by Robin Owens
Shunuk said, Since we are Fams and not lowly fox and we are prized now, all our kits survive, even the runts. I will ask if any want to be with a pilot.
His father had winced at the mention of a runt, but inclined his head to Shunuk and rumbled, “My thanks.”
A kitten would feel superior to a runt fox. I have noticed that it is best to let cats feel superior.
They all laughed. “Wise fox,” his father said.
Del said, “Raz, there are spelled placemats in the sideboard. I don’t much like this table, but no use ruining it.”
The mats were golden. Raz quickly set them out, and he took his soup and bread and flatware, gave Shunuk his plate of furrabeast bites in the tiled corner.
Del served his father first, then sat down at the table, looked to T’Cherry. “Blessing?”
His father rumbled. “We thank the Lady and Lord for the skills of those past and present who have provided us with this food. Blessed be.”
“Blessed be,” Raz and Del echoed.
Shunuk slurped his meal.
There was silence as they all ate, then Raz sent his father a straight look and said, “Shunuk called you a pilot.”
“I am,” his father said comfortably, forking a nice chunk of steak into his mouth.
“Yes, you are. But I don’t think any of us want you taking runs through Fairplay Canyon Pass when it’s done.”
T’Cherry’s brows dipped. He chewed. “Think I can’t handle it, boy?”
“I love my father,” Raz said.
“No use giving Celta an extra life through . . . misadventure,” Del said. “Life’s tough enough here. Sicknesses. Low birth count. Sterility. Fires.”
Raz met his father’s eyes. “I am definitely talking to Mother and Seratina about the pass runs.” He smiled. “Maybe we can go down several times to look at the place when the gliderway is being built—good Family outings that will give our women good visuals.”
“And the rock walls should be sheered some,” Del said. “Yeah, could be plenty dangerous at high speed.” She frowned. “I didn’t much consider that.”
“You travel by stridebeast, girl,” his father said with the superiority of a man who used technology and Flair to travel. He stared down his nose at Raz. “I wasn’t the one who scraped the side of my model going through Del’s canyon.”
“You are an excellent driver. But I wish you wouldn’t take many chances,” Del said, smiled. “I like my friend.”
His father’s face tinted a little red. “Thank you, but, you, Del Elecampane, you’ve lived a chancy life. How many chances are you gonna be taking in the future?”
Fifteen
Del stared at her bowl, her expression sobering. “Not as many as in the past now that most of my Family is gone.” She drew in her breath. “There’s plenty of work around here and Gael City.” Her lip curled. “I’ve been asked to map the new streets of what used to be Downwind. Came from Steep Springs, pretty sure their maps are out of date, too.” She sighed. “City maps.”
Quiet gathered again and Del spooned a few bites of potato soup into her mouth, but Raz didn’t think she tasted them. Her stare was fixed out the window that looked onto a formal garden. He didn’t think she saw that view, either. “I’ve been wanting to travel again to the Bluegrass Plains,” she said. She grimaced. “I’m not really a city woman.”
His belly coated with a chill that Raz didn’t like. He was most definitely a city man.
“Thank you for an excellent lunch, Del.” T’Cherry burped discreetly in his softleaf. Pushing back from the table, he lifted his plate and silverware to clear. Del rose hastily and took them, arranged them tidily with her own on the tray.
Raz reluctantly chewed the last of his tasty flatbread and put his things on the tray, too, then lifted it. “I’ll take these to the kitchen.”
He followed Del and helped her put the plates and flatware in the cleanser. “Thank you for lunch, Del, and for the companionship.”
Her dimples showed. “Always a good time with the Cherry men.”
“I’m glad you think so.” He took her hands, just stared at her, her pretty springreen wine eyes, her curly hair of many shades of blond. Fascinating.
He kissed her hands, leaned forward to brush his lips against hers.
His father coughed loudly in the dining room.
Del chuckled, squeezed his hands, and drew away to go back into the dining room. His father had taken the new copy of her map and waved toward the roll. “I want to take this back home for safe-keeping, then return to the yard.” His lips flattened. “The fire mages informed us that we were lucky that it was raining. The fire started in the old den, then the smoke alerted us to the problem, but the rain confined the flames to that building until the fire mages were called. It’s a total loss.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Del said.
Raz went and threw an arm around his father’s shoulders, hugged. “None of our original stuff in there, right?”
Grimacing, his father said, “No, but a lot of centuries-old copies of our oldest documents. They had value, too, scribed by different ancestors. That stings.”
“Better things than people,” Del said.
His father flushed, said gruffly. “Sorry, didn’t mean—”
She patted his shoulder. “’Course you didn’t.” She took the map and ran her fingers along the roll and it was encased in a protective covering—both physically and with a Flair shield. “I’ll show you to the teleportation room in the entryway.”
“Thanks.” His father glanced at Raz and sighed. “Guess you won’t let me take your glider, Cherry.”
“No, and it’s really too bad that you promised Mother that you wouldn’t get a sports vehicle.” Raz shook his head in false commiseration.
They trouped out of the dining room that none of them liked and to the entry hall, which was even more gilded. His father kept his face expressionless, Raz thought that the previous Elecampanes had taste that wasn’t quite top-notch, and he didn’t think that Del even noticed her surroundings.
His father stepped into the teleportation area, initiated the spell, saluted Del with his rolled map, and disappeared.
Raz stepped close and put his arm around her waist. “It’s been an eventful day.”
“Yes, it has,” she said. She looked up at him and blinked. “You have a performance tonight, don’t you?”
“Yes, the fifth time I take the villain down this week. I want to continue to see you, Del.”
“You will.”
He bent and pressed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss, swept his tongue along the sweetness of her mouth. “A lot. Exclusively.”
Her eyes were serious as she replied, but he noted her breasts rose and fell with her quick breath. “I agree.”
“For as long as you’re in Druida.”
She stiffened a little, lifted her chin. “All right.” She tilted her head and Raz realized she was listening to the rain that had started up again. For an instant the charred, blackened, and smoking timbers of the old den at the yard came to his mind, then he shuttled it away.
“Come on upstairs to the green parlor. It’s cozier. We can talk and listen to music strips.”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “Learn to know each other.”
She cast a narrowed gaze at him. “That’s definitely one of your actor voices, Raz.”
He laughed, clasped his hand with hers, and walked to the base of the stairs with her. They had no sooner gotten to the top and turned down the corridor before a chiming sound reverberated through the house, announcing visitors.
A few steps later, they turned into the green parlor and Raz saw Straif Blackthorn, FirstFamily GrandLord Straif T’Blackthorn, holding a little girl in his arms that was the image of Del.
Raz’s spine stiffened; he tightened his clasp on Del’s fingers. This man had been her lover, close enough to her to manage her affairs when her Family died while she was away. He was father to this child . . . the remai
ning child of her Family. Her child, also. Too many strings between the two of them. Strings that seemed to vibrate.
“Greetyou, Del.” T’Blackthorn moved forward with the same easy stride Del had, one that spoke of many miles walked and ridden.
“Greetyou, Straif,” Del said. Her gaze seemed fixed on the little girl, as if she was unaware or unconcerned with the tension between Straif and him. Raz rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. Straif did not miss that action.
“Straif, Doolee, this is Cerasus Cherry. Raz, this is an old friend, Straif T’Blackthorn, and my cuz, Helendula Elecampane-Blackthorn.” She untwined her fingers from Raz’s, walked toward them, and held out her arms to the child. “Greetyou, Doolee, good to see you back again so soon.”
“Dd . . . dd . . . dd.” The little girl took her thumb from her mouth and flashed a dimpled smile at Del, held out her arms. Del took the child and kissed her cheek, settled her on a hip.
Raz’s insides pitched.
Straif said easily, “Quite a picture. Del, since you’re in town for a while, I’d like to arrange for you to sit for T’Apple, so he can craft a holo painting of you and Doolee.”
Del shifted with the child, they looked at each other. “Sit. Like sitting still, right?”
“Right,” Straif said.
To Raz, both females appeared nearly incapable of being quiet for more than a few minutes.
“For a long time, and not just once?” Del questioned.
“I’d like this holo of you,” Straif said, in the tone of a FirstFamily GrandLord.
The man was dressed in the finest of bespelled clothes, tailored for him, in the latest fashion. Raz could only hope to make enough gilt from his career to someday wear such clothes. The Cherrys were an old house, but the highest in nobility, riches, and status were the FirstFamilies.
“Why can’t you just take a recording and T’Apple can work from that?” Del grumbled.
“Because he’s an artist?” Straif raised his brows.
Raz’s jaw tensed. He couldn’t prevent how his body straightened, angled toward Del as he stepped to block her from Straif’s vision. It didn’t matter that the man was happily wed to his HeartMate. He was a past lover of Del’s, a man who mattered to her, who she’d cared for and who had cared for her. A man who would be tied to Del for the rest of her life through the child she held.
A man dangerous to all Raz’s possessive instincts.
Scowling, Del moved beside Raz and said, “All right, set up the appointment. We’ll do our best, won’t we, Doolee?” She jiggled Doolee on her hip, smiled at the little girl with such tenderness that Raz’s heart gave a hard thump in his chest.
“Ya, ya, ya!” Doolee said. She leaned against Del and turned her head to look at Raz, fluttered her eyelids.
A flirt in the making. He had a flash of the baby as a young woman, pretty and aware of her own appeal. Not like Del, who was still frowning as she looked at Straif. “You could have scried to tell me that.”
“So I could have,” Straif said. He was staring at Raz. “But I wanted to take a look around the house again. It’s been a long time since I was here and you said something to my son about a journal? My HeartMate and I wondered if you might have children’s books of Family tales.” He smiled and didn’t sell the sincerity. “We like to read to our children at night.”
Del grunted. “Yeah, children’s tales somewhere. Holos in my old room or the nursery. I’ll get them later.” She ran a hand over Doolee’s curls, handed the child back to Straif. “I’ll send them all to your cache.”
“You asked Antenn to make sure Doolee was taught to swim and had an antidrowning spell . . . my son was vague . . .”
“That’s right. You’ll have to trust me on that. I’ll see you later, Straif.”
Raz gave Straif a smile of his own, slow and triumphant, as he wrapped an arm around her waist. The woman wanted to spend time with him, not her old lover. “Pleasure meeting you.”
T’Blackthorn narrowed his eyes. “Right.” He was all tough guy; Raz didn’t think the tracker had gotten soft since he’d taken up his title. But Raz wouldn’t back down. This was his time with Del. Her time with T’Blackthorn and whatever romantic involvement they’d had was past.
“Bye, bye!” Doolee made kissing noises, and Straif held her out to kiss Del’s cheek.
“Tomorrow, Del,” Straif said. He took a couple of paces back and vanished.
With her free hand, Del rubbed her face, shook her head. “Lady and Lord, I love Doolee and respect Straif, even though he’s gone all nobleman on me, but all these complications . . . and being tangled up forever with a FirstFamily . . .” She shrugged.
It was the most natural thing in the world for Raz to pull her into his arms.
She came willingly, the tenseness in her muscles as she’d faced T’Blackthorn easing, turning her supple against Raz, and that was a very unique pleasure. She tilted her head back and wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to his, let his tongue invade her.
Passion exploded inside him, shot straight to his sex. He grabbed her tight, one arm around her shoulders, one curving around her derriere, pulling her against him, her belly against his hard and throbbing shaft. Then he bent her back, so they would be close, close, as close as they could get, clothed.
Fire raged in him, running through his blood. Hunger. He needed.
Then they weren’t in the wide, white and gold corridor, but in the dimness of a room that smelled of her, just like the taste of her that tantalized him until he was mad with longing to kiss her and learn all the flavors of her—mouth and neck and shoulder and breast and sex.
“Clothes off!” Her voice was guttural, her short-nailed hands ripping open the front tab of his shirt . . . but he was used to quick changes and was naked and wanting before she was. Leathers! He yanked on them; they didn’t part.
“Clothes off,” he ordered, swore as his fingers fumbled. No damn tabs. He broke away, gasping, jerked off her belt, pulled her tunic up over her head . . . finally found a front tab for her trous, ripped it open, shoved her leather trous and pretty pantlettes down. Her boots would have to stay on.
His hands went to her breasts and fondled as she fell onto the bedsponge. He followed, panting, then he tested her, found her ready, and he plunged.
She was hot and wet and tight and he lost himself in her, could only feel her body as her hips pumped, shooting them to the top of ecstasy and explosive release.
Then all he knew was that she was naked under him and her breasts were soft and full and her skin smooth and he struggled to stay awake, give her words. “Wonderful, lovely woman. Beautiful Del.” He sucked in a breath, but sleep loomed in the back of his mind. He couldn’t rest now, here, or he’d succumb.
He rolled to his side and struggled up on an elbow, forced his eyes open. Del looked shocked and humor rippled through him. Her curls stuck out, her eyes were wide and a touch wild. He liked that. He put a hand over her breast, feeling the small nub caress the center of his palm, sending a last frisson of delight through him.
She blinked and blinked again, reached up to run her thumb along his jaw. Her heart pounded under his hand, her chest rising and falling; there was a gleam of perspiration that added a glow to her skin.
He breathed her in and the spicy lavender was less than a hint of sage and some other scent he didn’t quite know.
“Pinyon pine,” she said, answering his thought. Then she smiled and her lashes lowered to half cover her eyes and her lips curved. “I think that’s what you smell.” She drew in a deep breath. “I like the fragrance of cherry myself.”
“Surely you jest.”
“Surely, I don’t. That’s what you smell of, pretty boy, hasn’t anyone told you so?”
He was affronted. A leading man smelling of cherries? “No, and it’s not true.”
“I smell cherries, and it’s not true that I am beautiful, either.”
“Wrong.” He shaped her breast with his finger
s, the womanly softness of her, stared into her eyes that had turned a deeper green, her wide pupils. “There is so much more of beauty than the surface.” He let his hands skim over her torso, rest just above her sex. “Though your surface is attractive enough . . . such a fine body. Such a pretty face, especially the dimples. I love when your dimples peek out at me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t have dimples.”
He laughed. “Oh, yes, you do. You obviously don’t spend much time in front of a mirror.”
She jutted her chin, no dimples in sight. “I don’t carry one with me.”
He believed that. He shook his head. In his profession a mirror was always around the corner to check that his body was right, that he was looking like the character, or just to practice facial expressions, gestures, postures, whatever.
Bending down to kiss her nose, he said, “If you want to see your dimples, just look at Doolee; she’s the image of you.”
“She is not. She has Elfwort’s pointy chin. I don’t have that chin.” Hers angled even more, so he stroked her neck.
“You might see other Family members in her face, but the Family resemblance between you is startling.” Raz followed the curve of her collarbone to her shoulder, let his smile linger. “You’d admit she’s a very pretty child.”
With wariness, Del said, “Yes.”
His smile broadened. “So you must know you’re a very attractive woman.”
She shrugged and he felt the firm muscles move.
He cupped her chin. “Believe me in this, Del.”
She stared into his eyes and he became aware of himself, sensed how she saw him, his good features, his hair falling around his face, his own blue eyes. Sensed more than how he looked. He did not smell of cherries.
Del grinned. “Yes, you do. Cherry liqueur.” She sat up, appeared startled at her garments caught on her boots. A laugh rolled from her as she shook her head. “We were in a hurry.”
Raz took the opportunity to trace the fine dip in her spine, admire her toned back, stare at her very nice ass. “Yes, we were.” He let out a satisfied sigh. “Though I didn’t show my best.”
