Teasing Danger [Darklands Book 1]

by Autumn Dawn

  "It's an old tradition,” Jayems said, entering the room as the delivery man left. He walked to Rihlia. Jasmine's eyes widened as he slid an arm around her friend's waist and then kissed her neck in greeting. Rihlia blushed and avoided her eyes. “Your suitors are very organized, Jasmine. I've heard they have a list going at the barracks to avoid duplicating any gifts.” He smiled in good humor and she reflected with surprise that she'd never seen him so relaxed.

  It could only mean one thing.

  Before she could speculate further, he continued, “Keilor searches every gift to be certain that it is safe and Fallon scowls every time another delivery is made.” He flashed her a wicked grin. “I haven't had so much fun just watching them in years."

  Jayems, wicked? Feeling a little disoriented, Jasmine just grunted a reply. Just how much had she missed while she'd been sleeping, anyway? “I guess I'll have to see them and tell them thank you.” She blinked sleepily at her hand. “Thank you notes are out of the question."

  Rihlia gave her a bright smile and adjusted the covers. “I'm sure they'll be thrilled to hear it, Jas, but you might want to wait a couple of days. How about I make up a schedule for you?” Rihlia grinned. “You're quite the celebrity. I don't think you'd want all your fans mobbing you at once."

  Jasmine murmured something in the affirmative and closed her eyes. In moments she was asleep.

  Keilor watched Jasmine sleep, deep in thought. Three citrus, a illupe vine, a pineapple plant and a hairy sugar fruit later, her room looked and smelled like a garden. As Jasmine's temporary public liaison, Rihlia had finally suggested that Jasmine's admirers switch to another form of gift, and since then baskets of blooms and bushels of tempting treats—all carefully and discretely tested for dangerous additives—had begun to arrive in place of the plants. Not that she would be able to taste any for a few days. Her tender stomach wouldn't be able to process much more than liquids for a while.

  A mischievous smile touched his lips and he popped a liquor laced truffle into his mouth. No sense in letting them go to waste.

  Jasmine opened her eyes, smiling a little when she saw him, and he felt a warm wave slide through him. The girl had a way about her.

  "Morning,” she murmured sleepily, and elbowed herself into a sitting position. He adjusted the pillows for her. “Are my guests scheduled to arrive yet?"

  He surveyed her tousled hair and slumberous eyes ruefully. “I don't think you'll want to greet them just as you are."

  She rubbed her eyes and yawned behind her bandaged hand. “You're right. I guess I probably ought to do something about my hair and at least wash my face. I probably look kind of scary at the moment."

  A fire kindled in his eyes as they brushed over her body. Even hidden under a soft sleep shirt and a velvet quilt, her pull on him was strong. “That wasn't my concern.” He handed her a freshly made glass of thick almond milk eggnog. “Your breakfast."

  She sighed. After two days of subsiding on near liquids, even that tasty concoction lacked appeal. She eyed the truffles in the cut crystal dish near her hopefully. “Those look good."

  He flashed a devilish grin at her and selected a chocolate ball coated in nuts, biting into it slowly. “Mmm. They are.” He licked his fingers as she scowled at him. “Hazelnut filling, I believe."

  She harrumphed and sipped her eggnog.

  "I brought you something.” He lifted a small package from the floor and placed it on her lap, pleased to see her eyes light up.

  She traced the smooth surface of the silver paper. With a shy smile, she teased, “It's not a plant, is it?"

  Keilor raised a brow, joining in the fun. “You do not enjoy your new garden?"

  "Actually, I love it, though I'm a little afraid of killing everything off,” she admitted. “I've never had a garden before. Do you think I might be able to find someone to teach me how to take care of them?"

  He propped his chin on his fist and leaned on the arm of his chair. “I'll teach you everything I know."

  Jasmine's eyes widened in surprise. Surely he was teasing. Men like Keilor did not run around with pruning shears and weed flowers. Did they? “You, a gardener?"

  He winked at her. “It impresses the ladies.” He waved a graceful hand towards her present. “Open your gift.” He watched as she awkwardly held the package steady with her right wrist and worked at the seams with her left, making no move to interfere. When the paper parted, spilling a cool wash of silver silk across her lap, he gently removed the paper and helped drape the straps of the chemise over her bandaged hand. He lowered his eyes, feeling an unaccustomed touch of self-consciousness. “For your comfort, when you sleep. Do you like it?"

  "It's very pretty, thank you,” she said, coloring faintly. “But if ... I ... Keilor,” she whispered, and there was a touch of pain in her voice, “I can't feel ... the doctor said...” She had nearly died, and at the moment she felt no reason to hide her feelings. Besides, what else could he mean with such a gift but that he cared?

  His brow cleared as he understood what she was saying. For a moment there, he'd feared something else entirely. “It doesn't matter,” he assured her. “It is a gift, freely given.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “Enjoy it. I hope for only your pleasure in return."

  She blushed again under his dark gaze. “You Haunt men must take lessons in charm. Thank you. I will enjoy it."

  He leaned back and gave her a lazy grin. “Of course, I have to admit that the thought of you wearing it may cause me to loose sleep—” he laughed and caught the pillow she tossed at him, “—but the gift of your smile makes the sacrifice worth while.” She wagged a finger at him in warning and he chuckled. “I will call for Rihlia. She will wish to help you prepare to meet your admirers.” He kept the pleasant expression on his face until he was safely out of the room. The moment the doors closed behind him, he lost all traces of amusement.

  He looked critically over the two Haunt captains he'd personally selected to guard Jasmine while she thanked her admirers. Each had achieved a reputation for vicious ferocity in battle during the years before Jayems officially came to power. Isfael had guarded his back during the ambush that had taken Keilor's father and the rest of his family. When the battle had been over, only the two of them had been left standing; bloody, but alive. Isfael had been by his side ever since.

  He turned his eyes to Raziel. That Haunt had been feared as the most devastating warrior in the realm before an attack by jealous rivals had brought him down. They tortured him and then left him for dead, going on to slay the rest of his family. Raziel had recovered and single-handedly destroyed his enemy's entire clan. He was fearless, soulless.

  The Haunt knew him as the Immortal.

  Those two Haunt were the only ones in the entire garrison who could hope to best him in battle, and Jasmine couldn't have been safer if he'd been standing by himself. But just to be sure...

  "Her visits are to be short, safe, and pleasant.” He paused and looked into their eyes. “If she so much as looks distressed, remove the irritant at once. Take care of her.” He began turn away, but paused. These might be his friends, but still.... “One other thing, comrades. If you take a liking to her, I'll have to slit your throats."

  Isfael growled and made an obscene sign and Raziel gave him toothy grin. Satisfied, Keilor walked away, smiling.

  "Stop fussing. You're not my nurse."

  Rihlia grunted and shifted her grip around Jasmine's waist and the arm that Jasmine had flung around her shoulders. Any minute now she was going to either dump her friend on the floor or have one of their escorts carry her. It couldn't be any less dignified than this shambling stumble. “No, and I'm not a pack mule, either. I told you to let me go get the books for you. I would have been there and back by now."

  With a valiant effort, Jasmine straightened and took most of her weight back on her own feet, hiding what it cost her. It had seemed like a great idea to go check out the library when she'd first heard of it. What better way
to while away the long hours she was forced to stay abed than with a stack of books? Besides, she was sick of staring at her own four walls.

  Unfortunately, she'd vastly overestimated her own stamina, and it was with a great deal of relief that they staggered into the library and Rihlia dumped her onto a bench. Breathing heavily, Rihlia dropped down beside her. “Somebody else is carrying you back,” she swore, huffing.

  "Oh, knock it off,” Jasmine grumbled, panting for real. “I'm not that heavy."

  Immediately Rihlia grinned and dropped the act, hopping up with a sickening amount of energy. “What would you like me to get first?"

  The immense old library had few patrons that day, and the sacred silence peculiar to such hallowed halls of books made Jasmine feel right at home. The room was octagon in shape and leather and cloth bound books rose in beautifully trimmed shelves to the carved panels of the arched ceiling. Benches ringed trees growing from sunken pots hidden under the floor. High, arched windows of the western facing wall, combined with that of the skylights, made for plenty of reading light. She sighed in delight. It was perfect. No doubt everything she ever wanted to know about these people was in here, and she couldn't wait to get her hands on it.

  One of the little giraffes—villi—that were such popular pets in this world walked slowly up to her and gravely sniffed at them. Lemming wagged her tail politely and returned the greeting. Amused, she watched as it regarded them a moment and then sauntered off, curiosity satisfied.

  Independent little creatures, she thought.

  "Can I help you?” A voice to her left inquired, and she turned to find an older man with the expression of someone trying to keep his thoughts to himself. He absently bent a bit to pet the villi who'd greeted them, grimacing slightly with the movement.

  "Actually, yes,” she answered, straightening a bit. “I was hoping to learn a little more about the history of the Haunt, and especially about Sylphs. I don't suppose you would know much about it, would you?"

  If anything, the librarian grew more dour, but he nodded with respect just the same and moved off to find the books. Uneasy, Jasmine murmured, “I don't think he likes me, Rih."

  Rihlia cleared her throat and sat down beside her on the bench. “Not everyone here likes humans. It's especially bad because you're ... uh—"

  "Sylph,” Jasmine supplied, saying the word like a curse.

  Rihlia bit her lip. “It would have been worse if Jayems had let you go back home and anyone had found out. There might have been war. As it was he had to deal with an uproar once word spread that a, uh, that you were here.” Her face darkened. “Some people even wanted to kill you."

  "What!” Jasmine stared at her in alarm. “What did I do?"

  Upset, Rihlia rubbed her arms and wouldn't meet her eyes. “Nothing. It's just that too many of the older generation still remember what it was like before they came here. They're worried that you might be some kind of danger to them."

  "That's ridiculous,” Jasmine scoffed. “What am I going to do, single-handedly annihilate the entire Haunt race? Give me a—” she stopped in mid-tirade, suddenly realizing what else Rihlia had said. “Rih,” she said slowly, “They've been here for over two hundred years. How could they possibly remember anything?” Rihlia was silent. Jasmine swallowed hard. Addressing the floor, she asked, “Just how long do you guys live, anyway?"

  "Three hundred years is considered a good, old age,” the librarian supplied, returning with a stack of books and a register for Jasmine to sign. It took her a moment, but she slowly took the pen away from him and scrawled her signature with a heavy hand at the bottom. He set the books on the bench beside her and then went about his business.

  Slowly she rubbed her face, wondering if she'd ever get used to living in an alien world. Three hundred years!

  "You don't look so good,” Rihlia said, worried. “I think we'd better get you back to bed."

  Without being asked, Isfael picked her up like an infant and Raziel followed with her books. Jasmine squirmed and grumbled a bit, irked at the indignity of it all, but she truly was too tired to argue about it long. Even with the annoyance of Isfael's fur tickling her nose and making her want to sneeze, she was asleep by the time they reached her room.

  The books were a revelation.

  Jasmine slowly traced the raised leather scrollwork on her current book's blood red cover, admiring the craftsmanship. The gold edges of the pages and the gold title winked in her reading light. The Haunt were a people that took pride in their literature and wrote even their histories with passion. No bloodless recitals of bare facts here.

  She scooted down against her raised pillows, seeking a more comfortable position. It was after midnight, but her mind was too seduced by the glory of Haunt history to give in to slumber. The first book she'd read had barely mentioned Sylphs, but this one seemed more promising.

  It did turn out to be much more informative, and disturbing, than she could have guessed.

  The trouble with reading a no-holds-barred version of history, she decided, hours later, was that unflattering views of one's self or people were often printed. She had to admit, humans did not look good from a Haunt perspective. She closed the book, set it on her night stand and settled down to think.

  In her opinion, it had been a very good idea to separate Sylphs and Haunts forever. Nothing but tragedy had resulted from their mixing. The Sylphs had been taken from their homes and families by other humans, mostly warlords, whether they were willing or not, and used as live bait to lure Haunts to their often grisly deaths. If they possessed any kind of beauty at all, they were often disfigured to ensure that the males chasing them were actually Haunts. She shuddered, thinking of the descriptions of branded and noseless women. If they were lucky, their masters only forced them to wear masks for the rest of their lives.

  The captured males had been tortured—mostly for the thrill of it, if she understood the text correctly. Any useful information had been obtained by “the suggestive power of the Sylph herself” whatever that meant. Useful information usually consisted of where to find and annihilate any remaining Haunt, women and children included. Sometimes the captured one himself was “enspelled” and forced to lead the way to the others. As a result, the Haunt took to assassinating any known Sylphs, and they were notoriously successful. There were long lists of Sylph kills and their assassins. Such stalkers were treated with great honor, and hailed as saviors by some.

  If she had been born a Haunt, could she have blamed them? In the case of Sylphs, mutilated and forced to participate in torture and genocide, maybe some of them preferred to be dead.

  She would have.

  The blackest of the black Sylphs, those who participated willingly in the slaughter of Haunt for the chance to wallow in ungodly wealth, were singled out for vilification in the history. The author seemed to truly relish listing their various crimes and the measures taken to bring them down. It wasn't pretty.

  Eventually the Haunt became so successful at killing Sylphs that efforts had been made to breed them, but that had proved unsuccessful. Sylphs were a wildcard mutation, and defied all efforts to recreate on demand. Thank God.

  Now she understood why Keilor had been so repulsed by her in the beginning, and so angry. He and Jayems must have truly cared for Rihlia right from the start to go through all the effort to first humor her, and then to protect the dreaded Sylph from their countrymen.

  And speaking of their countrymen, just how opposed to her were they? Could she expect a lynch mob if she tried to wander out alone? She shivered, knowing that she could never hope to outrun any Haunt who wanted her blood.

  Taking a deep, calming breath, she reminded herself of the cadets. They certainly had no aversion to her. Maybe it was just the older generation that she had to watch out for. It would pay to be wary, though. Now that Rihlia had accepted her role as Jayems’ wife, there was no reason to go back to Earth. There was nothing there for them now.

  Besides, she sort of liked it here. Th
e weather was mild, the people interesting, and if she discounted the poisoned desserts, the food was the best she'd ever had. In fact, if she could just figure out how to live two hundred and fifty more years, life would be just about perfect.

  Chapter 6

  "Tell me about your cousins."

  Jayems looked up from the stained glass he was soldering, not the least bit startled, and Jasmine knew that he'd heard her outside the door of his hobby room. She pulled a stool like the one he was sitting on up to his workbench and looked with interest at the vice, grinding and polishing tools and sundry pieces of colored glass neatly arranged on the work surface. She waved her hand, explaining, “Your wife is taking a nap.” She shook her head. “I think the privileged life is going to her head. I swear she spends half her days napping."

  Jayems grinned with satisfaction. “Her new duties as my lady are demanding."

  Jasmine decided not to touch that one.

  Noting her interest, he laid another line of soldering wire and heated it with his torch, shaping the frame of his project. With his eyes still on his work, he asked, “What was it you wished to know?"

  She flicked away a speck of ground glass on the bench top. “Keilor and Fallon ... they're about the same age?"

  "Keilor is two years older."

  "Oh.” She propped her elbow on her black clad knee and rested her chin on her fist. She'd adopted the comfortable loose trousers and tunic of the male formal attire, and she was much more comfortable in those clothes than she'd been in the beautiful gowns she'd been given to wear. It was difficult to relax in a dress that probably would have taken a month's pay—back when she still had a paying job—to buy. All she could think of when she wore one was how guilty she'd feel if she damaged it. There were times when she felt like a maid mistaken for a movie star and put up in a fancy hotel on credit. She kept waiting for the day when the management figured out she was an impostor and came to collect the rent. “What happened to Keilor's parents? I never hear anyone talk about them."