by Autumn Dawn
"You called?” he asked, coming to a halt just before her.
His alert expression called forth a stab of guilt. Had he given the link to her for emergency use only? “I'm sorry if I interrupted anything,” she apologized immediately. “I didn't have any way to tell you it wasn't an emergency."
He grimaced and joined her on the rim. “My fault. I should have shown you how to use the speaking feature. Fortunately I was able to contact your bodyguards and discover your whereabouts.” He took her link from her and instructed her on its use, flipping open the catch that transformed the link into a cell phone and showing her the list of codes used by the mute Haunt. “Now you can contact me properly."
"Thank you.” She smiled at him briefly before pocketing the link. The smile faltered under his inquiring stare. “Um, I wanted to talk to you about the tournament you'd entered."
"I've already canceled."
"I don't want you to,” she said quickly, scowling at the fish. “Jasmine said you'd be plagued by wannabes and jerks if you do. Challengers,” she added, when he frowned.
His brow cleared. “I'm touched by your concern, wildflower, but it's unnecessary.” He rested his forearm on his knee as he tilted his head to catch her expression. Sunlight glittered on the water behind him, heightening the sense of energy he ever carried with him. He flashed her a roguish smile. “I don't mind the exercise."
She sighed in impatience. “Jasmine seems to think it's a bad idea."
Mathin looked at the water, his dark lashes veiling his eyes. “Jasmine interferes too much,” he murmured. Suddenly he smiled. “Though perhaps she has a point.” For a moment he waited, allowing the tension to build. The trauma on her face was endearing. Did she have any idea how transparent she was? “Very well. I will enter the tournament if you will."
"What?” she asked, blinking in confusion. “I don't know anything about that stuff."
His grin widened as he realized what she thought. The idea of her battling Haunt warriors was rather comical. “I didn't mean as a contestant, Andrea, but as my prize.” His tone became pure seduction. “After all, I'll need an incentive, and I'm afraid none of the other women will do."
"There are other prizes,” she reminded him, unconsciously kneading her fingers. The man was asking a lot.
"None worthy of my time."
She bit her lip. “What if somebody else wins?"
"Nobody else will win,” he promised her with complete confidence. Perhaps one day, when age withered his bones to brittle uselessness, but not this tournament, and not his woman. “It is your decision. I will not enter without you."
"No.” It wasn't a choice he offered her, she told herself, looking away from his expressionless face. Something twisted inside her chest. It didn't matter. She wouldn't be held hostage to the emotions he tried to force on her. She couldn't be tricked or manipulated into a relationship with him.
Dangerously close to losing his temper, Mathin listened intently to the sound of the moving water, focused on the coolness of the late afternoon breeze. This woman and her fears were sorely testing his reserve. He'd never had a trial of such patience in his life.
What he wanted to do was fall on her like a ravenous volti and devour her, he thought as his hand curled into a fist. Only the constant distracting of his mind kept him from it. Well, that and rigorous physical exercise, which her frustrating call had torn him from.
Perhaps it was time he showed her it wasn't wise to tease a Haunt.
Taking her left hand, he raised it up until they could both see the stone of her ring glinting in the sunlight. “What is this?"
"A ring,” she answered cautiously, uncertain where he was going with this.
"The ring I gave you and you accepted,” he reminded her in a firm voice. When her eyes flew to his he nodded grimly. “Both of us understood what it meant. You trusted your instincts and accepted my promise,” he insisted when she started shaking her head in horror.
Desperate to deny his accusation, she opened her mouth—only to discover that no words of denial would escape. Inside her the truth rang like the toll of a chapel bell, resonating through her soul.
Unable to refute him, she turned on herself.
"I have no instincts!” she shouted, jerking her hand away as she rose to her feet.
He rose, too.
"I don't have cosmic voices ringing in my head or visions popping out of my eyes!” Her hand made a great chopping motion as she slung away the very idea. “I'm a practical, boring woman and I want a practical, normal man.” She began to pace. “I have a carefully planned out, perfectly sane path for my life. And guess what, Mathin?” She whirled on him. “You're not in it."
Arms crossed, he stared at her, unimpressed. There was only one way to deal with this foolishness; he had to force her to look at her own heart. “Then return to me my ring.” The words hurt, because he knew she'd do it, but he refused to hesitate. If she wished to suffer then he'd let her do so until she sickened of it, even if he had to suffer himself.
Only when she worked through her own delusions of being trapped would she truly be free.
She recoiled as though slapped. Her hand flew to the ring, not to remove it, but to cradle it protectively. One tug and she could end his claims to her forever. The very thought made her stomach knot with protest. Tears sprang to her eyes but would not fall as she slowly obeyed him.
With a trembling hand, she extended the ring, her throat too tight for words.
Without an outward trace of pity or tender hesitation, he took it. “Thank you,” he said, considering the ring where it lay on his palm. She would never know just how raw her actions scraped him. No woman had ever had the power to cause him such agony. “I know just who to give this to."
Jerking at the pain his callous words brought, she stared blindly past him, willing him to leave.
She got her wish.
Only because she refused to cry in public did she make it from the gardens without falling apart. Without her direction her feet led her to an ancient stone chapel at the end of a randomly chosen path, then dropped her to her knees as she entered the shadow of the small building.
The cool interior held no benches or furnishings of any kind save the granite altar. Slanted rays light of the late afternoon sun fell upon it, gently lighting both it and the three steps leading to its level. An air of majesty and peace filled the entire room like the very breath of God.
It was a lovely place to nurse a broken heart.
Miserable as she was, Andrea still noticed enough of her surroundings to be surprised. Perhaps the congregation brought their own cushions to sit on? At the moment she didn't care that she had nothing but stone to kneel on. Perhaps she deserved nothing better.
Misery hounded her as she knelt before the alter. Silent tears of hurt wove down her cheeks, a spillover from the bitter knowledge that she was the cause of her own unhappiness. He'd only done as she asked, though he'd done it quick enough. But then who could blame him? It wasn't as if she'd given him any encouragement. She'd finally gotten her way—she should be happy.
Instead the tears came harder, burning her eyes even as her heart broke. Inside she knew she'd just thrown something—someone—precious away. Nothing she could do would ever make it right.
"Tears? At this time in the morning?"
Andrea gasped and jerked her head up, staring at the old man who peered curiously at her from his seat at the steps of the alter. Feeling like a fool, she hastily wiped her eyes. “I'm sorry. I didn't—"
"Lost a love, have you?” he asked kindly.
Sensing genuine sympathy and responding to his non-threatening presence, she sniffed and cleared her throat. Who else did she have to talk to? Perhaps he was even a priest of some sort. Not that he looked like one in his dark gray pants and brown shirt. With his bushy gray mustache and rough voice, he could have been the actor Sam Elliot's brother. Still, what did she know about what priests looked like here? For all she knew he was their version of
the Pope.
Her lip trembled. “I hurt him.” It was a measure of her emotional state that she didn't ponder the ridiculousness of blurting her personal problems to a complete stranger. Only Mathin could reduce her to such a state.
He flicked a dismissive finger, unimpressed. “So? Give him a kiss and apologize. He'll forgive you. Unless he's a cracked skull,” he added reflectively.
Her mouth dropped. “But I can't!” she cried passionately, shifting to a sitting position before her legs went numb. “I think I love him."
"This is not good?” He eyed her dubiously.
"I can't love him!” She shook her head furiously in emphasis. “I barely know him."
A snort accompanied his answer to that. “What does that matter? I met my wife one day and married her the next. Dead she's been for seventeen years now, yet daily I miss her. Take what you can from life, girl. Take before it's gone."
Shaken by his story, she stared at the stones. Were she and Mathin supposed to love so fast? Was Mathin even in love? He hadn't said so. “He claims to want me because of these premonitions he has."
"Even better.” He shrugged. “If you can't trust a vision, what can you trust?"
Frustrated, she stared at him. “That's not logical! I need more than that."
"Then you'll always need more,” he said, standing up. He extended a hand and helped her to her feet. “If you love him at all then learn to have some faith in him. Watch him with his friends and the ones he cares for. Speak to them about him, watch how he responds in anger. You say you hurt him this afternoon? Watch what he does now. A petty man would run to another woman and secure her affection to salve his pride. Will he?"
Though her heart wasn't sure, she shook her head no. At least, she hoped he wouldn't. Because suddenly she was painfully aware how much such a thing would hurt her. What would Mathin do?
He stared at her for a silent minute. “Are you a coward, woman?"
Outraged—usually people got to know her better before tossing insults—she snapped, “No! But—"
"If you're not a coward then there are no buts.” With a nod of acknowledgment he walked past her, leaving through the chapel door.
She ran to the door. “Wait! Who are you?"
He shrugged. “The gardener.” He walked off.
Frustrated by the odd encounter, Andrea thrust her fists in her pockets and just stood there, silently fuming. What did he know about it?
Unbidden, the shadowed grief in his eyes when he spoke of his wife swam from her memory, shaming her. Ok, so maybe he did know. The question was, should she follow his advice? There was no sense in chasing Mathin down unless she did, for he'd not be pleased by a mere apology unless it accompanied a change of heart.
Fear snaked inside her as she glanced at the altar. Mathin was asking for forever. Did she really know him well enough to make that kind of commitment?
She reviewed the facts she knew about him. He was good with kids, a point in his favor. He never yelled at her, also good.
The matter of his race she decided to throw on the neutral pile for now. If Jasmine was any indication it could be overcome. Better just to give that one time.
She blushed as she remembered the plunger thing he'd included in the toiletries he'd given her and Jasmine's raised eyebrow when she'd asked her what it was.
"I never thought I'd see the day when Mathin, of all people, would suffer the humiliation to buy a woman a catch-cup.” She'd shaken her head. “That, my dear, is the equivalent of a man buying a box of tampons.” She'd grinned. “I wish I'd been there to see his face! He must really like you."
Granted, it wasn't a dozen roses, Andrea thought to herself with a wry grin, but exceedingly more practical. And, like the repellent, it showed he was trying to take care of her in his way. Maybe, she thought, daring to open a little to the idea. Maybe it could work.
* * * *
The early morning haze had barely cleared when Mathin found himself engaged in yet another challenge match. Had the man known what a savage mood he was in he might have chosen another time, for it was clear even to the onlookers ringing the practice courtyard that Mathin was just toying with the winded challenger now.
Mathin was perfectly aware when Andrea arrived, for he had removed the nose filter the night before. If the scent of her caused him to pounce sooner than he might have, then so be it. He would see to it she had nothing to complain of.
A lick of dark fire uncurled inside at the very thought.
Andrea's ring hung on a cord around his neck, making a perfect target for his opponent. Not that the man was capable of even nicking Mathin's bare torso, much less gaining the scarlet sash about his waist. Indeed, it was all he could do simply to keep moving as Mathin drove him about like a master with a cadet.
"Is this all you have?” Mathin asked in a bored tone as their energy blades clashed yet again. The sizzling blue light cast a sickly glow to the warrior's face.
Then again, maybe it wasn't the light, for out of the corner of his eye Mathin had seen the unattached males among the crowd begin to collect around his chosen mate. Only the four Haunt bodyguards standing grim guard over her protected her from their slobbering affections.
He looked back at his opponent, his eyes glowing with golden fury.
The man was breakfast.
Andrea had never had so many men drop what they were doing to admire her before. Although a trifle unnerving, their sudden fascination did boost her confidence. After all, she was irresistible, right? Surely Mathin couldn't stay mad with her for long.
Not that one would know it by his face, however. For a moment he only watched her, his blue blade still extended as his fallen opponent scrabbled backward out of his range. Even from the distance of ten feet the golden lightning in his gaze seared her.
Mathin turned his attention to his blade as he flicked it off, transforming it back to the dagger she was used to seeing at his side. When he looked up again, his eyes were once again black.
"Enjoying yourself?” He asked dryly, sending a warning glance at her herd of admirers.
To a man they stepped away, clearing a space between them.
Instead of closing the distance, he folded his arms and waited to see why she'd sought him out. The difficult and sleepless night he'd just passed had not left him in the best of moods.
When Andrea walked toward him, determination in her eyes, his brow rose in grudging admiration. Few dared to brave him in this mood. That she would be one of the few somehow didn't surprise him.
She stopped smartly just before him. “I want my ring back."
Though his face remained impassive, inside Mathin was intrigued. This was a new approach. No apology? No womanly promises of future good behavior?
What he didn't know was that Andrea had carefully considered those approaches and discarded every one. Instead, she'd settled on one sure to break through any wall of reserve he might throw up. She gave a curt nod. “I'll fight you for it."
That won several startled chuckles from the small crowd. Some of the women—Mathin's groupies, she thought with annoyance—started whispering.
Mathin's lips twitched. “You'll fight me?” he repeated, slowly sizing her up. He was definitely suppressing a smile now. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, humoring her.
Feigning nonchalance, though she could feel her face heating up, she shrugged. “Oh, the usual. I thought I'd use one of those blade thingies first. After that I might shoot you just to make certain you're down to stay."
He looked away, struggling not to burst out laughing. If she was trying to best him by humor, she was certainly winning. Even the soldiers in the background were convulsed with laughter. “Blade thingies?” The terminology for the Haunt's cherished Blue Death was so ridiculous it was a wonder he could contain himself.
"Sure,” she continued, barely able to suppress her own nervous giggles. “Of course, you'll have to teach me how to use it first. That could take a while. Still, think of the challenge y
ou'll be passing up if you say no. I could be the most interesting contender of your life.” Dropping her eyes, she added, lower, “You'd have to teach me everything, Mathin. I don't have any experience in the kind of battles you've engaged in.” Swallowing hard, she forced herself to look at him, her heart, and her apology, in her eyes.
His face softened. It was impossible not to be moved by the sweet innocence in her gaze. Why had he not considered this might be part of her problem? “And you wish me to teach you?"
This time the heat she felt was not only in her face. “Not all in a day,” she mumbled to his chest, stuffing her hands in her pockets to hide their trembling. When even the sight of his bare chest became too much she looked aside, busily searching the ground for distractions.
The hilt of a blade appeared under her nose. She looked up at him questioningly.
"Take it.” He urged, holding it out to her with a slight smile. “You wished to learn.” Dismayed that he would take her literally, she did as he asked. Had he completely missed her hint?
Mathin decided an hour later that he'd better call a halt. Although Andrea had a surprising amount of potential for a human, she was stiff and awkward with their audience and the emotions unsettled between them. She would be sore enough now without him driving her to exhaustion.
Besides, he had other plans for her.
Taking her hand, he led her past the curious onlookers. There was a small, private pool he knew of where they could refresh themselves and play. His lips curved in a sensual smile.
He definitely wanted to play.
The verdigris crusted gate in the shrubs he led her to opened without a sound, closing behind them just as quietly. Distracted by the tall hedge maze around them, she did not see him lock it.
Once again he took her hand, leading her without hesitation to the heart of the maze. Exhausted by her exertions, Andrea was grateful to sit on the small knoll beside Mathin's pond and just catch her breath.
"We can bathe here,” he told her, untying his sash. “No one will disturb us."
"N-now?” she stuttered as he dropped the sash at her feet. He unbuckled his weapons belt.
