by Autumn Dawn
"Jasmine doesn't."
His voice softened. “Jasmine is very special.” She gave him a suspicious look over her shoulder, and he playfully nipped her ear. “Not as special as you are.” His hands roamed over her thighs.
"Stop that!” she hissed, darting a look at the Haunt just ahead of them. She clamped her hands over his; a useless exercise. They continued to roam, stoking fires. “This is mean, Mathin. There's nowhere to finish this."
Relenting, he stopped tormenting her. This was no place to pull off and indulge themselves. “Later."
"Maybe,” she muttered.
His fingers twitched on her thighs.
"Ok! Later!” She had no doubt he'd start up again if she didn't quickly agree, and she didn't relish the thought of making out under the still dripping trees.
Privately she admitted Mathin's attentiveness was reassuring. Perhaps it had been only the “riding lessons” that had caused his distance, though she thought it was a really stupid way to teach. Maybe the warriors here really did prefer to learn that way, but she'd lay odds the women didn't. She'd have to ask some questions when they got where they were going.
She didn't like thinking about it much. As Mathin's wife she was now a lady of rank, and the idea terrified her. She didn't know what was expected of her, and life as the daughter of a blue collar worker and a stay at home mom had hardly prepared her. “Uh, Mathin?"
"Hm?"
"Is there a lot of protocol and stuff I ought to know? I mean, I'm not exactly princess material."
He laughed and nuzzled her throat. “You do fine, my rogue. Don't worry so."
Andrea shrugged her shoulder, dislodging him. “I'm serious! What's expected of a ... what am I now, anyway?"
"Lady wife. And as for what's expected ... you can have charge of running the household affairs of the citadel, if you like."
"You want me to be a housewife?” she inquired dryly. It didn't sound like much of a challenge. She felt him smile against her cheek.
"Our household consists of the entire staff and garrison, though I'll be happy to assign someone else to deal with the garrison if it overwhelms you. Traditionally the chatelaine oversees the supplying of the household from garden and field, orchards, livestock and the hunt. You'll have direct supervision of laundresses and household staff. There are budgets to see to and household and grounds improvements. In addition the lady of the manor often works with the clergy, seeing to the care of orphans, widows and the disabled.” He paused a moment. “If it doesn't seem like enough I'm sure I could find something else as well."
She choked. “Is it humanly possible for one person to do all that and still stay sane?"
"I don't know about humanly possible,” he teased, “but it should keep you out of trouble."
"While you ride around, bash bad guys with your sword and rescue damsels in distress, right?"
"Exactly."
The foothills got steeper until they were traveling through a crack on the top of the mountain four riders wide. Wind whistled through the pass, whipping her hair into Mathin's face until he handed her a black silk scarf to secure it under.
"Thanks.” As she looked up from tying it on, she gasped. Carved into the walls were crumbling reliefs of beast-headed men and women. “What is that?"
Mathin glanced at the rock. There were several scenes depicting the characters gardening, warring against giant reptiles and building cities. “They were here when we arrived. Legend has it they predate the arrival of the Symbiont People."
She whipped around to look at him. “Predate ... You mean there's someone else on this planet?"
Pleased to discuss one of his favorite subjects, he told her, “Not that we've seen. Both Jaymes’ citadel and mine were abandoned for many years before the Haunt took them over. But the Symbionts are now at war with something they call ‘the beasts'. They are very secretive about their business—possibly because they fear revealing weakness to us—but we do know they've been driven from the cities they built beyond the swamps by these beasts. Since no one wants the swamps it's doubtful the war will continue once they stay within its borders, but I would like to know what drove them there. It must be powerful, for even the Haunt found the Symbionts a challenge."
"I feel sorry for them. Being stuck in a swamp must be miserable."
"And dangerous,” he agreed, thinking of the huge reptiles that lived there. “But they've had centuries to learn to survive there. I doubt any army could drive them from their home ground."
She studied the giant carvings. “I guess it wouldn't scare you, their having animal heads and stuff."
"Because I am a Haunt?” He shook his head. “I'm also a man, Andrea. No one trusts the unknown."
Afraid she'd hurt him, she shifted uncomfortably. “I just thought you'd be a little more used to it, is all.” She shivered as he drew his nails lightly up her right triceps. Did he realize just how erotic she found his slightest touch?
"There are certain things I hope I never get used to,” he murmured playfully. “What do you think? Could there ever be anything other than sparks in the union of a Haunt and his sylph?"
"Couldn't happen,” she agreed, already half-drugged with desire.
Before he could torment them both further, he broke off and straightened in the saddle. It had been years since he'd had such a difficult time of keeping his hands to himself. Blame it on the newness of his marriage, the effect of her pheromone, but he suspected it was the woman herself. What was she doing to him?
"I love you, you know."
Andrea stiffened. Where had that come from? Unprepared for the admission, she panicked. Did he expect a declaration in return?
Events had happened so fast she wasn't sure what she felt for him. Desire, always. Incredible respect. Liking, even deep affection. But love? “I.... “Nothing else would come.
"You love me,” he finished for her, confident. “You might not be sure of it yet, but I am."
Lips numb with astonishment, she asked, “H-how do you know?"
"Your body talks. Your eyes speak it. Even Raziel the Cynical has remarked on it."
"He could be wrong."
"Who are you trying to convince?"
Good question. She didn't know why the idea of loving him was so scary. Because he was larger than life? As a wife there was no way she could measure up. He'd be disappointed, and she'd feel guilty. A cruel way to end it for them both. “Maybe you.... “What could she tell him? That he shouldn't love her?
He took pity on her, stroked her shoulder. “Give yourself time, my rogue. My people have an advantage over yours, for when we take on the Haunt we speak with our hands, our bodies and our eyes. We're rarely fooled, unlike humans who must rely on words. I know what you feel, even if you don't."
Shaken by his insight, she remained silent. How could he possibly know her better than she knew herself?
They stopped early that evening. No doubt bored with the journey, Matilda advanced on Andrea where she sat by the fire. In one hand she held a ball of varicolored yarn, the other, a hook.
"Here,” she said, thrusting the ball and hook at Andrea. “It's time you learned to crochet."
Aghast, Andrea stared at the items as if they were instruments of torture. “Don't you remember? I nearly flunked sewing.” Visions of ugly granny squares danced in her head.
Matilda sniffed. “Every self-respecting woman should know how to crochet and sew. Besides, where do you think you're going to find baby clothes here? There are no stores."
A flush of heat warmed Andrea from her shoulders to the tips of her ears. “Grandma!"
"Don't be a ninny, girl. I know what you've been up to. Now be quiet and listen."
Someone coughed, and there was more than one muffled snicker, hastily choked off.
Cowed by embarrassment, Andrea shut up. To her surprise she found she enjoyed the lesson. There was something fascinating about taking a ball of yarn and a stick and making something from it. Best of all, she could simpl
y tug on the string and undo any mistakes she might make.
"What are you making?” Mathin sat down beside her, carrying two plates. One he handed to Matilda, the other to his wife, who eagerly took it.
"Thank you. Aren't you going to eat?"
"In a moment.” He picked up her project and studied it.
"It's going to be a blanket,” she told him, feeling shy. After all, they hadn't used protection either time they'd ... she might just need it.
He hesitated. Much as he enjoyed Jasmine's children, he wasn't sure if he was ready to have any of his own. There were things he had yet to tell Andrea about his bloodline. Besides, even with the help of her symbiont there was no guarantee they could conceive. “Jasmine is the first human woman ever to bear a the child of a Haunt. Always before, on the rare occasions when a human woman did conceive a child, it miscarried. I don't know that we can—"
"Bosh!” Matilda interrupted, setting down her empty plate. She picked up her crochet—a tiny little bootie. “It won't be for lack of sneaking off in the bushes.” Oblivious to Andrea's intense embarrassment, she added, “Besides, the women in our family are fertile Myrtles. Once is all it takes. I swear all my sister had to do was wash her husband's shorts and—"
"Grandma!” If Andrea didn't die of mortification it would be a wonder. She'd never seen this side of her grandma and would have preferred to have remained ignorant.
"Mark my words, you'll have a strapping young son by this time next year."
Uncomfortable himself, Mathin rose, taking Matilda's empty plate. “Glad to know you're confident,” he muttered, then beat a hasty retreat.
"Quite a surprise, isn't she?” Raziel remarked as he joined him at the cookfire. Firelight played over his face. “Pity she's not a Haunt."
Surprised, Mathin raised a brow.
Raziel shrugged. “We are of an age."
A slow grin curved Mathin's mouth. He looked at Matilda with speculation. “I wonder what a symbiont could do to erase some of the marks of time for her? Who knows? If she's anything like her grandchild...."
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, Raziel considered Matilda from across the fire. “She has red hair.” It was easy to tell he liked the idea. “How would we do it?"
Pleased to see his friend interested in a woman after more years than he cared to count, Mathin clapped him on the back. “I will think on it. If it works you will have a challenge on your hands, I think."
Raziel's smile was wicked. “Is there anything better?"
* * * *
"You want me to what?” Andrea lifted her head from Mathin's naked chest and stared at him. The walls of his tent provided visual privacy, but she kept her voice very low.
"Think of her health,” Mathin suggested innocently.
She snorted. “I'm thinking of the tongue-lashing I'd get if I ever tried such a thing."
"It's for her own good. She's an old woman, in human years at least. You wouldn't want her to sicken on you."
Indignant now, she tried to sit up, but his arm around her waist prevented her. “Of course not, but I don't see why you don't go find her a symbiont. After all, it's your idea and you should be the one to suffer the consequences."
"Won't have time,” he said reasonably. “The symbionts are deep in the swamps, and I'll have enough to do just preventing chaos at the citadel. This will be much easier, trust me."
Defeated by logic, she reluctantly lay back down. “I don't know about this."
But she knew she'd do it anyway.
Chapter 9
"Good morning, Andrea."
"Hi, Grandma.” If Andrea's voice lacked enthusiasm, she couldn't help it. Mathin and Raziel had taken up stations nearby—Raziel against the wagon on her right and Mathin to the left—and watched her expectantly. She didn't know what Raziel's stake in this was beside curiosity, but they were making her nervous. “Sleep good?"
"Like a baby."
Her wide smile only increased Andrea's guilt. Her eyes cut to Mathin. “Great.” Galvanized by his frown, she took a step nearer. “Please remember I'm your only surviving kin and your favorite grandchild,” she said in a rush, and grabbed her grandmother's wrist in a death grip, willing half of the symbiont to go to her. In a flash, the symbiont on her right wrist crossed the gap.
Matilda screeched and jumped back, batting at the writhing symbiont. Undeterred, it twined around her body, writhed under her clothes. Curious, the Haunt stared. All the while she danced around, screaming at the top of her lungs. “Help! Get it off me!"
Alarmed, Andrea took a step back, as much to distance herself from the crime as to avoid the flailing limbs.
As abruptly as she'd started, Matilda jerked to a halt. Bent over, she clutched her knees and panted, her deep, rich red hair hanging down and obscuring her face.
A frisson of unease shook Andrea. Moments before Matilda's hair had been faded tangerine.
Matilda lifted her head.
Shock turned Andrea to stone. No older seeming than Andrea herself and far more beautiful, Matilda's youthful, deep blue eyes narrowed on her only grandchild.
"What did you do?” Startled by her own voice, she looked down, confirming the damage. Hands trembling, she lifted them. The age spots and fragile look of raised veins had completely disappeared under ageless skin. One hand flew to her mouth, the back pressed against her lips.
Scared at Matilda's drastic reaction, Andrea quickly fetched a mirror, hoping to reassure her. “It's okay, Grandma. The symbiont just made you young again."
Matilda took the glass and stared at it, stone still. Then she threw it, shattering it against the side of the wagon, narrowly missing Raziel's thigh. “How could you!” Tears of fury welling in her eyes, she rushed past Andrea and into the woods.
"I'll go after her.” Raziel took off in pursuit.
Shaken, Andrea hugged herself. Even Mathin's comforting arm around her shoulders didn't help. “I never meant to hurt her,” she whispered.
Mathin pressed his lips to her hair.
All that day Matilda ignored her. As for the Haunt ... they couldn't keep their eyes off her. Raziel in particular received more than one black look as Matilda caught him staring, his eyes a little lower than her face. Caught, he merely raised one brow and returned his attention to the path descending the mountain.
Deprived of her target, Matilda glared at Andrea.
"I'm beginning to think I was conned,” Andrea hissed to Mathin in disgust, taking her guilt and passing it on in the form of displeasure. “You knew this would happen, didn't you?"
Unperturbed, he answered, “No, but I can't help but notice your grandmother looks very healthy."
"You're a jerk, you know that? How could you notice something like that?"
He sighed. “My rogue, stop snarling. Although this possessiveness is flattering, you don't need it. One siren is all I can handle, and all I want."
Her emotions had been on a seesaw all day, ever since she'd given half the symbiont to Matilda. Suddenly she couldn't handle it. She burst into tears and tried to leap off of Bloodlight. “I hate you!"
Startled, Mathin wrapped his arms around her and refused to let her go. “What is it?"
"Let me go! Let go!” The panic attack, something she hadn't experienced since being adopted by the symbiont, hit hard. Intellectually she knew what was happening, but emotionally she had to get away. Fighting him with every ounce of strength, she twisted in his arms, causing the rest of the Haunt to halt and stare. It only made things worse. “Let go of me!” she screamed, tears racing down her face.
"What's wrong with her?” Raziel demanded, cutting a sharp look at Matilda as if she knew the answer.
She did. “Let her go, Mathin! It's a panic attack. Something triggered her hypoglycemia."
"She might hurt herself,” he protested, undecided.
Andrea tried to bite him.
"No! She just needs space and quiet to calm down. Let her go."
He opened his arms. Immediately Andrea r
aced into the woods, ducked behind a tree.
"Find something for her to eat. Meat and vegetables, fruit, anything but sugar. It will only make it worse later.” Matilda jumped from the wagon and followed Andrea. She peeked behind the tree, then moved back to wait on the other side.
The sound of distant sobbing made Mathin flinch. Dismounting, he rummaged in his saddlebags for his stash of spicy dried meat and vegetable chips. Holding it in his hand, he stared at the tree hiding his wife, feeling completely useless.
Raziel joined him. “It might have to do with dividing the symbiont. It might have shocked her system."
His lips compressed in a tight line, Mathin nodded. “I hadn't considered it might reduce the healing affect on her body.” Guilt racked him. It was the kind of thing he should have foreseen.
"It will regrow. It might even be it will happen just this once,” Raziel tried to assure him. “Besides, if anyone should feel guilty, it should be me. I was the one who wanted—"
"This won't help, Raziel,” he interrupted. If all she needed was time for the symbiont to regrow, he would give her time. In the meanwhile, he meant to take better care of her. It was the very least she deserved.
Curled into a ball behind the tree, Andrea wished she could die. It was so humiliating to fall apart like that in front of a crowd of witnesses. If she were just a little stronger, she'd always felt, just a little more determined, she could beat it. But it never worked. Often it was all she could to hold herself together as she was driving or in public. In spite of her best efforts the attacks would come, sometimes due to slips in her diet, others to stress. Around her periods or with colds had always been the worst, and she dreaded those times. Sometimes her spirits and health had sunk so low as to trigger suicidal thoughts. Even knowing depression was a hazard of her condition didn't halt it.
Now Mathin had witnessed her falling apart. Her lips tightened with self-directed anger and shame. If he scorned her, she'd cry inside. If he treated her as if she where made of spun glass, it would be even worse. She wanted him to pretend it never happened. More than one doctor had accused her of making it up to get attention or recommended a psychiatrist and as a result she was paranoid of making a scene. No one in their right mind wanted to be stared at like a circus freak.
