Krysta moved closer. “You told me Belle’s child would be able to bring you back. That was the primary reason I haven’t interfered with Vee’s bizarre approach to this whole situation.”
Belle moaned and Krystabel sat in the wildflowers, pulling Belle onto her lap. She stroked her daughter’s cheek, her gaze both tender and sad. “Vee knows what he’s doing, but his emotions are engaged as they have never been before.”
“Vee is the father of Belle’s child?” Charlotte circled behind her sister, discreetly looking at Belle.
“It’s a long story.” Krysta tucked her hair behind her ear, avoiding Charlotte’s gaze.
Krystabel continued to tenderly stroke Belle’s face as she explained, “The child’s abilities will be limited by the amount of energy available to him. An infant, any infant, has a very limited supply, so long as he can’t tap other sources.”
“Then, we should deliver the child.” Krysta crossed her arms and uncrossed them, hating the anxiety eating at her composure. “Will delivering Seth restore Belle to health? Will we be able to infuse her with energy once --”
“It’s time for Belle’s energy to rejoin with yours.”
Her mother’s words silenced Krysta and stunned her with their finality. “But...”
“What I did to you was unnatural. You were never meant to be twins. It’s time.”
Krystabel looked at Charlotte and smiled. “We will have the reunion we deserve. We both know we will, but today isn’t that day. Can you bind Seth’s ability to access other energy sources? Don’t try to do more. I’m not sure what the result would be for either of you.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Krystabel took a deep, shuddering breath and shifted her gaze back to her daughter. “Are you ready?”
“No,” Krysta cried. “I don’t want this. I --”
“You will understand in time.”
The sweet scent of wild flowers wafted around Krysta in an intoxicating swirl. She shook her head, fighting the lethargy, the tingling tranquility. She wanted to be angry. She needed her rage! Fury made her strong. Anger kept her safe. Peace washed over her, a tingling river of energy.
Gentleness.
Krysta fought against it, determined to resist, but the salve tenderly seeped into her being, healing long-neglected wounds.
Control.
Gradually, her defenses surrendered to the balmy tide. Krysta waited for the vulnerability, the dreaded weakness. How could she exist without the protection of her emotional barricade?
Balance.
She felt the missing pieces of her soul fit back into place -- and wept at the beauty it created.
Epilogue
Trey shifted the squirming bundle from the crook of one arm to the other and felt his heart swell with tenderness. For the past three weeks Seth had completely disrupted his orderly life. Demanding and energetic, the baby asserted his desires quite vocally whenever the need arose. Trey smiled. Despite the lack of sleep and the never-ending cycle of activity, he and Krysta had never been happier.
Knowing the Conservatory was incompatible with an infant, Vee had approached Krysta with the idea of keeping Seth at the villa. Trey had agreed to the arrangement, sensing that his soul’s mate needed this tangible connection to the sister she had lost.
Krysta would quickly correct him if she heard him use that phrase. Belle wasn’t lost; their energy had been rejoined. He knew it was true, but he also saw the flickers of sadness in Krysta’s eyes when she thought no one was looking. Regardless of the completeness Krysta now felt, she would miss her twin.
“I can’t believe how strong he is,” Trey said. The baby wrapped his chubby fingers around Trey’s thumb and dragged it down to his mouth. “I think he’s hungry -- again.”
Krysta laughed, her turquoise-marbled purple eyes shining. “Where does he put it?”
The changes in Krysta since her rejoining with Belle had been remarkable. Her eyes were the most obvious, but not the most important. Her basic personality remained unchanged. She was vivacious and passionate, but now a subtlety softened her highs and lows.
Seth closed his greedy mouth around the captive thumb and Trey shook his head. He may have agreed to the arrangement out of love for his soul’s mate, but this little stinker had wiggled his way firmly into Trey’s heart.
He stood endlessly at the side of the railed sleeping station, watching the baby. Each sound Seth made, each expression, each new movement fascinated Trey. He had even found it easier to be nice to Vee. As if summoned by the thought, the distinct rumble of a transport conduit vibrated the floor. Vee glided from the vortex, his robes fanned out behind him.
“Greetings.” He inclined his regal head and held out his arms for his son.
Trey passed the baby to Vee. Tenderness and pride shone brightly in the Mystic’s emerald gaze. His long fingers stroked Seth’s chubby cheek reverently, his face reflecting soul-deep devotion.
Nodding toward the door, Krysta took her husband by the hand and led him from the nursery. “I always feel intrusive.”
“I feel jealous as hell.” He chuckled. “Me -- jealous of a Mystic. How did that happen?”
Krysta smiled, squeezing his hand affectionately. “There’s a simple cure for your jealousy, you realize?”
“Oh, do tell.” He followed her down the hallway, his amber gaze warm and caressing.
“We could have a child of our own.”
He paused at the top of the stairs. “It wouldn’t be too much, caring for two?”
Smiling, she traced his jaw with her fingertips. “I could always ask Dro Tar to help out.”
He laughed. “Dro Tar... a nanny?”
The idea was rather funny. Krysta could almost picture the unconventional strategies Dro Tar would apply to child rearing. Multiple stimuli, tons of fun, abundant affection -- and nothing resembling order or discipline.
“Okay, how about Bekka and Lorrisa? We’ve still got four empty bedrooms, and they adore Seth already.”
They went to the front salon and Trey sat in their favorite chair, pulling her down onto his lap. Krysta cuddled against his chest. The City of Tears spread out before them, spectacular and imposing; very much like the man holding her. Swelling with warmth and gratitude, her heart cried out to his. She was so blessed.
“If you’re serious about wanting a child, I’m more than agreeable.”
“I’m being greedy,” she admitted. “Our lives are so full of love and happiness, I should probably just enjoy it.”
“It has turned out rather well.”
He nuzzled her neck, his moist breath making her tingle. “We could just keep practicing,” she whispered. “Until Seth’s a little older.”
“Practice caring for a baby?” He nipped her gently. “Or practice making one?”
“Both.”
He pressed her body to his, surrounding her with his heat. Their mouths met and melded, the kiss deep and evocative. His lips brushed against hers as he whispered, “I love the way you think.”
Cyndi Friberg
Cyndi has been a member of Romance Writers of America since 1999 and also belongs to two local chapters of RWA. She is the winner of multiple national contests, including The Molly and The Merritt. In 2003, she was chosen as a finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart, as well as winning the Jasmine with Rebel Angels 1: Born of the Shadows. After dabbling in freelance journalism and songwriting, she returned to her true passion: paranormal romance. Visit Cyndi on the Web at www.cyndifriberg.com, or email her at [email protected].
* * * * *
Read on for a tantalizing glimpse of
Silver Fire
by Jeanne Barrack
Available Now from Loose Id
Silver Fire
“Mirelle. Mirelle. Now. Now,” the voice demanded. “Come to me now.”
She stood by the bed on the cold floor where the dream had left her before. The promise of passion and excitement filled the deep and velvety, compelling male voice
.
She moved toward him. The gown she wore shimmered with an opalescent gleam. Light filled the corner where he sat. He leaned forward, his entire body taut, straining as if by his very will alone he could draw her near.
“Relieve this longing I've endured for so many years. Ease this ache in my body and soul for you. Come to me and fulfill our need for each other.”
The tension in his voice was stretched tight as a string on a harp. She took another step toward him, then faltered.
His startlingly handsome face, revealed by the light, robbed her of her breath. Some divine artist had sculpted strong, masculine planes. His long, blond hair skimmed his shoulders. A simple, polished metal band held his hair back. The golden strands gleamed, gilded by the moonlight. His eyes struck blue lightning. His shirt gaped open to the waist, displaying a firm chest dusted with hair. He seemed to shimmer in the light.
She stepped closer to him, then stopped a few feet away. She knew that if she reached out and touched him, she would solve both the dream's secret and her entire future, yet she was afraid. What if the dream ended as it had the previous nights? Should she take a chance?
“Stretch out your hand to me,” he pleaded. “If you feel that you will die if you can't touch me, then stretch out your hand to me.”
Hesitantly, she reached out. An unseen puppet master pulled her strings, yet she had no wish to cut them. She would let the dream take her where it would.
As if drawn by those same invisible threads, his hand reached toward hers. The instant they touched, the room blazed with light, then abruptly returned to darkness. In a state of shock, she tumbled into his lap. Her head lolled back, offering her throat to his lips. Not wasting a moment, he took advantage of her vulnerable position. As he glided his mouth along her tender flesh, her skin tingled as if charged with electricity.
“I knew you would taste like this. Honey and spice. Do you taste as sweet everywhere? Let me see.”
A swift movement pulled her nightgown off her shoulders, baring her breasts to the moonlight.
“Yes.” His mouth came down on a soft, plump breast. “Like I dreamed, but better.”
She had lain compliantly in his arms up till then, dazed by the dream and the light, but now she shared the overwhelming urge to taste and touch. Her right hand reached out and drew his mouth to her lips.
This is a dream. I can do anything I like. I can really let go.
She touched his body with an unfamiliar boldness. As their lips met, the sizzling energy that accompanied their first contact increased, and Mirelle glowed from within. Thrusting off his shirt in a near frenzy, she brushed her aching breasts against his chest and shifted restlessly, trying to straddle his lap.
“Easy. Slowly, slowly. We've all the time in the world now.” He pulled away a bit and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Mirelle shook her head.
“This is a dream. Who knows how much time we have.”
“'Tis no dream, my sweet.”
“That's exactly what you're supposed to say... What is your name, anyway, and who are you?”
“Jareth set Morath -- Jareth, son of Morath, and your destined soulmate.” He gathered her into his embrace once more.
Now Mirelle drew back in his arms.
“My soulmate? Wow, I really got a winner with this dream.”
Jareth grunted with frustration. How to convince her?
“There is, perhaps, one way to prove to you that 'tis no dream. Come. Let me make love to you.”
Gently, he drew her to her feet and led her to the bed. As she stood up, the nightgown pooled onto the floor. Though naked, she felt neither fear nor shame before him. Only eagerness.
I never expected my first time to be with a dream lover, but why not? All the pleasure and none of the pain.
He pulled the coverlet down and she stretched out, waiting for him. His gaze locked with hers, he tore off his pants and boots. Mirelle gazed avidly at his erection and smiled with complacency. It looked like the “Snow Queen” had already aroused him.
He spoke then, as if he could read her thoughts.
“The Snow Queen? If she ever existed, she's melted away.”
Settling down beside her, he caressed her lips with his fingertips.
“I know this is your first time. If it weren't, we would never have reached this point. I'll try to be gentle, but please forgive me if I can't control myself. I've waited for you such a long time, I may not be able to hold back.” His fingers threaded through her loose curls, wrapping them around his hand like gossamer chains.
“Don't hold back, because I won't.”
He swiftly rolled her under him, her legs falling open at his urging. His manhood nudged against her thigh. Raising himself up on his elbows, he looked down on her.
“I will go as slow as I can. You deserve my greatest care, Mirelle.”
Brazenly, she clutched his taut buttocks, pulling him more tightly to her.
“No, Jareth, don't go slow. Go fast. Now.”
He took her words as a signal. His lips covered every inch of her silken flesh. He turned her onto her stomach and let his tongue travel down the slopes and valleys of her uncharted form, then moved her over on her back once more. As his questing fingers reached her inner core, she almost flew off the bed.
Their love-play continued and the electricity they generated took on a life of its own. Whenever their lips joined, sparks formed -- red, blue, green -- a rainbow. The room became brighter and brighter with the magical display of their ecstasy.
Bracing himself, he plunged through her thin shield. He held himself still, kissing away the tears that fell from her eyes.
“Should I go on, dear one?”
She didn't speak, just nodded her head. Amazing. The pain had already faded away.
Of course, because this isn't real.
* * * * *
What people are saying about
Silver Fire
Silver Fire is a treat for the senses and Ms. Barrack can really write sex! She has created a beautiful, fanciful and dark world filled with magic and magical beings. Ms. Barrack makes excellent use of descriptive language and has created a beautiful and exciting erotic fantasy story that I could not put down.
-- Kim, Coffee Time Romance
From the first, Silver Fire is filled with funny commentary from Mirelle, setting the stage for fun entertainment. Intertwined throughout the tale is a sense of anticipation and danger. It is hilariously entertaining, and I read it within two days… Make sure to have a nice big glass of something cold to cool off with.
-- D.S. Shadows, Romance Reviews Today
Ontarian Chronicles 2: Operation Hydra Page 26
