“Fuck,” he said as he waited and then Fraya was aware of Tracy’s voice coming through the system.
She couldn’t follow the rest of the conversation, her mind too busy trying to deal with her bodily duress, her comprehension a vague haze of mist. Fraya felt like fainting, but she fought it. She also fought the water that Saunders offered her, the glass he tried to press to her lips. The door opened a few seconds later and Tracy rushed to her side.
“What’s wrong with her?” she heard Tracy say.
“Fuck if I know. Let’s get her to the flat.”
“Can you carry her?”
“I don’t think she’ll walk there.”
“We’ll take the backstairs, Ben.”
Fraya felt herself being lifted and was only aware of the play of the overhead lights as they made their way down the stairs and through a quiet hallway that led to an apartment in the residence.
Saunders left her on a couch and she heard Tracy’s voice again, this time speaking to someone who didn’t reply, someone who had Tracy giving snappy one-sided replies. It took her a minute to figure out that Tracy was on the phone.
She lifted her hand. “Not the doctor, please. I want Cynthia.”
She saw Tracy glancing at Saunders. “He’ll be here in a few hours. Said he could come by private jet.”
“What do we do in the meantime?”
Tracy shook her head. “He said there was nothing we could do.”
Fraya slipped in and out of states of awareness. Sometimes she thought she saw Emilio, his powerful body posed over her, her hands and feet tied to his bed, and it made the ache worse. At other times she heard Saunders’s voice, but couldn’t place it. What was Saunders doing in the condo? But it wasn’t the condo. Then why was Al sitting in the window? If only she could black out completely, so she didn’t have to feel the agonizing suffering. Unfortunately relief didn’t come in such a way. Instead, she hovered between clarity and hallucinating confusion, fighting her body, fighting her need.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fraya wasn’t sure for how long she had been in the apartment, but something pulled at her conscience, urging her to surface to comprehension. Even if doing so would mean embracing the pain, her body obeyed automatically, her tortured nerve endings spiking in a convulsive crescendo that had her calling out. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she had called his name–Emilio. God, it sounded so sweet on her lips. Her awareness tightened like a vice around her guts and exploded into shards of glass, cutting into her last reserve as she felt a familiar touch wiping the hair from her brow. Emilio. She had to be dreaming. Or she was unconscious. But then why could she still feel the pain, worse than ever?
She heard his voice say, “I’m right here, baby,” before she gave in to her fantasy, and then darkness wrapped around her.
* * * *
Emilio kneeled next to the couch in Saunders’s apartment, looking at his mate with an agony that tore into his chest. Marguerite had opened her medical bag on the coffee table and was preparing an injection.
He surprised himself with the calmness of his tone. “How long since she’s been like this?”
“I found her like this in her office this morning,” Saunders said, looking on from the far side of the room.
“This would have started earlier,” Marguerite said. “It’s at its peak now.”
“Hurry the fuck up, will you?” Emilio said, wishing Marguerite would move faster. He turned to Tracy. “Have you noticed anything before?”
Tracy shrugged. “She had been acting a bit strange since yesterday, but I had no reason to expect it would turn into anything like this. What’s wrong with her?”
Emilio made space for Marguerite to administer the injection. He pulled a hand through his hair. “Mating heat.”
Saunders, who had kept a safe distance, seeming uncertain as to how to act, stepped forward. “You better explain this. If Fraya is suffering from a condition that could affect her work, I ought to have known about it.”
Emilio tensed. “There is nothing wrong with her that can’t be fixed,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Nevertheless, I don’t like to be kept in the dark. If this is something that will interfere with her performance, I won’t cover her ass, whether you’ve donated the land for the site or not.”
Emilio flexed his hands, taking a prowling step toward Saunders, but Marguerite straightened and laid her hand on Emilio’s arm. “She’ll be sleeping for a while. I’ve administered a tranquilizer and the hormone treatment. What she needs most now, is to rest. She probably hasn’t slept for a couple of days.”
“You haven’t answered my question, Larraín,” Saunders said.
As if sensing that Emilio was on the verge of exploding, Marguerite answered instead. “Emilio and Fraya have an especially strong mating. You can almost compare her physical reaction to a substance addiction. Without a hormone that Emilio’s body produces, Fraya starts having withdrawal symptoms.”
“If I understand what you’re saying,” Saunders said, “then she can’t stay away from him,” he nodded at Emilio, “for extended periods of time. I’ll have to report this to HR. If she’s not competent...”
“And shatter her dreams?” Emilio said. “I don’t think so. She is more than competent and you fucking know it.”
Marguerite placed herself between the two men. “What Emilio says is true. It can be fixed. She just needs to remain on the hormone treatment, and she’ll function as perfectly as any other human being.”
Emilio made an effort to calm himself and turned to Saunders. “This is my fault. I suggested eliminating the treatment. I fucked up. It won’t happen again.”
Saunders regarded him with something like a mixture of envy and pity. Emilio felt like punching the man, and everyone else who threatened Fraya’s happiness. Hell, he should be punching himself first. He sighed. “Can I have a private moment with Marguerite please?”
“Sure,” Tracy said, pulling at Saunders’s arm. “Let’s go fix some drinks. I’m sure we can all do with one.”
Once alone with Marguerite and Fraya, Emilio took Fraya’s hand and kissed the inside of her palm before brushing his lips over the healing tattoo.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was going to get so bad, Marguerite?”
Her eyes were sympathetic, but her voice stern. “I tried to, Emilio, but this is something even I have never dealt with before. From the two cases I’ve managed to track down and study, it never mentioned anything so severe. But then again, in those cases the mates were never separated for extended periods of time.”
“I suffered, but never like this.”
“Again, I told you it was worse for the female. You’re the donor of the hormone, her body is the receptor. Simplified, you could say she needs you more than you need her.”
Emilio wiped a hand over his face. “I want her back on the treatment.”
“I expected you would say that. I brought a treatment of six months with me.”
“God,” Emilio shook his head, “I didn’t expect this.”
“Don’t punish yourself, Emilio. You didn’t make her suffer on purpose. I just sometimes wish you would trust me more. If you had listened, this could have been prevented. I suppose on the up-side, you’ve learned your lesson.”
“So did she,” he said, regret cutting into his gut, “the hard way.”
“It’s over now,” Marguerite said with her usual clinical air. “You should get her home and let her sleep another few hours. When she wakes up the worst of the pain will be gone. But she’ll still need you.”
“Can we manage this separation in future? Will she suffer?”
“Not if you optimize on having intercourse when you are together, and not if she takes the treatment.”
He couldn’t image what she had been through, even the year before, after their first time. “Did she suffer when she sought out St. Clair? Was it like this?”
Marguerite shook her head. “When I spoke
to Cynthia on the way here, she said Fraya suffered, but not like this. But she went to Cynthia a week after one, isolated exposure to your hormone. The intensity of her need is directly related to the level of your hormones in her blood.”
He grunted. “So, the more she gets, the more she needs?”
“Simplified, yes.”
“God.” He grabbed his head in his hands. “What did I do to her?”
“You did it to each other, Emilio.”
“But I infected her.”
“Infected is a bad choice of word.”
Emilio felt lost for the first time in his life. The woman he loved was suffering, because of him. “When does it ever stop, Marguerite?”
“The arousal will only ease after conception. Luckily, reported cases stated it didn’t resume after birth.”
He stared at Fraya’s sleeping form. “And you know her answer to that. She doesn’t want to have a baby. And especially not with me.”
He knew how much Fraya’s dream meant to her. He could never take it away from her, could never live with himself or her resentment if he would ever be forced to do something like that for the sake of her wellbeing.
“Not now, she doesn’t. But when the time is right. Most women want a baby, sooner or later, and then you’ll both be free of this physical bond.”
“Fraya is not most women, Marguerite. Her career means everything to her. I’m not sure she’ll ever want to sacrifice that for a child. And we’ll never be free. We’re mated.”
He said it because he wanted to believe in it. He couldn’t give her up. Never. Even if he wanted the addiction to subside. He didn’t want her bound to him by something she couldn’t control. He wanted her by his side by her own, free, sweet will.
“You’ll work it out,” Marguerite said, sounding optimistic. “I suggest you get her home now. When she wakes up, you know what you’ll have to do.”
Yes, he did. And damn him for wanting it, more than anything in the world.
Emilio nodded. “I’ll inform Ben and Tracy that we’re heading out. Ready?”
Marguerite shook her head, smiling. “I’ll get a room in the residence for the night. I don’t think I want to hang around the condo for what your wife is going to ask from you later.”
Emilio looked at Marguerite darkly. She really didn’t know Fraya at all. Fraya wasn’t going to ask for anything. She was way too proud.
* * * *
Fraya woke up in her bed in the condo. The pain was still there, but it was tolerable. She felt comfortable for the first time since she had left Emilio’s house in Santiago. Her senses were more alert. There was only one person who could make her feel like that. She turned on her side, and stared at Emilio in wonder. It wasn’t a dream. It was his voice she had heard, his gentle touch on her face she had felt. He lay next to her, very real, and very naked. She felt her body preparing for his caress, as if helpless to his magnetic pull.
He lifted himself on one elbow, and folded his other hand around the back of her neck. “You had me worried. I thought you’d never wake up.”
Fraya flushed at the memory of how weak she had been, how deeply she had needed him.
“Did I behave badly?” she asked. “Did I swear at Saunders?”
“If anyone behaved badly, it was me. I swore at him.”
“What happened?”
“You collapsed. Ben and Tracy took you to their place. Tracy called me, hoping I could shed some light on your strange condition, and Marguerite and I took a jet out here as fast as we could. Marguerite injected you with a hormone to ease your pain.” His fingers tightened around her neck. “Feeling better?”
She nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Fraya, when it got that bad?”
She looked away. “I really failed, didn’t I? Couldn’t even last a week.”
“You didn’t fail. I did. And you should have told me.”
“I can’t run to you every time I need sex, and I can’t expect you to put your life on hold and run after me either.”
She was acutely aware of the hopelessness of their situation. Emilio kissed the corner of her mouth her gently.
“Fraya, will it be so terrible for you to admit that you need me?”
Fraya turned her head back to face him. “The truth is, I need you more than you need me.” And in that lay a terrible fear that he could survive without her, while she couldn’t.
“I need you just as bad,” he said, his voice pained.
“Did you faint? Did you stop working? Did you stop thinking? Functioning? Eating?”
“No.” His eyes filled with regret. “It’s as agonizing as hell, but it’s not like that.” His thumb brushed over her lips. “We’ll get through this. You’ll go back on the treatment. I’ve scheduled a session for you with Marguerite tomorrow morning, before she heads back out. There are some things she needs to explain to you, things that could help.” His hand went to her belly, his palm warm and smoothing. “Promise me you won’t do this to yourself again. I’ll never forgive myself.”
His head went down, giving her the kiss she needed, the touch that would pump his hormone into her and make her need him more fiercely, shouting his name helplessly until he stilled the hunger he had created.
When she tried to move his hands gripped her hair, holding her mouth to his, claiming her like there was none other but her, like no one else had ever existed in his bed before her. Even as her body molded to his, crying out her demand in a language that didn’t need words, her heart ached at the knowledge that Emilio had taken her as his mate, not to love and to hold, but for the sex they both couldn’t function without.
She moaned in regret as he pulled away from her, brushing his lips over her jaw and neck.
“Want to eat something first? Marguerite said you most probably hadn’t eaten or slept in a couple of days. You must be starving.”
“Do you really want to torture me?” she asked, food being the last thing on her mind.
“In that case, dinner will have to wait. I think I know exactly what you need.”
His hand went to her thigh, drawing patterns over her sensitive, inner skin. The touch was gentle, caring, and it almost made her cry for the promise it insinuated but didn’t mean.
“And what do I need?” she said, not wanting to think about how badly a part of her she didn’t care to acknowledge ached, needing more than a physical touch, so much more than a hormone.
“Do you want me to tell you?” he said, raking his teeth down to the curve of her breasts. “I can get really graphic.”
She caught her breath, flames following in the path of his tongue. “Oh, I already know that. How about I have it the way I want?” she said shyly, thinking about the things she had liked, and how much she needed to be at his mercy.
He lifted his head to look into her eyes. “When you come to me, you can have it your way, but since I’m the one who ran to you, I’ll have it my way.”
“No tying me up, then?” she said, letting the disappointment flow into her voice.
He looked amused and nudged her nose with his. “No, baby. When you’re ready to come to me, I may reconsider satisfying your whims.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“But I do aim to please.”
And then she couldn’t speak anymore, as Emilio stole more than her words. He took her control, her body, and almost all of her mind.
* * * *
Fraya hadn’t slept much, but she was content and satisfied, happy, she realized with a start, when she woke up the next morning. Emilio wasn’t next to her. The smell of freshly brewed coffee perfumed the air. On inspection she saw that once more only Al was her companion. For a minute she was frightened that Emilio had gone without saying goodbye, until she noticed his overnight bag that still lay on the sofa in the bedroom.
Fraya showered and dressed in a white tank top and tan colored chino style pants. She brushed her hair out but didn’t bother drying it. When she walked into the kitchen she saw
Emilio through the window approaching from the front road, running at a comfortable pace. His powerful leg muscles moved with every step and the definition of his abs was evident through his T-shirt. He was a sight to drool over. She didn’t need him like the day before, but the wanting was there, calling to mind that there was more to her desire than a simple hormone addiction.
Al called out, reminding her that he had to be fed. It was a good excuse to tear her attention away from the man who smiled at her as he slowed to a walking pace and stepped onto the narrow patio. Fraya took a piece of raw chicken and left it in Al’s bowl, running her hand over the smoothness of his feathers.
“You like him,” Emilio said from the door, a hint of approval in his voice.
“I haven’t thanked you in person yet, for a gift so exquisite.”
She turned to fetch a coffee mug. Emilio caught her arm as she walked by, sat down on a bar stool and pulled her into his lap.
“Show me how thankful you are,” he said, his hand stroking up her back. When his lips found hers, she knew that breakfast was going to have to wait, just like the dinner that never materialized, and she couldn’t care less. He tasted like coffee and smelled like midnight and desert. Fraya moaned when he gently put her back on her feet.
“Food first,” he said, moving from the stool to pour her coffee. “I don’t like that you haven’t eaten in days. Al Shain seems to be the only one around here with a decent breakfast in his claws.”
“What did you mean with what you said in your note, that you couldn’t think of a better companion?”
“You’re my little falcon, Fraya.” When she looked at him questioningly, he said, “Did you know the Hebrew word for falcon is ‘aya’? Your name is very appropriate. You remind me of a falcon, the fastest moving creature on earth.”
“Fast moving?”
“Nothing will ever stand in your way, Fraya. You’ll fly to the moon if there’s no one here on earth to ground you. You belong up there, with the brilliant stars you observe. When I look at that falcon, I see your brilliance. The falcon is the highest achiever in terms of avian intelligence and innovation in feeding habits.”
The Astronomer Page 24
