“It’s beautiful. Although the price tag makes me want to puke.”
“That’s what credit cards are for.” He shrugged. “I can afford it, Jenna. Allow me this indulgence. Please?”
She took a deep breath and it seemed to help.
She came around the bar to his side and slid her arms around his chest, resting her head on his shoulder as she had longed to do. His heart beat against her cheek and it sounded perfectly normal.
His hands stroked her back. “You’re trembling.” He sounded surprised.
“I’m afraid. There’s so much to know, to learn. It’s all going so fast. I wouldn’t have chosen this for myself, Rhys but I’m being forced to it. All I want to do is be myself. I just want both of us to be normal. Ordinary.”
“For tonight, we can.” His voice rumbled against her ear.
“And the future?”
He lifted her chin, made her look at him. “There are no guarantees. For anyone. You just have to take time as it’s given to you. Moments, remember? Enjoy the moments.”
She kissed him and knew as she reached for a reassurance he couldn’t give her. But for the moment she could fool herself that all was normal. Ordinary. That Rhys was simply a wonderful lover she had found. A vacation romance.
The kiss deepened and then she was no longer pretending. With fingers that trembled with excitement, not fear, she stripped him of his shirt and ran her hands over his shoulders and chest. She admired the strength they represented and enjoyed the heat of his flesh, the satiny touch of the skin and the hard muscles beneath.
His hands deftly slid her tee-shirt from her as she played.
Yes, this was normal. Rhys was just a man. He responded as a man. All her dark imaginings were just that: her imagination run riot. But she saw a flash image of her computer screen and the search engine results, which seemed to throb and glow in her mind like a neon sign. Accusing. Tormenting her. The corner of doubt remained and fear with it.
Jenna shucked off her jeans and panties, the last items of clothing she wore. She pressed herself against him. “Make love to me, Rhys. Fuck me as hard as you can. I need to feel you.”
His hands on her ass were hot and demanding, holding her against him. He kissed her again, his tongue driving deep. When his lips lifted from hers finally, she pushed him far enough away from her to undo his jeans and slide them to the floor so he could step out of them. She stripped him bare then took his stiff cock in her hands and stoked it. Rhys’ gasping groan urged her to do more to make him groan again.
That groan was as human a sound as any man could make. How could she be wrong about him?
She stepped back a pace, feeling a wanton abandon, and a desire to test his human frailties so she could see them with her own eyes. Empirical evidence that he was completely human would be indisputable evidence.
She cupped her breasts, looking at him. “Want to touch them?” she asked. “Lick them?”
Rhys’ eyes narrowed. “You have to ask?” he growled.
It wasn’t quite enough. Not yet. She needed to push him further.
She stroked her nipples with her fingers and let her eyes close dreamily. “Mmm…” Slowly, she began to run her hands all over her body, a languorous, sensual stroking.
Rhys took a step towards her. He radiated a stunning urgency and his sense- image spiked her own excitement. She licked her lips, reckless abandon gripping her. “No! Stand still. Stay where you are. Watch.”
“If I watch I cannot stand still. Do you know how that can drive a man, Jenna?”
His voice was husky, but the sharp, feral pleasure pouring from him caught at her throat and left her breathless. She hadn’t fully appreciated until that moment how exciting a man found it to watch a woman pleasure herself, but now she used the knowledge to the full. She licked her fingers and circled her nipples with the wet tips, making them crinkle and tighten sharply. While caressing one breast, she let her other hand slide down to her pussy and stroked it. She delved deeper with each stroke.
Although this was a familiar act for her, it seemed new and utterly thrilling with Rhys watching. She was hyper-aware of her fingers slipping between her labia and the gentle stroke along her clitoris. Each stroke was a silvery ripple of pleasure, far more intense than any she had ever experienced on her own and she gasped in reaction. Her juices were copious, coating her fingertips with hot moisture.
“Jenna…” Rhys’ growled warning made her heart jump and pleasure rippled through her. The deep excitement in his voice was unmistakable. Now she saw his weakness. His vulnerability.
She closed her eyes, caught up in the waves of pleasure from her masturbation, concentrating on what her fingers did and letting the excitement build up. She was aware of the little moans and sounds she was making, but they sounded distant, as if another person made them.
“Dear god, enough!” he demanded, his voice thick. He sounded almost drunk.
Jenna scuttled backwards as he lunged for her. But he was faster. His arm snagged around her waist and brought her to her hands and knees. It should have given her a tactical advantage because it is more difficult to pick a person up when their center of gravity was close to or on the ground.
But picking her up wasn’t his intention. She felt his hands on her hips and realized with a rush that he intended to take her right here. Even as the realization shot through her, his cock pushed through her folds, spearing her, filling her.
She clenched the carpet, gasping, her hips twitching forward.
Rhys drove into her with a single-minded intention. Had she pushed him that far?
His heat permeated her, through his cock inside her and from his hands on her hips and the heat of his pelvis as he slapped up against her buttocks with each frantic thrust. He panted. It was a raw, driven sound she had never heard from him before.
She had wanted this, had she not? She closed her eyes, giving herself up to the sparkling waves of reaction rolling through her. They welled and grew.
Stroke yourself. Do it. The command was harsh, but behind it she heard the ragged excitement that had driven him to take her in this way. She’d tapped into a primal, human instinct in him and now it flowed to her.
Shaking with a novel excitement far beyond anything she had ever experienced before, she reached between her legs and stroked her clitoris with little hard strokes and fed the silvery thrilling spikes back to Rhys.
In return she felt his pleasure spiral, uncontrolled and blind to anything but her sensations, which steepened the ascent and made it sharper and keener.
Her climax ripped through her and she groaned aloud and mentally, as Rhys climaxed, his fingers digging into her hips and his body locking tight over hers. With each spasm of his cock, the hot liquid spilled inside her. His mind touched hers, giving her a glimpse of an incoherent maelstrom of admiration, joy and a total, primal satisfaction enhanced by her own climax. Behind it all was a wondering, a small fear at the way she had begun to encompass his mind, soul and body.
There. There was the human frailty she had sought. But having found it brought her no comfort at all.
With a deep, guttural groan, he withdrew and fell to one hand on the carpet beside her. She glanced at him. His eyes were closed tight and sweat showed on his temples and forehead.
Jenna climbed to her feet, taking several seconds to do it. She walked with unsteady steps to the bathroom to clean up. She shut the door softly behind her, then used a cloth to soothe the heated places where Rhys had been gripping her flesh. Then she wiped away his cum. She scooped a small handful of it into the palm of her hand and studied it. Could there be a more human sign that this, the spilling of a man’s seed?
She washed it away, trying to rinse away her doubts and fears with it.
* * * * *
The Banff Springs Hotel Christmas party was hosted by the hotel itself. It was a glittering formal affair for the hotel’s favourite guests, suppliers, friends, business associates and more. The sumptuous banquette served over
three hundred people, in the biggest function room in the hotel, and must have kept dozens of staff busy in the service areas behind the scene.
As soon as she saw all the diamonds, gold and fur on parade, Jenna relaxed. She was barely adequately dressed in her outrageously expensive gown and far from being overdressed.
You outshine them all, Rhys assured her.
She could accept it as more than an offhand compliment, because she saw behind his words the sweeping glance he’d made, taking in all the guests within his view and how none of them had drawn his eye the way she did.
There was a secondary tone to his thought; one of pride.
That kept her chin up, but her eyes were wide as she watched the other guests mingling and chatting. Very few people appeared to be on their own. A solitary man with a crookedly-tied bowtie watched her but was quickly joined by a woman who placed a whiskey glass in front of him and he turned to smile at his companion as she sat down beside him. Then Jenna realized many people were watching her, for she would catch their gaze before they averted it or turned away.
She tucked her arm under Rhys’ elbow.
“What is it?”
“People. Watching us. Do you think they’re…like us?”
You can determine that for yourself.
Right. I forgot. The next time she caught someone’s gaze sliding away from hers, she reached out mentally to sample them and found nothing. No field, no hint of energy or response.
* * * * *
They found their table, which they shared with eight other guests, including the mayor of Banff and the editor of the Banff Crag & Canyon newspaper. Rhys brought a bottle of champagne and poured her a glass.
“I don’t usually—“
“Tonight, I insist.” He pushed the glass towards her with a smile. “Drink.”
“So long as you’re driving.” She picked up her glass.
Rhys lifted his a little. “Long life.”
She drank and enjoyed the tickle of bubbles on her nose.
Time for a lesson. He put his glass down and sat back, watching her.
Now? Here? With all this noise and people listening?
He looked around. No one is listening to us. No one can hear us.
Jenna frowned, feeling her brow wrinkle, and glanced around. There’s noise. Talk.
Exactly. He lifted his glass up towards her again. “Can you think of another toast?” At the same time as he spoke, she heard his mental whisper: and reach to me this way, too.
She lifted her glass. “To…” and tried to push a thought to him at the same time, but couldn’t do it. She could either speak, or push. She laughed a little. Hell, who’s going to want to listen to two different things at once, anyway? Especially with all this noise. It wasn’t particularly noisy—this was a very elegant crowd—but there was a lot of chatter around them and the music added its own filter.
The practice is useful, anyway. He picked up her hand where it lay on the table and threaded his fingers through it.
I’ll need more sugar.
He tapped her glass. Carbonated sugar.
But her gaze drew to the back of his hand, at yet another scar there. It looked like an old burn. She ran her finger over it. So many battles. Do you have only enemies? No friends, no peace?
There are many watchers. I know a lot of them. His other hand came over hers, halting her finger from tracing out the scar and he gave her a quick glimpse of another party—far more rowdy and congenial than this elegant affair. It had been filled with old friends and trusted companions. Although the glimpse gave her no overt clue she had the distinct impression it had been in England, some time ago.
Do you see your friends often?
She felt his mental head-shake. I move around a lot.
How do you contact others? How does word pass?
Email. Fax. Telephone. The usual ways. His mental laugh was a warm breeze through her mind.
She pushed her annoyance at him and showed him an imaginary computer screen, an email form and fingers typing out ‘slew two of the enemy today…lots of blood’. There were ways before the electron was discovered, surely?
We are as limited as the rest of the world over long distances, but the fields tell us much. I knew where to find you, didn’t I?
But not specifics. She took another sip of her champagne.
Are we not talking specifics now?
How far apart can we be to do this?
He shrugged, a physical shrug and shook his head a little. Who knows? Some can only manage a quarter of a mile. Others, especially those who are bonded, can reach much further. And I have a feeling that you, Jenny, will out-reach all of us.
The diner on her left passed the bread basket to her and she passed it on to Rhys, along with her next question. Someone must train the new watchers. There has to be some organizing body that runs the show.
Rhys tore his bun open and started spreading butter. There is a council that oversees the general direction of our affairs and they act as the adjudicating body, too.
Over all? Over people like Hine, too?
Only for us.
The good guys? She mentally rolled her eyes.
They are the only watchers who accept the binding principals and ethics.
Then your enemies operate under no laws at all!
The laws of physics limit them as they do any watcher. Rhys picked up his knife and cut into his steak with a sharp jab. They can be killed. Maimed.
The woman on Jenna’s left leaned towards her. “You two are such a quiet couple! I hope this table of oldies hasn’t scared you into silence?”
Jenna smiled and shook her head. “We’re just listening,” she said, waving her hand to indicate the rest of people at the table, all involved in conversations.
“And watching,” Rhys added.
* * * * *
Just as she finished her meal, Jenna felt a mental jerk, something like a silent inarticulate shout. There was a quality of surprise and pain in it, but that was all she caught before it faded. And she knew something else from the contact: It wasn’t Rhys. The touch had been unmistakably feminine.
She glanced around, looking for him. He stood at the bar getting more champagne for them both and clearly, he had felt it too, for his head was down as he concentrated, ‘listening’ with every fibre.
Jenna stared at him. Had he not been able to distinguish where it came from? The direction had been unmistakable.
For the first time she really appreciated that she had skills Rhys did not share with her. Her sensitivity seemed to be more acute than his.
The shout had come from outside the function room and the doors were a few short paces away from Jenna’s table. The bar was on the far side of the dance floor. She rose and picked up her new evening purse. It had been the only place she could hide her knife, for the tight velvet sheath barely gave her breathing room. The washroom facilities were just outside the function room doors. There was a good chance most people would think she was simply heading there.
She turned left instead of right once she was outside the doors and hurried down the wide corridor. There were function rooms throughout this level of the hotel and she paused at each door, mentally sampling the space beyond.
Finally, she reached the door. She knew it was the one. The room beyond held the right space-shape and density. She couldn’t have explained it in words. It was just right. She pushed the swing door open enough to slip inside and stopped.
She blinked in the thick darkness. Ahead lay a gleam of diffused light. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she realized she looked at a very low light gleaming on a polished wooden stage. She was in a theatrette.
Twenty five or so rows of plush red chairs marched towards the stage, all of them empty.
She took a breath to calm herself. The tension curling through her she knew all too well, for she had been in these situations before. Keeping her breathing steady, she walked silently towards the stage.
Halfway there she heard
a soft whimper of pain and froze. The sound had come from somewhere toward the back of the stage. She reached into her purse and pulled out the knife, but didn’t trigger the blade. Silently, she crept forward once more and climbed up the steps to the stage itself, using the sides and edges of the steps, where there was less chance of them creaking.
Ahead, a blur of white lay on the stage close to the back wall. Jenna moved towards it and found a woman lying in a pool of blood. She bled from the nose and mouth and her hand moved feebly against the floor, as if she were trying to ward something off. Jenna mentally touched her and felt an echo of something, enough to tell her this was the woman who had shouted.
Suddenly, he came at her. She triggered her knife, whirling to fend him off. He came out of the wings, raising a lethal-looking police baton, ready to bring it down on the back of her skull if she had not been hyper-alert and heard his approach.
The fight was swift and ugly as only knife fights can be. Jenna dodged the falling baton, spinning aside like a bullfighter as he staggered past her. She kept turning so that she faced him again and now his back was to her. She grabbed his hair and yanked backwards, exposing his throat.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
Suddenly, she was pushed aside by an invisible force. She staggered sideways, off-balance, until she came up against a solid brick wall. She spun around and saw his features for the first time. It was the man with the crooked bow-tie who had been watching her when they arrived at the party tonight.
Jenna glanced at the woman lying very still on the floor a few paces away. Yes, it had been she who had given him the drink and sat down beside him.
Jenna sampled him. She pressed back against the wall when she felt the roiling malevolence in the contact. Evil and malice and directed at her. She felt a sick, dazed horror. “You did that to her. You killed her, just to bring me?”
His mouth turned down. “They said you wouldn’t move from Avaon’s sphere, but I knew you couldn’t resist a bit of suffering. And here you are.” He threw his hand up towards her and Jenna could almost feel the buffering wind of something passing her. Something invisible.
Solstice Surrender Page 10
