by Autumn Dawn
Keilor closed his eyes and fought against the drugs. “If Yesande has hurt her—” he said, his voice dark with fury and pain. He should be the one going. Instead he was taking up space in a hospital bed while his enemies ran off with his wife.
"Don't worry, we'll bag her and Knightin, too,” Raziel promised him. “He made a grave mistake when he merely splattered your guts all over the floor and neglected to slit your throat. You'll be on your feet and ready to rip his heart out by the time we get back."
"Jasmine, it is Mathin."
Her eyes moved under her half-shut lids, but she didn't move.
It had taken weeks to track Yesande to this remote citadel, and nearly a day to convince his sister to let him have a go at the Sylph. Yesande's medics had yet to isolate the pheromone responsible for her Sylph abilities, and they'd begun feeding her drugs to increase her libido in the hopes of increasing production. Unfortunately, the side affects were animal-like hostility and aggression, fed by her refusal to have anything to do with the men Yesande sent her to slake her thirst. Since the men were all unmated, none of them could force the issue, either. All Jasmine had to do was to tell them not to touch her, or to go away, and they went. Yesande was encouraged by that, since she liked to watch the encounters, and enjoyed seeing the power at work that she planned to make her own. Still, the Sylph's stubbornness annoyed her, and she'd finally agreed to let Mathin try his luck.
Blessing the fact that he was Yesande's brother for the first time in his life, since it allowed him to proceed without an audience, he lifted the Sylph's eyelid and peered into one dilated pupil. “Jasmine!"
With a cat-like snarl Jasmine clawed at his face and retreated to huddle in the corner of her cot. He pulled back and clamped a hand over her mouth before she could order him away. Not believing for one second that Yesande wasn't at least monitoring their conversation, he put his lips to her ear and breathed, “Wouldn't you like to leave this padded cell and go with me, Dragonfly?” She froze, and he carefully lowered his hand a fraction.
Wary eyes watched him through sweat dampened bangs. “Keilor calls me that."
"Yes.” He held her gaze. “He calls you that.” He held his breath, hoping that her drugged mind would comprehend what he was telling her.
It didn't.
When he raised to his knees on the bed to block what he was doing from possible watching eyes, she shoved at him, her eyes rolling. “No! I want Keilor, only Keilor!"
Mentally swearing a filthy oath, he clamped his hand just in front of the hinges of her jaw, forcing her mouth to open, and squirted in one of the antidotes the medics had sent with him, just in case. Then to hide her sputtering and to prevent her from spitting it out, he kissed her ruthlessly, clashing their teeth and bruising both their mouths.
The kiss revolted him, not because he didn't find the woman attractive but because he'd never forced his attentions on any woman, and he didn't relish starting with the wife of a friend, even if it was the only way he could think of hide his actions and force her to swallow.
When he was certain that enough medicine had gotten down her to clear her brain, he let her go. She shrank away from him with a cry and hid her face in the corner, sobbing.
Pretending to reconsider his strategy, he wiped the blood from his lip where she'd bitten him and waited for her mind to clear and his body to stop shaking with rebellion.
Her mind cleared first.
In moments her eyes had opened and she looked at him with the cold stare of a wounded cobra. Before she could tell him to go fry in hell, he grabbed her hair, yanked her to him and hissed in her ear, “Your husband sent me, you idiot. He's alive, and if you ever hope to see him again, you'd better play along.” He allowed her to pull back. She watched him, openly distrustful, but said nothing.
Figuring that silence was the best cooperation he was likely to get out of her under the circumstances, he stood up, pulled her to her feet, went to the door and ordered the guards to open it.
Yesande was on the other side, flanked by ten of her Haunt, and she was not happy. “You raped her,” she said, taking one look at his blood on Jasmine's lips. Her eyes narrowed, and she informed him with cold intent, “She is no good to me mated, fool."
Mathin pulled Jasmine in front of him and grabbed her throat before his sister could order the Haunt to attack. “She comes with me or you lose her, Yesande.” He was not failing Keilor at this point, not after making it this far.
Smirking, Yesande chided him, “Come now, brother, cease these games. You may have forced the Sylph to spread her legs and mate with you—not that I blame you. I agree that something had to be done, but you'll not kill her."
Mathin broke Jasmine's arm.
Even Yesande recoiled a step at her shriek.
"Still think I won't kill her?” he asked savagely, trying not retch at her gasping sobs. Jasmine deserved so much better than this.
Yesande took a step back from them, pallor leaching her already pale skin. “Father's madness,” she whispered with horror. “It did carry to you."
He allowed his eyes to gleam golden. This time the Haunt stepped back with his sister. “Go,” she told him hoarsely, too afraid to stand in his way now.
He drew his sword and dragged the moaning Jasmine out of there. No one got in his way.
"What happened to her?” Raziel demanded when they reached the stags.
Mathin touched the sides of Jasmine's neck over her carotid arteries, cutting off the flow of blood to her brain and putting her out of her misery for what was about to be a grueling ride. “I broke her arm,” he said grimly and handed her up to Raziel.
Eyes wide, Raziel said, “If we live through this, Keilor is going to kill you."
"He'll have to stand in line,” Mathin answered, as angry Haunt swarmed out of the citadel, and spurred his stag for the hills.
It took them nearly two days of reckless dashes and miserable damp as they hid from Yesande's soldiers, but they gained a lead on the other Haunt. By then Jasmine's arm had been set, and she was taking painkillers, but the drugs coming out of her system combined with their grueling pace was taking its toll. Humans were never meant to keep pace with a Haunt.
"If we don't do something soon, she's not going to make it back to Keilor,” Raziel said quietly as they ate. Jasmine was lying down during one of their brief rests on one of the higher pieces of swamp land. Thin insect netting shrouded her from head to toe, but they could still see her pallor through the veil and hear her harsh breathing over the calls of insects and swamp birds.
Mathin looked off through the raised tree roots to where Isfael stood guard in the deepening gloom, somewhat protected from the insects by his thick fur. An insect bit him and he slapped at it, coming away with a hand covered with glowing bug goo. “I know. That's why we're going to start looking for a symbiont."
Raziel dug a shred of giant swamp snail out of his teeth with a sliver of wood and frowned. “What's that?"
"A creature that lives in these swamps. They don't have much use for Haunt unless we're wounded, but I think a symbiont may be just what our little patient needs."
She was dying.
As Jasmine leaned listlessly against a the giant tree root where Mathin had propped her before going off to hunt, leaving Isfael and Raziel to guard her, she found that she didn't care. She was so very tired, and she just needed to rest. She missed Keilor. Maybe, she thought fuzzily, if she went to sleep she might dream of him again. Her eyes began to close, and she almost thought she saw him, somewhere in her mind, beckoning....
"Here you go,” A rude, raspy voice intruded, and Keilor vanished like so much smoke. She opened her eyes and glared at Mathin, who knelt beside her with a pouch. The pouch was moving. Thinking of the various forms of swamp life he'd forced down her during the last couple of days, she informed him with as much strength as she could muster, “If that's dinner, you can have my share."
"It's not dinner,” he assured her as he reached into the pouch and extract
ed a ball of liquid silver. Isfael and Raziel watched with interest. “This, my cranky little charge, is your new best friend."
The blob was about the size of a baseball and moved like a worm, stretching out and up as if scenting the air. Suddenly the creature stiffened, and its “head” slowly rotated in her direction. It reared back, as if in surprise.
Then it zapped onto her.
Jasmine screamed as the creature landed on her chest with a big warm splat and then spread out into a sheet of blood warm silver. With her undamaged arm and hand she frantically tried to grab it and pull it off, but the silver flowed through her fingers and eagerly slid down inside her sling. A tickling buzz spread from the sight of the break, and then up her arm and over her body. By the time it reached her head and buzzed through her brain she was on her feet, something she hadn't been able to do unassisted for twenty-four hours.
"Mathin!” she screeched, as she felt the wave move down her body and to the soles of her feet and back up to settle around her forearms. “Get it off!"
"Why?” he asked, smiling as he watched her tear off her sling in her panic and try to pull the happy symbiont off of her forearms, where it had divided and settled like two filigree bracelets. It covered her forearms from wrists to elbow.
"It'll suck the life out of me!"
"No, it will suck the life into you,” he corrected, watching her face flush with healthy color. Now he might just be able to get her back to his friend in one piece.
It couldn't happen fast enough for him.
Keilor wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and sheathed his sword. Perspiration sheened his entire body, and he grabbed a towel to swipe at his chest and flawless abdomen, cursing the lingering weakness. The towel dragged on Jasmine's dragonfly choker, and he flung the cloth away with an oath, assailed by a painful longing.
It had been over a month since he'd sent others after his wife.
"You're going to damage yourself again if you keep this up,” Jayems observed from where he lounged in the doorway to Jasmine's room. Keilor spared him a glance full of self-disgust but said nothing.
Jayems wandered into the room, pausing to pet Casanova. The independent little villi was the only one not concerned about his mistress. “We know they got her out."
"With a broken arm and a bloody mouth!” Keilor snarled.
Jayems winced, remembering his cousin's reaction to that bit of news. Mathin would be lucky if Keilor didn't break every bone in his body when next he saw him. “She was alive. Raziel and Isfael are with them."
"Small comfort,” Keilor answered morosely, looking at but not seeing Jasmine's lemon tree.
Jayems froze. “You do not think she would betray you, do you?” he asked in amazement. “In spite of the rumors, I do not believe she'd dishonor you, whether she's away a year or a day. She is not the kind of woman to take her promises lightly."
"It's not that,” Keilor said, but his words were half-hearted.
Folding his arms with a touch of temper, Jayems inclined his head. “If you think her association with Mathin is likely to foster affection, think again, cousin. He can be charming on the surface, but you of all people ought to know that prolonged contact with Mathin is more likely to drive Jasmine into fits of rage, not passion. I've no doubt that she's counting the days until she's free of him."
Keilor sighed, a little cheered. The grim warrior in him still wished to brace for the worst, but perhaps it was time to exercise some faith in his woman, as a husband should. It would help if he knew where they were, so he could meet them half way.
This unending waiting in the dark was getting on his nerves.
Jasmine pulled at her new “bracelets” again and sent Mathin another dirty look. It had been two days now, and they still couldn't get the symbiont off her, not that anyone really cared but her. After all, they weren't the ones feeling a pulsing, breathing, snake-like thing occasionally move on their arms.
Mathin ignored her. He'd merely shrugged away her complaints, pointing out that the symbiont, as he called it, had not only healed her, but continued to supply her blood with extra oxygen in exchange for her carbon dioxide and bodily wastes, making her capable of sustaining the pace of the others. Her personal distress was of no interest to him.
Fingering the pistol that Raziel and Isfael had given her for a wedding gift and brought with them at Keilor's request, she turned her eyes back in the direction of home, somewhere past the foggy, muggy swamp. She couldn't see a whole lot in the deepening gloom, and finally she gave it up to go apply some more bug repellent.
Strands of greasy hair brushed her face as she squatted down, and she grimaced, pulling the tie out of her hair to tighten her ponytail. “If we don't get a bath soon, Yesande's Haunt are going to smell us coming a mile away."
"You're welcome to take your chances in the swamp,” Raziel teased.
Jasmine shuddered. No one was that desperate. Tugging the end of her ponytail over her shoulder, she began to finger comb the knotted ends, scowling as the split ends slid through her fingers. Apparently her symbiont didn't do hair. “I need a haircut,” she grumbled.
"I have a knife,” Raziel offered, reaching for his as if she would really use it.
"No thanks,” she answered, warding him off with one hand. The last thing that she needed was the mess a blade would make of her hair. “What I really need is a sharp pair of scissors, but since we don't—” she broke off, staring at the symbiont on her right forearm as it slithered down into her hand, coalescing into pair of scissors joined to her wrist by a thin loop of liquid metal. “Hey,” she whispered in astonishment. “Maybe this little guy is good for something after all."
Mathin rolled his eyes. “Just like a woman. Save her life, and she snubs you. Provide her with grooming aides, and you're her friend for life."
The symbiont turned out to be handier than a Swiss army knife. All Jasmine had to do was think of what she wanted, and the symbiont became that thing. Any manner of utensil or hand tool was suddenly available to Jasmine at a thought, including cups and needles. It even formed into a string for cat's cradle.
"There might be some defensive capabilities to this creature,” Raziel observed. Isfael, who remained almost constantly in Haunt, signed something back, and Raziel raised a brow. “I agree. A knife or a garrote might prove invaluable against an unsuspecting foe, provided you knew what you were doing. What do you think, my lady, would you like to test your new friend's capabilities?"
Jasmine, who'd caught some of what Isfael had been saying, grimaced. The idea of using the symbiont for disemboweling or stabbing was not appealing, but considering what they might yet face, maybe she'd better get over her aversion. Her life might just depend on it.
So Jasmine learned to kill. Whenever they had time to stop during the nights, her warrior escort taught her new ways to maim and butcher, silence and scavenge, or made her practice what she did know. She soon discovered that Keilor had been right. Compared to his tutelage, her new instructors were merciless, inflexible, and exacting. They never deliberately hurt her, and physically they were more careful with her hide then they were with each other, but she did accumulate her share of bruises nonetheless, mostly from learning to fall and roll over uneven ground. None of them cared if she got angry, swore at them, or came to tears. As far as they were concerned, she was now a warrior in training, and she could just get over it.
Wonder of wonders, she did.
The symbiont was a big help. Not only did it thrive by absorbing the damage to her person, it lent her a never before known speed and agility. It did nothing for her strength, but her stamina almost matched that of the Haunt, and that was not a small thing.
No amount of grueling exercise could take her mind off of her husband for long, though. With every day that went by her longing grew, until she came to the point where she dared not think of him while riding lest her seat on the saddle—usually with either Mathin or Raziel—become an aching torture. Oddly enough, none o
f her companions seemed to be affected by the increased levels of pheromone that she knew she emitted at those times. Wondering if her marriage had something to do with it, she finally asked Mathin about it.
He snorted with ill humor. “Isfael merely remains in Haunt, where one never feels the desire to mate, and he can still scent danger. As for Raziel and I—” he scowled. “We've been taking a sinus blocker since we reached you. We can't smell or taste a blasted thing while using it."
Jasmine's eyes widened. “Is that why you've been such a jackass?"
Raziel roared with laughter. “I don't know what that is...?"
"A male beast of burden, known for it's stubborn refusal to cooperate and its nasty temper,” Jasmine supplied.
Raziel grinned wickedly at the glowering Mathin. “A jackass,” he repeated, smirking. “I'll have to remember that. However, I'm afraid our Mathin can't blame the sinus blockers for his disposition. You ought to know by now that he's just naturally a foul tempered beast."
Mathin curled his lip at him.
Almost two months to the day that Jasmine had been taken, they finally came within a days’ ride of Jayems’ citadel. Instead of growing relaxed as they entered the forest of fern and towering redwoods, however, her escort increased in vigilance. All traces of levity ceased, as did superfluous chatter. Everyone was on the alert for a last minute betrayal.
They needn't have worried.
Within minutes of entering the forest, volti joined them, running just inside the forest beside the bridle path. Jasmine felt a strong sense of deja vu, but instead of fear, this time she felt exhilaration and a sense of homecoming. Only one thing worried her. “Do you think Keilor will be happy to see me?” she whispered.
Three heads, two in Haunt, whipped around to stare at her. “I can't believe you just asked that,” Mathin finally got out. Giving her one last suspicious look, as if wondering if she'd left her wits somewhere in the swamps, he went back to scanning the trees for assassins. Shaking their heads, Raziel and Isfael did the same.
Well. That would teach her to ever ask a man to boost her confidence.
