That she has rights and choices?"

  "Actually,” Mathin blinked innocently at her, “I thought I'd let you tell her."

  Jasmine opened her mouth as if to blast him, then must have thought better of it. An annoyed expression crossed her expressive face, then morphed into her famous crafty look. Grown men had been known to run when presented with that look.

  Archly, she said, “I think I will. In her place I'd certainly feel more comfortable talking to a woman..” Her smile was evil. “And while I'm at it I'll make certain she knows she doesn't have to marry you if she doesn't want to. And I'll tell her just what to do to avoid a Haunt-style wedding."

  Although irritated, Mathin chose not to show it. Her assistance in this would be invaluable, and he couldn't afford to alienate her over this. “If you wish. It won't do you any good.” He shared a knowing smile with Keilor. “Some woman just can't resist a Haunt on the prowl."

  * * * *

  Andrea had been awake and brooding for some time when she heard a tentative knock on the door. A moment went by while she decided if she wanted to answer it.

  The knock came again, followed by a woman's voice. “Hello? Andrea? My name's Jasmine. Can I come in? I promise Mathin's not out here."

  It was the note of sympathy in the woman's voice that did it. “Just a minute.” With a grimace for the broken statue, Andrea went to the door and unlocked it. One the other side was a pretty brunette in a blue and silver Grecian inspired gown. For some reason Andrea couldn't name she seemed terribly familiar. Almost like the woman at Kmart—though they looked nothing alike—but not creepy. Still, she was positive they'd never met. “Hello."

  "Hi,” she said again, smiling warmly. “I'm Keilor's wife. I thought I'd invite you over for something to eat. It's not quite dinner time but I've got some munchies if you'd like some.” The smile turned mischievous. “Besides, I thought I'd tell you a thing or two Mathin might not want you to know."

  Sensing an ally, Andrea nodded her head and shut the door behind her, doing her best to ignore the pair of Haunt guards at the door who immediately followed them. “Thank you. That room was beginning to give me the creeps.” She hunched her shoulders. “All that white."

  Jasmine glanced over her shoulder at the door with visible distaste. “I know what you mean.” Dismissing the subject, she added, “Our suite is just down the hall.” Arched windows lighted the dove-colored blocks of stone that formed the passage, sparkling faintly off the flecks of mica in the rock.

  "This is nice,” Andrea said as Jasmine led her into her suite, admiring the crest design worked into the wood of the floor and the tasteful tans and creams of the velvet covered furniture. A restful number of plants in fabulous pots graced the room. “Very nice.” She gestured to the pen surrounding the sunken living space and the toys inside with a smile. “You have children?"

  Jasmine laughed. “Twin toddler boys. Mathin and Raziel took them out to see the stags. No doubt I'll have to give them both a bath when they get back."

  Andrea's brow rose. “You trust Mathin with your children?"

  Her hostess plucked a fruit segment from a platter on the long island, silently gesturing for her guest to pull up a bar stool and help herself. The comment she waved away with a careless gesture of her hand. “Believe it or not he adores children, and he's really very good with them. So is Raziel. In spite of the fact that they're often more like overgrown boys themselves, I'd trust them with my life. Though I don't know what he's thinking with this latest stunt.” She frowned thoughtfully at Andrea. “Don't take this wrong, but he's hardly the sort of guy who needs to go around kidnapping women if he wants female company, you know? You'd swear the man was a sylph himself the way women pursue him."

  Unhappy at having her thoughts confirmed, Andrea frowned. “I'd figured as much. Do you know why he brought me here?” She dropped her eyes to the orange piece of fruit in her hand, too nervous to eat until she heard an answer. Would Jasmine be honest with her?

  Jasmine sighed. “My guess is he's got the hots for you, which isn't surprising considering you're a sylph. Not that he can do anything about it without your permission,” she hastily assured her, touching her hand. “Rape is punishable by death here. Besides, he's not the type.” She made a face. “But don't think he won't try to seduce you. Be warned, when a man sleeps with a woman it's the same as marriage here. A Haunt can mate only once, and once the body fluids mix.... “She raised her hands in defeat. “Like it or not, you bed him, you wed him."

  Andrea squinted in confusion. “And how many wives does he have?” The thought of joining a harem repulsed her, not that it would come to that.

  She'd geld him first.

  Jasmine laughed again and shook her head. “Sorry, I'm not explaining this too well. The Haunt can fool around all he or she wants, right up until the point of consummation. If they go past that, they're hooked for life. Adultery usually results in madness, thanks to their unique genetic makeup.” When the confusion didn't clear from Andrea's brow she explained gently, “Mathin is a virgin as we define the term, as are all unmated Haunt.” The grin was back as she waggled a piece of fruit at Andrea. “But if you value your life don't call him that. The term means a man of no experience here, and he's definitely not that."

  Her brain swimming with details, she muttered, “I ... see. I think. So you're saying that he plans to ... um, seduce me into marriage. Why? Didn't you just say there were other women here who'd like to...?” She trailed off, too embarrassed to say it. Besides, it didn't make sense.

  Jasmine braced her elbow on the counter and rested her chin in her hand, considering. “Well, like I said, there's always the sylph thing."

  Almost instinctively, Andrea discounted that. “Hardly.” She gave Jasmine a level stare. “Do I look like a red-hot vixen to you?"

  She smiled ruefully. “You're pretty, but no.” She poured them both a glass of iced tea. “Not that it matters. I knew what you were the moment I saw you. Besides, if Mathin says he was saving you from cults, then he was. Whatever you might think of him right now, he's not a liar.” She paused for a moment, tapping her nails on the counter-top. “There is one other thing."

  Andrea looked up, unsure whether to be hopeful or brace herself. “What's that?"

  The nails tapped faster in time to Jasmine's agitation. “That Haunt believe in a lot of things that might seem strange to you. One of those things is casting lots. They believe that the result of the lot casting is holy. That's how my friend Rihlia ended up here and married.” She sighed, tracing the marbled stone. “I don't know about that, but I must admit it seems to have worked out well. She's happy.” She stared off in the distance, her mind tracing memories. “One thing I have found to be uncannily accurate is the foreknowing some of them have. I've seen Mathin in some dangerous situations suddenly do the completely unexpected, often saving our lives. Later on he'd explain he'd been acting on one of his premonitions.” She paused, meeting Andrea's eyes. “In that I've become a believer. You would be too, had you seen what I've seen.” Her gaze grew troubled. “But this time I have to wonder if Mathin's hearing right. He claims that bringing you here was partly based on a premonition."

  What could she say to that? Andrea had no experience with such things, nor had she ever thought much about them. Did a premonition give someone the right to kidnap another person? Was it accurate if the other person didn't agree with it? And what did that have to do with Mathin's curious attraction to her?

  Questions swam in Andrea's brain, taxing her ability to nail them down. Sighing at the overload, she abandoned the subject for a moment, rubbing her forehead to release the tension. “My grandma's here."

  Jasmine didn't even blink at the unrelated topic. “I heard."

  "She brought her every earthly possession,” Andrea mumbled in distress.

  Her hostess chuckled softly in sympathy, remembering the garish collection. “I saw."

  "I didn't even bring a toothbrush,” Andrea moaned, sinking deeper into depres
sion.

  "Now that I can help with. Come on.” Jumping off the stool, Jasmine took her to her bedroom, heading for a closet door.

  Andrea stopped in the door, staring in shocked fascination at the ornately carved lovers on the posts of Jasmine's bed. A movement caught her eye and she looked up, startled to see a huge mirror on the ceiling. She wouldn't have taken Jasmine for the sort.

  "Keilor's idea of a present,” Jasmine said dryly, poking her head out of the closet.

  Embarrassed to be caught staring, Andrea quickly turned her head and hurried over.

  "Just be glad Rihlia and I have had some time to work on the Haunt seamstress's idea of underwear. You do not want to know what passed for bras when we showed up.” Beckoning to Andrea, she disappeared into the walk-in closet.

  "Now this,” she said, holding up a sapphire blue nightgown and robe set, “Will definitely look good on you. Besides, it's not like I have much use for it with Keilor around.” Grinning at Andrea's blush, she laid the set aside and rummaged for undergarments. “Brand new,” she said, holding up a ribbon-wrapped package of assorted silk panties and matching bras. “Lucky for you we're about the same size. I'm positive you don't want to go shopping for overnjis,” she said, holding up the garment in question.

  Andrea gasped. It was a push-up bra with short sleeves but no cups.

  "Quite.” Jasmine tossed it back into its drawer and opened another, extracting some socks, which she added to the pile. Next came some black-maroon pants made of a thick, dark silk. “Stronger than denim.” Added to that were several shirts and a gorgeous blue and gold, Grecian style dress, which Andrea immediately refused.

  "No, I really can't,” she insisted, though her eyes ate up the dress. She'd never owned such an exquisite piece of clothing.

  Jasmine waved off her protests. “Don't worry about it. Besides, it will match your ring."