Thankfully, there were very few of those. Though she wasn’t really hungry, Jelena made a selection then retrieved it from the slot and carried it to the table.
Mayori looked up at her, eating utensil poised at her mouth.
“Would you prefer I sit at the other table?” The silence that followed her question went longer than polite. Jelena shrugged and turned away.
“No, wait.” Mayori gestured toward the chair across from her. “Please, join me.”
Jelena set her tray on the table and slid into the offered chair. She’d take grudging acceptance over blatant hatred any day. She smiled as Galen took the chair between them then glanced at her tray. This wasn’t what she expected.
She took one bite and grimaced. Her roasted fowl was dry as wood and just as tasteless. The vegetables and creamed tubers weren’t much better. She glanced at her companions, noting how they dug into their meals with relish. “How can you eat this?”
Galen swallowed his food and shrugged. “You get used to it.”
“It’s too difficult to keep fresh food from spoiling during space flight. Replicated food is more practical,” Mayori said.
“It’s a crime to call this tasteless muck food,” Jelena muttered. “Let’s see if I can’t make it a little more edible.” She waved her hand in a circle above the table.
The food on her plate transformed. The skin covering her juicy fowl turned golden brown and crispy. The yellow, orange, and green vegetables on her plate brightened and her creamed tubers transformed into a fluffy, white mound dripping with melted vulter.
“My people can’t do this.” Mayori stared at her plate, the contents of which thankfully wasn’t moving. “Who are you?” he asked, sitting across from her.
“Gods above, you are a Guardian.” Galen’s golden skin paled considerably, his voice awed. “The stories are true? Your people wield the magic of the gods?”
Jelena nodded.
“Can you use your magic to find someone?”
“Yes. That’s how I came to be in the tavern with the Magician.”
“There’s a man named Threaden—”
“Galen, no! Drake wouldn’t approve.”
“The longer we wait, the greater risk we have of losing him. We have to use ANY means available to track him down.”
“Drake wants him as bad as you do.”
Jelena snorted. “The price on this Threaden’s head must be exceptional.”
“Drake does a lot of things, for a lot of reasons, but money has never been one of them.”
Jelena glowered at Mayori, but made no further comment.
Galen turned his expectant gaze on her. “Can you tell us where he is?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you hunt a man.”
“Blast! We can’t let him get away.” He glared at Mayori. “Why won’t he bargain with Zanera? It isn’t like he hasn’t drekked her before. He just doesn’t—”
“Drake wants him as bad as you do.”
Galen shoved his tray away. “Yeah, right. We had the means to track the bastard down right here, but he let it go.”
“Damn it, Galen.” Mayori slapped her palm on the table, rattling their utensils. “You weren’t here. You don’t know what she did to him.”
Jelena stiffened. “Who? The woman in the tavern?” She knew that woman was trouble.
Mayori nodded.
“What did she do?” Galen asked.
“Something twisted, evil. It almost killed him.” She swiped away angry tears. “We can’t let her get her hands on him again.”
Galen sighed. “We’ll find another way.” He rubbed his eyes, and then his gaze fell on his discarded meal. He turned his sad smile on Mayori. “Real magic, can you believe it?”
“Drake wouldn’t believe it, even if he saw it with his own two eyes.” Mayori stared over Jelena’s shoulder at the door, as if she saw through it to the man she spoke of.
“A man who calls himself `the Magician’ doesn’t believe in magic?” The very idea was ridiculous.
“I call myself nothing,” Drake said behind her, startling Jelena so badly her eating utensil clattered to her plate.
She swiveled on her chair to find him leaning against the doorframe. His freshly washed hair, falling loosely about his shoulders, glistened in the overhead light. His eyes were so bright, so beautiful, she hardly noticed that ugly black tattoo.
The flap on his black shirt hung free from its shoulder fastener, revealing a tantalizing V of golden skin at his throat. He’d tucked his shirt into the waistband of his tight black pants, drawing her attention to his trim waist and narrow hips, and to the way the soft leather molded his strong legs. All this she catalogued, memorized, in the space of a few seconds. Ali’ra, she’d never seen anyone more gorgeous in all her life. Why? Why did he have to be the one?
With just a slight jerk of his head, he sent the others from the room, leaving them alone. “Who are you?”
“I told you who I am.”
Drake shook his head. “You told me what you are, not who?”
“I am Jelena, daughter of Cartel and Suvana, Lekarz clan of the Nar’galira.”
“Nar’galira?”
Jelena nodded, impressed that he’d pronounced it correctly. “It is what my people are called.”
His brows drew together. “Earlier, you called yourself Nar’gadesh.”
“I did.” She nodded. “Are you merely a Bellarissian?”
He shook his head.
“My world is no different. We have guardians, teachers, healers, priests, executioners, and others. We simply reflect the name of our race within our titles. All begin with Nar’ga.”
“You’re sticking with this story, aren’t you?”
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s the truth.”
“So you say.” Drake stared into her eyes, noting how the tiny gold sparkles within the deep purple sparked and flared with her temper. He glanced at her clenched hands and saw a faint blue glow. “You going to blast me now?”
She flinched, jerking her hands beneath the table, and averted her gaze. “I’m unaccustomed to my word being questioned.”
“I’m unaccustomed to being fed such an incredible line of—”
“It’s the truth!” She leapt to her feet, but with the chair bolted to the floor, she banged into the table then landed in her seat. Her eyes glazed with unshed tears as she rubbed her hip. “It’s the truth,” she whispered.
“Prove it.” Drake’s voice was equally quiet. Her tears wouldn’t sway him into buying her ridiculous story. “Prove to me you’re from a mythical race of people said to have a direct com-link to the gods—a people said to be so loved by the gods that They gifted Them with their powers.”
“We’re not myths. We’ve existed for thousands of years.”
“Yet we haven’t seen or heard anything from you in all these centuries.”
“We’ve been helping people on other worlds but it’s been hundreds of years since anyone on your world needed us.”
I needed you. Drake pushed to his feet and strode to the small viewport. When my old man beat the hell out of me, when he nearly killed me and no one stopped him, I needed you. I prayed for a Guardian, but no one came.
“Magician?” Her soft, warm hand touched his shoulder blade.
He stiffened, but he wasn’t sure if it was the jolt her touch sent searing through him, or if it was the way that name spilling from her lips grated on him like salt poured on a raw wound. “If you must call me something, call me Drake.”
That soft, husky voice of his sent a delicious shiver up Jelena’s spine, and with it came the reminder that this man was everything she abhorred in mankind—a cold-blooded killer who made his living off the lives of others.
Shaking her head, she dropped her hand and stepped back. She wouldn’t use his given name. He didn’t deserve that intimacy. He didn’t deserve her protection.
He jerked away from her. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. I told
you, tali. I was sent to protect you.”
“Feed that frak to someone else. You hate me so bad I can smell it on your breath. Who’d I kill? Your father? Your lover?”
“If I sought revenge, I could have killed you in the alley.”
“There’s more than one way to avenge a death,” Drake whispered.
“Watch, I’ll prove to you that I am what I say.” Her lips moved silently as she waved her hand over the cold vegetable she’d placed on her palm. A rose the same color as his eyes appeared in her hand.
Drake snorted. “I could do that when I was twelve.” He spun on his heel and strode toward the door.
“Makzem!”
He jerked to a halt and not by choice. He couldn’t move, not with his feet damn near bonded to the floor.
She stepped in front of him, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. “Don’t walk away from me in the midst of a conversation.”
“Let me go.” His tone was deadly quiet.
“Not until you let me prove that I’m Nar’gadesh.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything and gave her a tight nod.
“Think of someone far away.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Suspicious creature! She sighed. “I mean no harm, just a demonstration.”
He nodded slowly.
Whispering the ancient vision spell, Jelena drew a glittery white circle in the air in front of him with her finger. When she’d finished, the circle’s center shimmered and changed.
A golden-skinned man, his long blond hair pulled back in a gold clip, was on his hands and knees in the sand stalking two tow-headed little boys building sandcastles.
“Who is he?”
“Morgan Fontinara, Crown Prince of Bellariss and Head of the Sullust Federation. He’s also Galen’s brother. Keep that in mind the next time you decide to toast him.”
Jelena’s jaw dropped. She had no idea he had such powerful friends, and she obviously failed to keep her shock invisible, because he glanced at her, released a disgusted snort, then returned to the image.
Though there was no sound, she could almost hear the prince’s roar, and the boys’ screams, as he rose on his knees. They scrambled to their feet and ran to hide behind a beautiful brown-haired woman, heavy with child, kneeling on a blanket beside an older man seated in a chair. She laughed delightedly, nearly falling over before the prince caught her. The boys used his distraction to tackle him.
“Those two gladiators-in-training are Morgan’s twin sons. That very pregnant woman is his wife, Ariana.” A gentle smile curved the Magician’s lips. “They’re only having one child this time, a girl.”
“How do you know?”
He shrugged.
“Morgan has a lovely family.” Ali’ra, she hated how breathless her voice sounded, and all because of a tiny smile!
“Yes, he does.”
The strange tone hidden within the Magician’s soft whisper unsettled Jelena and had her heart thumping in a way she definitely did not want to try to name. She didn’t want to feel anything for this man, ever.
Not that it mattered. Nar’gadesh had rules about getting physically involved with their nevashi. Her brother, Danon, was living proof that the consequences could be disastrous.
She forced her attention on the image, and the man seated beside the laughing family. His long black hair, streaked silver at his temples, and neatly trimmed beard made his golden face seem pale, almost gaunt. And weak. “And the man in the chair?”
“Tremaine, Morgan and Galen’s father. He fostered me during a very difficult time in my life.” Drake’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the scene in front of him. “Is this how you found me?”
“No, I—”
Before she finished her explanation, the circle shimmered and changed, forming the image of a black stone fortress outlined in an eerie green aura, surrounded by tall skeletal trees. An evil place.
Jelena looked at the Magician, wondering if this place was dear to him. It wasn’t. His expression was anything but fond as he stared at it with an intensity that suggested every detail would be burned into his memory. With a wave of her hand the image popped, disappearing from sight.
Drake sucked in a harsh breath, his hand instinctively reaching for what was no longer there. Damn it! If she’d given him just a moment longer! He jerked his angry gaze to her.
Her suspicious stare quickly transformed into a gloating smile. “Have I convinced you yet? Or do you need further proof?”
Taking a slow, deep breath, Drake carefully masked his expression and forced his emotions under control. “Fine, you’re a Guardian. Now let me go.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” She waved her hand, releasing him from the spell that held him immobile.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.” He strode toward the door. It slid open and, as he expected, Mayori stood in the corridor. “I’m going to bed. Wake me when we reach Regula.”
“Do you want me to prepare a cell in the brig?” Mayori nodded toward Jelena.
Drake shook his head. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Guardians are supposed to protect people, not harm them.” When those sparkles in her eyes flared, he doubted they could keep her anywhere she didn’t want to be. “String up a hammock in your cabin.”
Mayori nodded.
“No. I will stay with you. It’s my duty to—”
“I don’t need a guard dog on my own ship.” He strode through the door without a backward glance.
Jelena stared at the closed door and released an exasperated sigh. “Is he always this stubborn?”
“About some things, yes. But on this you won’t get him to budge. Since Zanera, he prefers to sleep alone.”
“You mean he hasn’t—”
Mayori shook her head. Her tinkling laugh reminded Jelena of the faeries living in the wood near Faery Lake. “I said he sleeps alone.”
Deciding this was one area of discussion she’d rather leave alone, Jelena gestured for Mayori to lead the way. The spells she’d demonstrated for tali hadn’t used much energy, but it wouldn’t hurt her to rest. She had a feeling she might need it.
HIS HANDS traveled over her soft, sun-kissed skin, drawing a moan so erotic it nearly destroyed the control he barely held over his aroused body. As his fingers traveled lower and found her moist heat, he lowered his head to her breast, catching its dusky peak with his lips.
She moaned, arching her back, and thrust herself against his hand.
He raised his head to watch her face as he pleasured her. “Does this feel good?”
A shudder ran through her body. “Ali’ra preserve me, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Join with me, Draken.”
His given name on her lips was a balm to what was left of his battered soul. Unable to deny her anything, he moved between her parted thighs and slowly slid inside her.
“Raise your knees,” he whispered, and when she did, she was able to take all of him inside her velvety heat. His body trembled from the effort to hold back, to take it slow, to enjoy every second as if it were his last. “Dear gods.”
“Yes.” Her eyes drifted closed as he slowly moved within her. Her lids flew open. “No! I can’t do this.”
He stilled. “Why? You want this as much as I do.”
“No, I don’t!” She wriggled her hands between them and pushed against his chest.
Holding her sparkling gaze prisoner with his, he withdrew, but didn’t roll away. “Tell me why.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a killer.”
DRAKE WOKE, sensing he wasn’t alone. Slowly inching his hand beneath his pillow, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his knife and opened his eyes.
Jelena sat watching him from the chair by the door. He saw her clearly in the pale blue glow from light strip he’d left on.
Smart woman. If he’d found her hovering over him, he could have slit her throat before he even realized she meant him
no harm—which he wasn’t sure of yet.
He had a feeling she knew what he was capable of and that was exactly why she chose to watch him from so far away. She’d shed her jacket. In the dim light, her thin white blouse draped softly over her small breasts, inviting his gaze.
“You don’t appear surprised to see me.”
Releasing his grip on the knife, Drake rolled onto his back and stretched. “How long have you been here?
“Only for a moment.” Her gaze traveled over his bare chest to the sheet bunched around his hips, and lingered.
His body reacted instantly. Damn it! The barest glance from her had him harder than a virgin in a whorehouse. She could claim hatred all night, but it wouldn’t change the facts. She wanted him. Had she come here intending to seduce him?
Her eyes widened then she turned her face away. So much for the seduction theory. He didn’t know who he was angrier with, himself for lusting after her, or her for being surprised that her blatant stare affected him.
He touched the light control. Dark red patches stained her cheeks. “I didn’t hear you come in.” His voice was a bit sharper than he intended.
“I didn’t use the door.” Her gaze was riveted on some invisible spot on the wall.
Blast it, he’d never been shy about his body before and he wouldn’t start now. Flipping the covers back, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, his stare fixed on her, practically daring her to look.
She didn’t.
He grabbed his pants from the chair. Damned if he didn’t feel her gaze scorching his ass as he bent to jab his legs into his pants, but when he glanced her way, her gaze was on the wall. “I told you I didn’t want you in here.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“True enough, or you wouldn’t be on my ship.” Drake pulled up his pants and fastened his waistband. He turned and saw she’d given up staring at the wall. Her heated gaze roamed his chest. Was she fascinated or disgusted?
Before he figured it out, her expression transformed, into anger.
“Will you put a shirt on.” An order, not a question.
Drake folded his arms and raised his eyebrow.
“Common decency demands that you be dressed in a lady’s presence.”
Real Magic Page 3
