His cloak was nowhere in site, no doubt stolen by someone in the crowd. His blood-stained knife lay useless at his feet and his blaster was still tucked into his waistband. Didn’t he have time to use it?
“Ali’ra, he’s a mess,” she whispered. His left biceps had been slashed nearly to the bone. His right leg lay twisted in an unnatural position. Blood flowed heavily from far too many places. The deep knife wound in his abdomen worried her most. If it wasn’t taken care of very soon, he would be beyond help. Not even Enola could heal the dead.
That mistake is going to come back to haunt you.
At the memory of his words, Jelena’s stomach clenched. He was right. This was her fault. If she hadn’t interfered, hadn’t stopped him from killing Jerrek—
A ripple of awareness ran over her. Magic. An enraged shriek pierced the air. The crowd in front of her scattered, clearing the way for the woman she’d dubbed `viper.’ Zanera was responsible for this. Why?
Jelena shielded Drake’s body with hers and quickly called the incantation for protection. As she whispered the words, an invisible bubble formed around them.
The sky darkened and lightning cracked with Zanera’s approach. The very air around them sizzled with her fury.
“Oh no,” Jelena whispered. “She can’t be.” Her fear grew as the woman grabbed Jerrek by the throat, holding him immobile, and placed her palm over his heart. “Ali’ra, she is. She’s Udaro.”
Jelena didn’t know why Zanera wanted him, but she wasn’t about to let her have him. She grabbed his knife, knowing he’d want it, and ported to the one place Zanera wouldn’t find him. Home.
JERREK GASPED in pain.
Zanera sighed, ecstasy flowing through her, and tightened her grip on him. He was helpless against her. She loved it that way. “You were supposed to bring him to me, not kill him.”
“He’s not dead,” Jerrek gasped. “He just knocked me away.”
An Ursur let loose a string of grunts, gesturing at Drake.
Jerrek’s expression twisted in confusion.
Zanera grabbed his face, digging nails into his jaw, forcing him to look at her. “What did he say?”
“He said the Magician didn’t move.” Jerrek shook his head. “I know something hit me.”
Magic?
She abruptly released him. He fell into a heap on the ground, too weak to move, as she stepped over him and strode toward Drake.
She should have sensed it when she arrived, but she’d been too intent on killing Jerrek. She felt it now. There was other magic here. Whoever he was, he were no match for her. She’d amassed too much power. She’d planned this for far too long. Drake was hers and no Nar’galira do-gooder was going to stop her.
Just as she reached him, he dissolved into nothing.
Zanera screamed, lashing out at the nearest objects—the Ursurs. Nothing but piled ashes remained of them.
The crowd scattered like frightened rodents. Their fear didn’t please her. Oh, no. She wanted blood. Drake was hers. She would have him, and the Nar’galira who took him from her would pay. She vowed to the gods that he would pay.
IT WAS ONLY a few seconds, half a minute at best, before they materialized in Jelena’s bedroom, but it felt like hours. She tossed his bloody knife on her bedside table. The blaster tucked in his waistband quickly followed.
Ali’ra be praised, she was never more grateful for her gift of magic than this very moment. She stripped back the covers, removed his clothing, and gently settled him in her bed—all in less than a minute.
She was even more grateful that her parents insisted she learn the healing arts though it wasn’t her calling. She wouldn’t have to waste precious seconds calling a healer.
Jelena took a moment to assess the full extent of his injuries and almost wished she hadn’t. His clothing had hidden so much. The pain he must have suffered—what he must suffer still. “My fault.”
She forced back the tears threatening to fill her eyes. She had no time for guilt and regret now. That stomach wound needed immediate attention. But first she had to straighten his leg. It couldn’t be twisted like that when she healed him.
Thank the gods the broken bone hadn’t pierced his thigh. That would have made things much more complicated and she needed to work quickly. Grasping his leg beneath the knee and ankle, she eased it straight and realigned the bone best as she could, but she’d have to set the bone into place before she healed the break. She took a firm grip on his leg.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and yanked.
Drake groaned.
The agonized sound tore through her heart. “I’m so sorry.”
She laid her palm on his brow, giving him what ease she could against the pain. A tear spilled from her eye and splashed onto his cheek. She swiped another away. She didn’t have time for tears.
Placing her other hand over his heart, Jelena closed her eyes. “Goddess Atara, grant me use of your healing magic. His wounds are many, his pain great. Allow me to heal him quickly, completely.”
Magic coursed through the air and ground and into her body, gaining momentum, gaining strength, as it swept into her hands, making her tingle with power.
She opened her eyes and viewed the golden glow around her hands transfer to him and rapidly spread over him. His cuts and scrapes closed and healed. Most disappeared completely. The others, those that ran deep, would take a few days. This accelerated healing would cause him pain until the cycle had run its course. Thankfully, she had herbs that would help.
Several long minutes passed as the healing continued. By the time the glow finally faded, signaling that the magic had done all it could do, Jelena was exhausted.
But not finished.
She couldn’t rest until she’d removed the blood and grime that covered his body. Unfortunately, she doubted she had the energy to perform more than one small spell.
Releasing a weary sigh, she conjured a basin of warm water and a cloth. She’d wash away what she could reach without jostling him. Later, if he felt up to it, he could bathe or she could perform the cleansing spell. The soiled linens had to wait.
She started at his feet and worked her way up his legs. She’d intended to do it quickly, but as the wet cloth glided over his skin, she became fascinated with the firm muscles beneath her hands, and with the way the moisture clung to his golden skin.
She worked carefully over the thigh that had been broken then continued up, discovering a pale crescent of skin on his hip, just over the bone. An old scar. Tomorrow, it would be gone. She rubbed her hand over it, enjoying his silky skin on her palm.
Sighing, Jelena wrung out the cloth and turned her attention to the part of his body she’d unconsciously been avoiding. That mysterious area had drawn her gaze time and time again when he’d been dressed. Now it held her captive. Ali’ra preserve!
A shiver ran through him, rising chill-bumps across his flesh. It was enough to put a stop to her gaping. She needed to finish her task. Warming the cloth in the water once more, she set to it. His member started to fill and lengthen under her ministrations.
Clean enough! She quickly grabbed the sheet from the foot of the bed and drew it to his waist before she even dared to glance at his face. Thank the heavens he still slept. She would have died of embarrassment had she seen him watching her.
That thought, and the growing lethargy beginning to leaden her limbs, pushed her through the cleaning of his chest and arms. As she cleaned the grime from his face, she froze, gasping in astonishment.
The tattoo was gone.
She’d thought him handsome before, but without that horrid black thing marring half his face, he was beautiful. So completely tali. No, more than that, but she couldn’t find the words, and she was too tired to try. She dropped the cloth into the basin and set it aside, then pulled a chair beside him and sat, content to do nothing more than watch him sleep.
PITCH BLACK. He couldn’t see a thing.
A pin-point of light appeared in the blackness in front of him. “Where are
you?”
Zanera’s voice. But where’s Jelena? If she hurt her—No, he remembered now, he’d finally chased her off.
“You made me feel so wonderful, so alive. I want that again. Where are you? Show me, and I’ll come to you.”
The pin-point expanded into an image of Zanera writhing above him. Gods, he remembered. The sex had been good, really good. They’d spent the better part of three days in bed. Three days of mind-numbing drekking.
Then it went to hell.
She’d woken him in the middle of the night. The woman had more skills than a Pleasarian whore, because she’d had him ready to jak before he’d roused completely.
And that’s when she’d done it—when he’d lost it.
It’d felt as if his life was leaving with his seed, leaving him cold, empty. He’d fought against it and had been rewarded with blinding agony. It had taken the last of his strength to shove her off of him and slap the com, calling for help. Gods, he remembered every second.
“Where are you?”
“No.”
A SCREAM of rage echoed through Drake’s mind as he opened his eyes. It was too dim for him to see where he was, but Jelena’s flowery scent lay heavy in the air. She’d come back for him.
Gods, he hurt like hell. The Ursurs must have really done a number on him. He’d held his own longer than he’d thought he would, then Jerrek got him with that damned dagger of his.
He didn’t remember much after that, but he’d woken in the hospital often enough to know that he’d been pretty bad if he’d needed the amount of healing that caused this kind of pain. He almost wished he’d stayed asleep.
He tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position, but found himself held down by a soft, feminine body.
Jelena.
She’d fallen asleep watching over him. Her little butt was perched in a chair; the rest of her was draped halfway across his chest, pinning his left side to the bed. Her right arm wrapped around his waist.
She sighed and nuzzled her soft cheek against his bare skin. Her hair tumbled over his hand.
He rubbed the silk between his fingers. So soft. A lock brushed his chest. He immediately hardened.
His low groan woke her. She sat up all sleepy-eyed, and completely sexy.
Ignoring the pain, Drake pulled her close and kissed her. The kiss was deep, passionate, but had very little to do with lust. It was so much more. It ended slowly, with them staring deep into each other’s eyes.
She couldn’t kiss him like that and still be repulsed by him. He refused to believe that she could. He searched her gaze for some sign of what was going on in that beautiful head of hers.
She slowly pulled away.
“Where are we?”
“My home. How do you feel?”
“Like I met the wrong end of a bear.”
“Six bears.” She smiled and stroked his arm with her soft fingertips.
His muscles jerked under her touch. Fire licked down his arm to his fingertips. He tensed against the pain. Mistake. Muscle spasms rampaged through him in a chain reaction. His body screamed in agony. He clenched his jaw, refusing to make a sound, and twisted his fists into the covers.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll get you an herb for the pain.”
“No.” He grabbed Jelena’s hand, stopping her from leaving him. “I’m allergic to pain-killers.” He could deal with the pain. He was just glad the beast hadn’t ripped his arm clean off.
“Certainly not all of them. There has to be something I can give you.”
He shook his head. “I can’t take the chance.”
“How do you bear it?” Her voice cracked. She quickly turned her gaze away, but not before he saw the tears in her eyes.
His stomach clenched. Damn it, he didn’t want her crying over him. He didn’t want anyone crying over him. “I get used to it.” His low, hard tone made her flinch and look at him. Damned if those tears didn’t spill down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It was my own blasted fault. I walked right into it.”
“I shouldn’t have left you.”
“I wanted you gone!”
She jerked as if he’d slapped her.
Drek! What the hell was wrong with her? She should be yelling at him, calling him a stupid ass, not whimpering like she’d just lost her dog. And he was an ass; he knew that. Here he was, naked, in the bed of the woman he wanted more than breath and he was letting her have it for crying.
She’d saved his life.
He should thank her, not tear into her, but he was getting it from both ends here, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. He’d never been a good patient; pain had the tendency of giving him the temperament of an enraged Kavork bull, and tears always made him feel guilty. Feeling guilty made him mad as hell. And he was letting her have the brunt of both. She didn’t deserve that.
He forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly before he said anything more. When he finally asked his next question, he managed his normal tone. “Why did you come back?”
“I sensed you were in trouble.”
Trouble, that was an understatement. The expression on her face told him that bothered her. “That’s not normal for your kind?”
She nodded. “It is, among loved ones, but… “
“But you don’t love me.” Why the hell did that feel like a knife twisting in his gut?
She turned away, not saying more.
He wanted to hear her say it. “Look at me.”
Her body turned toward him in slow motion, and she fought the movement. “How did you do that?” She asked, her confused gaze meeting his. Her eyes widened with shock. “Enola! I need you!”
Do what? He didn’t make her turn around. Was she completely nuts? And who the hell was Enola?
Little bells tinkled, then an old woman appeared. The white hair made him think she was old, because there wasn’t a wrinkle on her face. And she wasn’t happy to find him there.
Jelena grabbed the woman’s sleeve. “His eyes. I saw—”
“Yes, I see it.”
“See what?” He watched the old woman come closer. He narrowed his eyes as he studied her face. “I know you.”
She nodded and sat beside him on the bed.
Jelena touched his hand. “The vision I showed you, remember?”
“No, we’ve met before.” Drake couldn’t remember where, but it would come to him.
Jelena shook her head. “That’s not possible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” the woman said in a sharp tone, making Jelena flinch. “You will wait for me outside, young lady.”
Jelena looked in his direction, looking like she wanted to protest. Finally, she sighed and nodded, then disappeared.
When Enola returned her troubled gaze to him, Drake became uncomfortably conscious of the fact that he faced a woman that could probably kill him with a flick of her little finger. He doubted she was happy about finding a naked man in her granddaughter’s bed—her engaged granddaughter’s bed.
“She is not my granddaughter.” Enola smiled. “And, your state of undress doesn’t concern me. Your health does. How do you feel?”
A mind reader too. He’d have to be careful. “I’ll live.”
She nodded. “What do you remember of me?”
Images pricked at his memory, a long shimmery gown, kind sparkling eyes, love. He shook the last one away. “The carnival.”
He’d been twelve, and his old man had been in one of his moods. Rather than risk a beating for blinking the wrong way, he’d spent the day wandering through the traveling carnival and had stumbled upon the illusionist’s tent. Her illusions had fascinated him. “You gave me a book of magic tricks.”
“Yes, and just a few hours later you returned to show me all you had learned. Do you remember what you said to me?”
He did. He’d told her that he wished he could do real magic so he could take himself far away from Bellariss. She’d told him that h
e would find his magic.
For a brief time, he’d thought he had. He had a great job and was highly respected in his field. He and his father were tolerating each other. And he had a beautiful woman in love with him. Things were finally working out.
Then his life had gone to hell.
“I had thought to have more time to prepare them for your arrival, but the damage is done. There is no help for it now.” She raised her palm toward him.
A jolt of power hit him so hard it lifted him off the bed and held him in the air while sparks of blue lightening zigzagged across his body. When it finally lowered him, he lay with his fists clenched in the sheets, gasping for breath. Gods, he felt like he was hooked into a power current. It still sizzled through his veins. It didn’t hurt, not really, but— “Why?”
“The containment spell has been failing for years. At this moment in time, it would do you more harm than good.”
“I… don’t… understand.” He was losing the battle to stay conscious. The energy, his wounds—
“You will. Sleep now. You’ll feel much better when you wake.” She passed her palm over his head.
As he slipped into the deep black pool of oblivion, Enola leaned over him and kissed his brow. He swore he heard her welcome him home.
Chapter Seven
MOONLIGHT SHONE on the courtyard in the rear of Jelena’s home, making the crystalline black swirls in the glossy green marble sparkle like diamonds.
Jelena paused her pacing and rubbed her temples.
Anticipating her need, a pillar of marble rose fluidly from the ground and began to form a chair only to sink again when she turned and strode away.
She glanced at the wall that hid Drake and Enola from view. “What is going on in there?”
A magical surge whipped around her, raising all the hair on her body. Well, not an actual surge, more like an echo, but strong enough to freeze her in place for several seconds. She sank onto the newly formed chair behind her.
“Dear Ali’ra, what was that?” She was just about to check on Drake when Enola arrived. “Is he all right?”
“He sleeps.”
“Thank heavens. I just felt the strangest thing, and I was worried…”
Real Magic Page 10
