by Dara Joy
He released her mouth to slide fast into her. As deep as he could go.
“Gian!” She screamed out his name.
He groaned a feral response before sharply biting her shoulder.
There was no getting around the fact that he was a cat at heart. Wild, intense, untamable.
But he could also be very loving.
His silken lips sipped on her jawline; then he let his mouth brush tantalizingly across the tips of her eyelashes as if he had longed to do so forever. A low moan of gratification hummed from him.
Cognizant of her untried state, he moved carefully within her, using long, slow thrusts designed to acclimate her to him. The even rocking motion built and built until Jenise thought she would die of it.
“What—what do you do to me?” she panted raggedly.
{Put your other leg around my hip, Jenise, and I will show you… }
Jenise did as he asked, wrapping him completely in her embrace, wondering what more he could possibly do? Surely nothing could be more pleasurable than what he was doing now?
She was soon to discover how wrong that assumption was.
Guardian of the Mist truly came to her then. Powerfully. Consummately. He thrust into her with a steady rhythm that made her tremble all over.
A wild pressure built between her thighs where he moved. More and more. Too much! She tried to tell him. “I…something…”
“Yes, something,” he drawled out loud before capturing her breast to draw upon it strongly, his hips rotating once again.
Jenise came apart.
She reared up as rapid explosions vibrated through her. The sensations radiated from the place where they joined, intensifying moment by moment. Again she called his name, only this time on a wave of satisfaction.
Gian covered her lips to experience her cries of passion as he, too, found release. A perfect release of their first completion. He sagged against her before lifting himself on his elbows to stare down at her.
Jenise gazed up at him in awe.
Tossing his silken hair back, he gave her a crooked grin. “So, woman who seeks no pleasure, now what do you think?”
Her palm cupped his cheek. “I think from this day forward I shall be known as ‘woman who seeks pleasure.’”
He laughed huskily, winking at her. Since they were still joined, she could feel his deep laugh move through him and her. Curling his large hand over hers, he turned his head to kiss the center of her palm.
A puff of air escaped her lips at the warmhearted gesture. He could be so…so…unpredictable. But then, Familiars—
Her brow knitted as she suddenly remembered that other rumor she had heard. The one regarding their sexual skills. Her expressive aqua eyes opened wide.
“Gian…they say that Familiars have the special ability to—to ‘enhance’ during the sexual act. What does this mean?”
He didn’t answer her; he simply gave her a very sexy, very mischievous smile.
Then, while still joined to her, he gave her a very nonverbal explanation. He enhanced.
Her cries of ecstasy echoed across the plains for a long, long time.
Chapter Six
Planet Aviara, House of Sages, High Guild
“We must send someone! And quickly! Gian Ren has been missing too long!”
“Perhaps we should wait a little longer? What if we send someone and he is angry that we interfered?”
Yaniff, the most revered mystic in the House of Sages, closed his eyes and groaned. This debate had been going on in the High Guild for days upon days and still nothing had been decided. He thought of the old saying that two wizards in a room usually resulted in three different opinions. It certainly seemed to be true here.
Let me see, he ruminated whimsically to himself, with twelve mystics in the chamber, that was about…eighteen opinions.
An arghhh of acute pain sounded a lengthy note in his head. It was time he stepped into the fracas.
“Interfered?” Yaniff snorted in disdain. “Interfered!” He pierced each member with a disgusted look. Since they were all sitting at the long debate table and he was standing off to the far right side, Yaniff felt he had a pretty good advantage.
As one, they all turned to stare at him, identical expressions of surprise on their faces.
It was not often that Yaniff voiced such a vehement sentiment. Usually the old wizard’s opinions were shrouded in the mysterious verbiage universally adored by high-level mystics. Verbiage designed to send lesser wizards and scholars into a frenzy of interpretation. Indeed, it was often remarked that the more obscure the pronouncement, the more accurate the insight.
The wizard named Gelfan was the first to recover from the shock of the bold statement.
This did not surprise Yaniff. Of all the members in the High Guild, it was Gelfan who had to be watched most carefully. The man was shrewd, powerful, and not prone to leniency. He was a high sixth-level mystic who wore his immense power like a proud cloak.
Yaniff had never been impressed by him.
“You have something to say to us, Yaniff?”
Yaniff came forward, leaning on his tall wizard’s staff, his long white hair flowing behind him. A small crystal point flashed in his ear, as it did from every member of the House of Sages. They were all members of the Charl; an elite group of warrior mystics whose special skills were revered throughout the Alliance.
In addition to the crystal mark of the Charl, Yaniff wore the crimson-magenta robes adorned with the golden symbols of a high seventh-level mystic. In all of Aviara there was none greater than he.
As usual, Bojo, his winged companion, sat squarely on his shoulder.
He captured each and every member in his penetrating regard as he shifted his focus down the long table. It was well noted that Yaniff’s eyes were darker than the darkest night, their depths were always unfathomable.
Bojo captured the Sages in the same black-eyed stare. The overall effect was daunting, to say the least.
“Yes, I have something to say. We have wasted too much time with these infernal, endless debates! It is time for action. Taj Gian is missing; of that there is no doubt. There is great unrest on M’yan, the homeworld of the Familiar people. We have an enduring, binding covenant with them and even if we did not, we personally owe such action to Guardian of the Mist. We must send a knight after him. Now.”
Gelfan’s mouth pursed in annoyance. “No one is disputing our loyalty to the Familiar people, Yaniff. You need not hold our special alliance with them before our faces as if we are unaware of it.”
“No? Then what is taking you so long to act?”
Ernak, a kindly old wizard who could never make up his mind on any issue because he talked himself in circles, stroked his face thoughtfully. “We must debate such issues, Yaniff. Otherwise, how would we know we were proceeding on the proper course?”
“True, true,” several voices chimed in.
“But on the other hand,” Ernak continued, “perhaps we do need to come to a decision…”
Yaniff stared at Ernak with a flat expression. There Ernak goes. He winced. Round and round.
“True, true,” the same voices concurred. It was all Yaniff could do to contain himself.
“I say this!” Wolthanth suddenly stood up, pointing his forefinger straight up in the air. Everyone silenced to hear what momentous thing the man had to say.
Unfortunately, in the time it took for Wolthanth to stand and deliver that uprised finger, he had already forgotten what it was he wished to say.
Such an occurrence was a regular one and seemed to go along with the general age factor in the room. To be a member in the House of Sages one had to be a Sage, and to be a Sage one had to be around for quite some time. Yaniff shook his head, muttering under his breath. It was business as usual in the High Guild.
Oh, how he would love to hurl a rapid power bolt at the wall just to silence them all! Lamentably, the use of magic within the sacred halls was strictly forbidden.
He too
k a deep breath instead. It was not as if he hadn’t been putting up with this for ages upon ages.
Gelfan surprised him, however, by suddenly switching his viewpoint and coming to Yaniff’s aid. Or so it seemed.
“Perhaps Yaniff is right—we need to stop this bickering and make a decision. I call for a vote. Those in favor of sending a knight out to search for Gian, raise your hands.
Seven hands rose. Eight if you counted Ernak’s, which was raised, lowered, and then raised again. Apparently the eternal struggle to debate never ceased in some philosophers. It mattered not. With seven votes, they had a decision. A knight would be sent.
Already anticipating the next round of torture, Yaniff waited patiently.
Gelfan started it by saying, “Unfortunately most of our high-level knights are already on quests for the Charl. We will have to send Lorgin.”
Yaniff was ready for this. And he also knew where Gelfan was headed. “No. Lorgin cannot go.” As Lorgin’s mentor, Yaniff’s words would carry much weight.
“Why not?” Gelfan asked slyly. “He is here and available. He also happens to be one of our best knights.”
Yaniff knew Gelfan’s methods; the man was seeking information. Consequently, he was very careful about what he said and what he did not say. “This may prove a dangerous mission. Lorgin cannot be the one.”
Gelfan was not about to accept that. “I fail to see why not—he is highly trained and a fourth-level Charl.”
“Heed me when I say he must remain here with his mate.”
Several eyebrows rose at the cryptic comment. Yaniff, who had the gift of prophecy as well as “the Sight” was looking beyond—but to what? They knew better than to question this most revered mystic. He would reveal only what he chose to reveal.
Wolthanth spoke, effectively overruling Gelfan: “We agree, Lorgin will remain.”
Yaniff nodded an acknowledgment to Wolthanth.
There was silence for a few moments as the assemblage tried to think of another likely candidate. “What about Rejar?” Ernak asked finally.
Alert, Yaniff replied, “What about him?”
“He is now studying to be of the Charl. Though he is new to his training, he is still a son of Krue—”
“Albeit half-Familiar,” Gelfan added, insinuatingly.
Yaniff’s attention switched to Gelfan for a moment, his piercing gaze speculative. There would be trouble here, he realized…but not today. He focused on the discussion at hand.
“Perhaps Rejar is a good choice then.” Ernak rubbed his chin, still thinking it over.
“We will choose him,” Gelfan stated.
Yaniff viewed them all, his gaze going from one to the other. A flash of annoyance lit his deep eyes. “No we will not.”
All eyes focused on Yaniff.
“We will leave Rejar to unfold as he should.”
It was then they all knew there was something here; something that Yaniff was not yet ready to expound upon. The group of wizards all sat in deep thought as they watched him, wondering whether to proceed with the topic of sending Rejar.
They were all experienced mentors. One of the problems of dealing with unfoldment was the timing. In such matters, timing could be everything. Every mystic present was aware that destiny often rode on the back of timing. And so, as one, they decided to move on to the next candidate.
Only there was no other candidate.
Zysyz, the youngest of the wizards, informed the group of that fact. “We are out of candidates,” he baldly stated, making his first contribution.
Though it wasn’t exactly an opinion, it was true. Several members nodded approvingly at him.
“Bojo,” Yaniff grumbled under his breath, “please stop me from banging my head against the wall.” Bojo squawked, flapping his wings as though amused. Yaniff glanced at him in mock annoyance.
“There is one other,” Yaniff carefully announced.
“Who?”
“Who is it?”
“There is?” They all spoke at once.
Yaniff held up his hands to stop the chatter before he supplied the answer. “Traed.”
Dead silence fell over the sacred room like a heavy cloak. Finally Gelfan spoke. “Traed ta’al Theardar?” he asked in disbelief.
“Traed ta’al Yaniff,” Yaniff corrected him. He had taken Traed to his bloodline, giving him his name after the death of Traed’s natural father, Theardar.
Silence reigned at the pointed reminder.
Yaniff’s bloodline was one of the most revered in Aviara. Traed now belonged to that line; therefore extreme caution was needed. No one wished to insult Yaniff’s bloodline. To do so would be the height of folly.
Finally Ernak mumbled, “We know of his power, of course; he revealed himself to us with his arc when he called upon you to save Rejar. Which was commendable of him,” he added as an afterthought. “Are you saying his power is that significant?”
“I am.”
“So the son follows the father,” Gelfan sneered. “The power in his line drove Theardar mad—it will drive the son mad as well.” Traed’s father had been a sixth-level mystic who could not control his special gifts. He had turned to darkness and had almost destroyed his son in the process.
“This will not happen to Traed.”
“We cannot afford to take such a chance, Yaniff.”
Wolthanth agreed. “What if he cannot master his power? He has not been properly trained.”
“You need a warrior. Traed is a warrior; an artist of the blade. Trained by Krue himself.”
“But mystically! He has not been trained! He could be a danger to us all—a threat to our very existence!” That was Gelfan.
“Or our savior.” Yaniff mocked the group before him. “Ironic, is it not?”
It was difficult to meet his eye, for each man at the table knew what had been done in the past to Traed; indeed they had all participated in it. Through no fault of his own, they had robbed Traed of his heritage.
Great wizard that he was, Yaniff knew when to press his advantage. “The man will conquer his power. I believe in him. I always have. We owe him a chance to prove himself. We owe him.”
An uncomfortable pause followed. “Vote?” Gelfan spoke low.
Thirteen hands rose.
“Very well, Yaniff, we will leave it to you to send him.”
Yaniff nodded, turning to leave. Wolthanth came up beside him. “I do not envy you your task in telling the lad, Yaniff. He has always been a most stubborn youth; one who follows the beat of his own tune.”
Yaniff smiled ironically. “Yes, he does.”
“Obstinate, as I recall.” Wolthanth’s eyes twinkled.
Yaniff quickly defended Traed’s nature. “I have always felt that steadfastness and individuality were very good qualities for a high-level mystic.”
“True, true. Not only do they add to his character, but he will never be one to be easily persuaded.” Wolthanth grinned wryly. “Again, my condolences on your task.”
Yaniff laughed heartily, slapping his old friend on the back as they walked out of the chamber.
Traed ta’al Yaniff sat brooding in the corner of a tavern.
Booted feet hooked over the rungs of a wooden chair, he morosely stared into the depths of his horn of keeran.
Yaniff was not overly concerned.
This was the man’s normal expression. Traed had ever been like the surface of a lake…the dark, quiet exterior hid all kinds of mysteries below the surface.
But not from Yaniff.
Yaniff had glimpsed the real Traed.
The man who kept himself under such firm control was in actuality quite different beneath the exterior shield.
In keeping with his overall demeanor, the waist-length strands of his midnight hair were pulled back tightly from his sculpted features and perfunctorily clasped with a twisted leather thong.
Only the light jade-colored eyes hinted at the roiling emotions below the surface. For all his control, Traed could not compl
etely prevent the sparks of passion kindling in those eyes. They were the sparks of an Aviaran male of considerable power.
For the men of their world, power was an immutable fact of life. It flowed through them like a current and when they were moved by their emotions, this current was always visible in the eyes as tiny bursts of light. The intensity of these sparks was directly related to individual potency. In times of passion, the more power a man contained, the more he sparked.
By their very natures, the Charl were high sparkers.
Yaniff ruminated on Traed’s appearance. One wonders what would happen if he were to truly let that hair come loose… There is untold capacity for emotion within him. Emotion and compassion.
Compassion was crucial to a man with such power.
Yaniff approached the table and stood before the turbulent man until he finally deigned to acknowledge his presence. Traed’s head rose gradually. When he saw who it was who had come to bother him, his nostrils flared in annoyance.
“The answer is no.”
Chuckling, Yaniff pulled out a chair, seating himself across the table from the green-eyed man. “You do not even know why I have come.”
“Yes, I do. You wish me to do something that I do not want to do.”
Yaniff’s lips twitched. “Now how can you possibly know that?”
“Because…you would not seek me out like this if it were otherwise.” Traed slammed his horn on the table.
“Hmmm.” Yaniff stroked Bojo’s feathers. “Perhaps I simply want to converse with you?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” Yaniff motioned the serving man to bring him a horn of keeran. “Perhaps I simply want to share a drink with you?”
“No, Yaniff.”
The server placed the horn before the old wizard. Picking it up, the ancient wizard sipped it contemplatively. “Come now, Traed, at least give me a chance. A man who does not know what he seeks cannot recognize it when he finds it.”
The flat of Traed’s palm came down on the tabletop. He leaned forward, pastel eyes glittering. “All you need is a chance! Think you I have forgotten how you maneuvered me the last time, sending me to Ree Gen Cee Ing Land after Rejar? Playing us both so that I would reveal my power to the Guild in order to save him while he would come to acknowledge his place within the Charl? Meddling in our lives?”
