Eyes tearing from the dust, smoke choking her, Sandra scooted through on her hands and knees. And blundered into a pair of shiny black boots. Damn.
Tilting back her head, she looked up from the boots to see an armed intruder aiming a laser pistol at her head. And to either side of him were two more attackers, both fully armed and ready to shoot.
Seeing the furious faces of the men, Sandra shook, certain she was about to die. In the distance, she heard the pops of gunfire and the clash of swords, but Daveck’s men would never reach them in time.
Daveck had crawled through the hole after her, taken in the situation, and tossed his sword away and held out his empty hands, yet he didn’t give up the laser pistol he’d hidden under his shirt. But surely, if they didn’t shoot immediately, they’d frisk him?
Daveck placed an arm around her waist. “You got us. Now what?”
“Place your hands behind your—”
Still on her hands and knees, she felt Daveck’s hand tug her waist, turning her, flipping her against his side. What now?
Space . . . shifted . . . shimmered.
She blinked in total confusion. Was she hallucinating?
One moment they’d been on hands and knees, armed men aiming weapons at them, then as she took another breath the armed men were gone and she seemed to be inside . . . a shimmering black coffin.
Lying on her side, her back pressed against Daveck, her mouth turned dry with fear. “Oh . . . my . . . God. Am I dead?”
“Are you hurt?” Daveck asked.
“I can’t see. I’m blind.” There was not even a shadow to guide her. She tried to reach out, but Daveck firmly clasped her hands in his. “Don’t move. Are you in pain?”
“I can’t see.”
“But your arms and legs and feet are . . . okay?”
“It’s just my eyes.”
“Your eyes are fine. There’s no light in the Shimmering.”
The Shimmering—a place in the world, yet beyond, the definition came straight from Lira’s language memories but Sandra didn’t understand the meaning. Her pounding heart made her ears roar. “Where is here?”
“I’ve put up the Shimmering to protect us until my men arrive. You can’t see inside. And you can’t move, either.”
“Why not?”
“The shield cuts off light. If you place a limb through the Shimmering, the edge will slice it off.”
“Are you insane?”
“I’m trying to save our lives.”
She breathed a calming breath: in through her nose, out through her mouth. It didn’t work. She closed her eyes, pretending the Shimmering wasn’t there, pretending she could see if she opened them.
But despite her fright, she couldn’t ignore how tightly he was holding her against him. With the back of her head against his chest, her butt snuggled into his groin, she could not only feel his every breath, she also felt his arousal. She didn’t budge, not with his frightful reminder to remain still lodged in her mind—she had no intention of lopping off a leg.
“So how will we know when it’s safe to come out?” she asked, trying to keep the panic from her tone. She couldn’t see or hear anything that was outside the force field and the sensory deprivation was making her claustrophobic.
“We’ll have to estimate when it’ll be safe. But it won’t take my men much longer to fight their way here.”
If he’d meant his words to reassure her, he hadn’t. “Is it my imagination or is the air growing stuffy?”
“We’re running out. Talk less. Use less air.”
“Now you tell me.” Sandra saved air and said no more. She should be thinking about what was going on outside, about when his men would reach them, about whether the air would run out before it was safe to drop the shield, and exactly how long the Shimmering would protect them.
But with his hand curved around her waist, with her nestled so intimately against him, she preferred to think about the last thing he’d told her before they’d been attacked.
Apparently, if she lived, she was about to marry this man. And she suspected they might have been attacked because someone wanted to stop their alliance. As usual, she didn’t have enough facts to reach a valid conclusion. But of one thing she was very certain—Daveck wanted her. He’d saved her life. And he was attracted to her.
Sandra was willing to have a fling . . . but marriage was just too restricting . . . too permanent.
Chapter Six
“MAY I SEE THIS marriage contract?” she asked Daveck. A half hour ago he’d disintegrated the Shimmering to find his men had disposed of their attackers. There’d been no time for Sandra and Daveck to talk privately. Instead she’d remained quiet as he took charge and ordered his men to find out who had attacked them and why. He’d also summoned workers to restore order to her rooms, and carpenters, masons, and plasterers were busy repairing the walls, even as women cleaned up the mess in her quarters. And Daveck had also posted more guards around her home.
Making himself at ease in her dining room, he brought a wineglass to his lips, took a leisurely sip, and eyed her over the brim. “Surely after all that has happened you can’t question that you require my protection?”
“Until we know who attacked us and why, I can’t assume anything. For all I know, those men wanted you dead and I was simply an innocent caught in the crossfire.”
A muscle flicked in his jaw. His expression wasn’t as stoic as she’d first thought. While he’d mastered unruffled and dangerous, if she looked hard enough, small signs of uncertainty appeared in his square jaw and wide forehead.
“I don’t remember signing a contract,” she commented. Throwing back his head, he laughed, and the rich sound washed over her in harsh waves.
She glared at him. “What’s so amusing?”
Gently, forcefully, he tugged her closer, trapping her against the rippling warmth of his chest. His easy way of drawing her into his arms excited her. It shouldn’t have, but judging by the electricity arcing between them, she’d bet her next meal that she’d find his lovemaking even more thrilling than her first skydive. The butterflies in her stomach were certainly stronger every time he touched her.
With his long arms wrapping around her back and his hands in her hair keeping her snugly in place, fighting him didn’t appeal to her in the least. She’d much prefer he kiss her again.
But what would Lira want? While Sandra had decided to improve Lira’s unfortunate situation so the woman might one day return to her body, Sandra simply couldn’t understand why any woman would flee from Daveck.
“Your signature isn’t required on a marriage contract. Only your father’s and mine are necessary. And I suspect Maglek signed it just to set a trap for me—it was his men who attacked us.”
“Why would my father want to . . . ?”
“Capture me? To stop me from going after the Zorash.” She shut her mouth to prevent her jaw falling to her toes. What kind of world was this where a man could unilaterally decide to take a wife and her father would betray his daughter? Sandra decided Lira wasn’t a delicate rose to be plucked on a whim. She was about to refuse but decided to be prudent and first consider the consequences. “And if I refuse?” she asked between gritted teeth.
Her question wiped the remnants of laughter from Daveck’s eyes. He stared down at her with a probing, uneasy stare. “You would undergo sharcrit.”
Until he spoke the word, she had no knowledge of the barbarian custom of sharcrit. The word had no translation in English, but Lira’s language memories flooded her. If a woman refused to wed the man who chose her, the wedding guests killed the unwilling bride with heavy granite-like stones, piling one crushing slab atop another, slowly pulverizing the reluctant-to-wed woman to death. Anger surged through her. Now she understood Lira’s reason for leaving her body. Rather than marry a man
she found objectionable, she’d preferred to depart for the astral plane. Remaining silent, Sandra pressed her lips tight, trying to think of a way out of her predicament.
Daveck’s firm grip drew her back from her thoughts. “Have you decided?”
“It’s difficult to believe that a man who just saved my life would put me through sharcrit.”
He shrugged, then traced a fingertip over her cheek in a caress, his sensual gesture underscoring his reply. “Do not seek to make me feel guilt when the choice is yours to make.”
But a man like Daveck didn’t marry a woman on a whim. “Why did you choose me? Why did you save me?”
His voice sharpened with impatience. “I already told you. Maglek stole the Zorash. I want it back.”
He could pretend all he wanted that this was a business deal, but she’d seen the flare of interest in his gaze, felt his arousal when he held her in his arms. “But what does that have to do with me?”
His finger tipped up her chin, then stroked the side of her neck. “Once we are wed, you will not lie to me about where your father keeps the Zorash.”
His words made no sense. After they wed, she could still lie to him. There must be a vital piece of information that she was missing.
When he traced her collarbone with his finger, he didn’t just distract her but sent a delicious shiver of anticipation to her core. And once again she remembered that the wide V-slit in her bodice allowed his fingertips easy access to her breasts.
Sandra knew he wouldn’t believe her, but she still had to try. “I’m not lying to you. There’s no sense in making both of us miserable for the rest of our lives. Call off the marriage—or at least delay until we know one another better,” she suggested.
“The climate is rapidly deteriorating. We can’t delay.” At his refusal, she searched for another way out. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the civilized custom of divorce?” Divorce came out in English. His finger hesitated its downward progress, but she already knew Farii had no Earthly equivalent.
“Di—vorce?”
“Ending a marriage.”
“There can be only one end to a marriage—death.” His words turned harsh. His scrutiny scraped her nerves, causing more uncertainty than she’d ever known. Or maybe it was the hard length of him pressed against her, inundating her with his blazing masculinity. If he chose to take her, right here, right now, she’d willingly agree.
His hand paused again in its relentless caress, a caress she leaned into as he just barely stroked the curve of her breasts. Triumph flashed in his eyes, which signaled he knew exactly what he was doing to her and exactly how she was responding—with desire.
When he leaned down and the warmth of his breath teased her earlobe, sane thinking became impossible. And when the heat of his hand made tiny circles in the hollow between her breasts, she sighed in pleasure.
As he stroked her flesh, he whispered into her ear. “I won’t permit your arguments to delay our marriage but another few minutes.”
She gasped. “You want to marry . . . now?”
He nodded. “You are wearing your wedding finery. The tabernacle is ready and the high priest has arrived.”
Thoughts spinning, knowing she couldn’t think clearly when all her hormones were flooding her with seduce-him-right-now demands— probably a reaction to almost dying during that attack—she swallowed hard. “We’re strangers.”
“Think of our marriage as a way to get acquainted.”
“Mmm . . . is that what you call it.” She couldn’t focus on anything except how much she wanted to rip off his clothes and damn the consequences. But this might be her entire future they were talking about. She had to get a grip, pull herself together. “I’m not ready for marriage.”
“Why not?”
“Marriage requires commitment. Compromise. I’m not that kind of woman.” Especially since in her world the woman did the compromising and it seemed no better on Farii.
His midnight-blue irises dilated, smoldering with indefinable emotion. His body went taut, and she sensed she’d somehow insulted him. Then the tense set of his broad shoulders eased as if he’d mastered his annoyance, leaving her to wonder if she’d imagined his fleeting reaction.
He drew her closer, his voice intense. “I’ll give you one last chance to avoid taking final vows. Tell me where Maglek hid the Zorash.”
Damn him. She didn’t know squat about the Zorash, but he’d never believe that. His attempt to intimidate her with his seductive tactics might have worked if she’d been Lira. But Sandra had enough experience with men not to capitulate to his sexy taunting.
She wished she had access to Lira’s memories as well as her language ability. But she didn’t, so she’d have to make do with the information she had. Except Daveck wouldn’t give her time to think. He took her silence for a refusal to give him the answer he sought. His hand went to the small of her back, the other tightened slightly in her damn long hair.
For an instant she considered doing what she wanted—kissing him. Surely just one more kiss wouldn’t hurt her and it would temper his anger. But it would give him the wrong idea.
“The longer you make me wait, my lady, the more impatient I become. It would be better if you cooperated.”
“Better for whom?”
His eyes darkened with anger. A tiny muscle ticked in the taut shadow of his jaw. But he sounded as curious as he did irritated. “Where does such defiance come from? The wish for independence? The courage to shoot a laser pistol like a warrior? Don’t you know that I murdered my first wife for committing much less of an outrage?”
“What?” He’d murdered his wife? Her gut churned and her thoughts careened out of control. Surely her choices couldn’t come down to marrying a murderer or being squashed to death. Even worse, she’d done a lot of crazy things in her life, but she’d never have thought she was far gone enough to consider a fling with a man who’d killed his wife.
Seeing her shock and distaste, rage darkened in his eyes, his mouth thinned to a sneer. “You didn’t know?” he demanded. “How could you not know?”
“Because no one told me,” she snapped. And then she stared into his eyes, searching for answers. “What exactly happened . . . to your wife?”
“We were dining when the border tribe attacked. I put up the Shimmering to protect her and it killed her.”
“But the Shimmering protected me.”
“Yes.”
She didn’t understand. “Did the force field device malfunction?”
“It’s not a device. I trigger the force field with mental thought.”
“So if it killed her, why didn’t it kill me?”
“She panicked.”
“So you didn’t know the force field would kill her?”
“Of course not.”
Relief washed over her. “Then it was an accident—not murder.”
“She died because of my failure to protect her. That’s murder.”
Farii had a weird definition of murder. “But your intention—”
“Does not matter. I took a vow to protect her. She died by my hand. Facts are facts.”
Drawing a deep breath, she made a futile attempt to steady her trembling nerves.
He spoke with little emotion, as if holding everything inside. “Let me be clear. After we wed, there will be more attacks—”
“Why?” She didn’t understand why Lira’s father would put his own daughter in danger.
“Do you think Maglek and the border tribes are my only enemies?”
“So you’re a real popular guy,” she teased.
He didn’t crack a smile. “During an attack, I’ll be forced to engage my shield. Like Ciel, you too may die.”
“I survived once, I will survive again.”
“Maybe not. Thi
s time I took extra seconds to make certain I wrapped all of you in the force field, I may not always have time to do so. But if you tell me where the Zorash is now—”
“I don’t know,” she repeated, fisting her hands in frustration.
“—I will tear up the marriage contract. It’s a good offer, my lady. Think long and hard before you refuse—”
She pounded his chest with her fist. “You big, ignorant bastard. Why won’t you listen to me. I don’t know where your precious Zorash is.”
His hand closed over her fist. “Enough. I will have what I came for. It is time to wed, my lady.”
“And I tire of your threats. Perhaps you think the Zorash is on my person. Would you care to search me?”
His eyes narrowed, and he let go of her as fast as if he’d singed his hands on a hot stove. What had she said to make him react that way? He’d turned on his heel, so she couldn’t see his face, and when he pivoted back, face stoic, she couldn’t read him at all.
Had her boldness turned him off? Or turned him on?
“I plan to search you quite thoroughly . . . after we’re married.” He held out his hand. “Ready?”
“Now?” Her mouth went dry, her knees weakened.
“Right now.”
Chapter Seven
SHE STARED AT HIS hand as if she wanted to slap it away. Although he’d never claimed to understand women, this one seemed almost . . . unstable. She’d just invited him to search her, as if forgetful they weren’t wed, as if she didn’t have the modesty of a maiden. She seemed eager for lovemaking, yet not for marriage.
When they’d fought, she’d actually been ready to shoot a weapon, yet she did so without losing one iota of her feminine side. She hadn’t panicked when enemies shot at them or when his aroused kaladon had nuzzled her backside, and she’d been more furious about sharcrit than about his kiss—a liberty he should never have taken until after the marriage ceremony.
Zorash help him, he couldn’t begin to fathom what or how she thought. Couldn’t begin to follow her reasoning process or why she’d denied her knowledge of the idol. It was almost as if she wasn’t aware that after the wedding ceremony a wife couldn’t lie to her husband, as if she wasn’t aware that the Zorash—even in her weakened state—didn’t allow married couples to lie to one another. For Lira to believe otherwise was foolish.
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