Having seen dozens of the jinn all together in the same place, he didn’t blame Ula for using that term about him. Surrounded by so many stunningly beautiful people—men and women—all sophisticated and classy, had made him want to disappear. And not just from the court, but from existence. There was no way Jasmina would be able to resist being a part of that again. In his mind, she was more beautiful than any of the women he’d seen in Eldmar. They’d worship her the way she deserved.
He magicked the pasture gate open, barely paying attention as the sheep streamed in, chivvied along by Ragnor and Rokk. Once they were all in, he closed the gate behind them, staying outside. The need to move, to go into the woods and get back to the nature he loved, was overwhelming. If he were honest with himself, the jinn court hadn’t only humbled him, in a strange way it had frightened him too. He felt infected, as though a remnant of it was stuck in his brain, releasing the poison of discontent into his blood.
Turning away, he started down into the trees, moving parallel to the path, walking as quickly as possible, chased by his thoughts.
It wasn’t as though he’d ever longed for luxury. Not at all. When he read about other beings fighting or stealing to increase what they had, it was distasteful. The artificial beauty of the jinn court didn’t thrill him like moonlight on the trees or the flight of an owl, its haunting cries echoing on the wind. But the effect of seeing Jasmina’s home was still profound, and far more frightening. That luxury, the beauty, could take her away from him, and in threatening to do so made him want to have what he couldn’t—be what he couldn’t—so as to keep her at his side.
He should be happy for her, he knew. Maybe one day, sitting by his kitchen fire or tending his orchids, he’d be able to think of her with only a small pang of sadness. Surely a being couldn’t carry this kind of pain forever? By Freyja, he hoped not, for right now his chest was being crushed by the almost unbearable agony of her loss.
Breaking from the trees, Vidar began to run down the sloping mountain meadow stretched out before him, going as fast as he could through the snow. The breath heaved in and out of his straining lungs, the muscles of his legs began to ache. Welcoming the physical pain, hoping it would negate the emotional storm tearing his insides apart, he pushed himself harder.
As fast as he went, he couldn’t outrun the memories, the images of Jasmina emblazoned on his heart. The way she laughed, the dichotomy of curses coming from her perfectly feminine mouth, gladdened his heart. The easy affection that had her touching him as soon as he was within reach moved him each time. He pictured her eyes gleaming up at him when they made love, long lashes fluttering as passion built between them. He knew when she was getting close to orgasm by the little whimpers breaking from her sweetly parted lips, the way her eyelids drooped and finally closed. Sometimes she came with a delicious cry of release. Other times it was almost silent, her body bowing, displaying the ecstasy firing through her blood.
He’d first known he was falling in love with her when he realized she made him feel normal—not a troll, but just a regular being. The fall was completed when he realized she made him feel not just normal but like a normal man. It was something he’d never experienced before—never expected to experience. Now he’d come to crave it more than food, than water. The knowledge that she saw him, liked him, desired him, made him complete.
And he was on the verge of losing her, the end of this ideal moment of life coming at him as swiftly as the edge of the meadow and the cliff beyond. Exhausted, heartbroken, he put on a last burst of speed, plowing through the snow toward the cliff, tempted, oh, so tempted to just keep going, right off into the night and down, down to the rocks.
He stopped, his boots slipping with the abruptness of the motion, his impetuousness almost making his selfish, childish wish to put an end to it all come true. Panting, he stood on the very brink, still daring fate to make the ground crumble under his feet.
Below lay one of the high valleys that bisected the mountains, snow-covered and beautiful in the light of the setting moon. As the seasons changed the vista did too, showing every possible facet of nature. Although he didn’t get to see it in daylight, his specialized eyesight allowed him to distinguish the difference from one day to the next, appreciate each moment in the clear atmosphere.
Not tonight. Tonight it meant nothing to him.
He was about to turn away when the wind suddenly picked up, buffeting him, first seeming intent on pushing him over the cliff and then howling the other way, blowing stinging snow into his face.
Coward.
The word originated in the quickening tempest, made every hair on his body come to attention as he recognized Freyja’s voice.
Coward.
“Forgive me, my goddess.” He whispered it, even as he wondered whether she was berating him for giving up on the love he’d found, or for not going over the cliff. “Forgive me.”
As abruptly as the wind started, it stopped, leaving him once more alone. But as he looked down into the valley, he realized something had changed. Once he had looked out from the edge of this meadow and seen the ground below as the boundary of his world. Now his world had expanded, his life had expanded, because of Jasmina. Because of her the fears that once kept him locked away from others had been fought and conquered.
Now, he decided, was time to fight again, do whatever it took to show her they belonged together. Maybe he wouldn’t win, but that was a chance he had to take. He couldn’t allow cowardice and fear to make him give up.
Hope and anxiety gnawing at his belly, he translocated back to the home meadow. Taking a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair, all too aware of his damp, disheveled state, he pushed the kitchen door open. Stepping inside, he saw Jasmina standing in front of the fireplace and his heart leapt with pleasure. Then she started to speak, and he realized it was just a jinn illusion, a message similar to the one sent by her brother.
“Vidar, I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier. I know you were trying to help, to protect me and I apologize for acting like such a bitch.”
The image paused, and Vidar noticed how puffy her eyelids were, the lashes spiky with the remnants of her tears. It made his heart ache to know she’d been sad or happy, whatever the emotion, and he’d walked away instead of taking her into his arms, offering his support.
“I’ve decided to go home…”
The sudden buzzing in his ears blocked the rest of what she was saying.
She’s gone back to Eldmar.
He suddenly realized, despite his fears her brother’s invitation would be irresistible he’d hoped with all his heart it wouldn’t be. It had been surprisingly easy to get into the palace to speak to King Ahmet. One mention of Jasmina’s name had gained him entrance. Somehow he was sure it wouldn’t be quite so easy if he tried to get in once Jasmina was back in the protective arms of her brother. He’d seen the disdainful looks sent his way by the courtiers, even the servants.
Shaking his head, he clenched his fists. He’d get in, somehow. Or hang around the souk until she came out if he had to.
“So, I hope that’s okay with you.” Her voice suddenly registered and he realized that, lost in his reverie, he’d missed something she was saying and had no clue how to replay the message. She was smiling, but her eyes seemed overly bright and she twined her fingers together, as though distraught. “I have to water my plants anyway, and I might stop by the Café. But I’ll come back some time after sunset and we can talk this out.” She lifted her chin and his heart ached to see the innate arrogance, softened by the slight tremble of her lips. “Don’t stay mad at me, Vidar. I think what we have together is strong enough to survive a misunderstanding like this.” Another wobbly smile and a wave, and the illusion faded.
Water my plants…stop by the Café.
Her words echoed in his head, and Vidar leaned against the counter, relief making his heart race and his legs weak.
She hadn’t left him behind, gone back to Eldmar. Inste
ad, thanks be to Freyja, she’d only retreated to her apartment. And she wanted to try to work things out. At least that’s what he thought he’d heard. His mind had gone hazy once he realized his initial fears were unfounded. That momentary fog had lifted, and now a river of excitement flowed through his veins.
A glance at the chronometer made him curse under his breath. More than two hours before she’d be back. Far too long for him to sit around stewing about what she was going to say. Urgency was rising like a fire in his blood, fanned by Freyja’s accusation of cowardice. If boldness was what it took to win Jasmina, to show her how much he loved her, then he would be as daring as even the goddess could want.
There was time to go to her and beg her not to wait, but to come back with him immediately, hopefully to start their new life together. Doubt tried to erode his determination. A little voice whispered Jasmina might not wish the kind of relationship he craved, but he wouldn’t allow it to discourage him. Knowing if he lingered misgivings might get the better of him, he immediately translocated to Jasmina’s apartment.
As he rematerialized in her living area, he saw her, standing in the kitchen doorway and everything—his love, need and desire for her—crashed through him, rendering him blind to everything but her.
But, just as he was about to move, go to her, he stiffened, his brain finally interpreting what his eyes were seeing.
Jasmina looked terrified, her wide-eyed gaze locked on the man across the room.
Mahmud.
Standing on the exact spot where Jasmina and he had made love, holding something in his hand that gleamed when the jinn shrugged and spoke.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Jasmina’s outline wavered. In a sickening instant her body became shadowy, insubstantial, and then dissolved into a stream of green-and-gold smoke that streaked across the room and into the bottle Mahmud held in his hand. With a sharp, decisive clack, the jinn inserted the stopper.
There was no thought, no pause to consider, not even an audible venting of the rage turning the edges of his vision to blood-red. All Vidar knew was the need to tear Mahmud’s head from his body, destroy—no annihilate—him.
With one spring he crossed the room, fingers already curling, reaching for the jinn’s neck. At the last moment Mahmud must have sensed Vidar’s furious rush and began to turn, already casting a spell. As the powerful magic slammed into him, Vidar still tried to grab hold of the jinn. His fingers closed on cloth and metal, instead of flesh, tight enough that as he was repelled he tore Mahmud’s jacket and shirt, came away with the pieces of fabric and an amulet clutched in his fingers. The force of his assault spun the other man off balance and, as Vidar slammed backward into the dining table, he saw Jasmina’s bottle fly up into the air.
Break, dammit! Break!
But the jinn magic was too strong to be so easily circumvented. The bottle hit the rug near Mahmud’s feet, bounced and rolled out of sight beneath the couch.
The other man bent to try to retrieve it, but Vidar had already launched forward again. And this time, as the jinn’s magic fired out Vidar instinctively responded with his own, somehow absorbing the spell and hitting the jinn in the stomach with a shoulder. They crashed to the ground, Vidar reaching once more for Mahmud’s throat.
The jinn translocated out from under him and Vidar rolled over, expecting to see him trying once more for Jasmina’s bottle. But Mahmud wasn’t beside the couch. Instead he was by the window. With a flash of savage satisfaction, Vidar saw how heavily Mahmud was breathing and the way he clutched his stomach.
But Mahmud was also smiling through the pain twisting his lips.
“An impasse, I think, troll. If you try to go for the bottle, I’ll blast you with my magic. If I try, you’ll attempt to beat me to a pulp. We could be at this for a while.”
Vidar didn’t bother to reply, just rolled to a crouch, never taking his gaze off the other man. He was poised to spring again when a crazed, ugly laugh wheezed from Mahmud’s heaving chest.
“When I think about it, I’ll just wait. Why exert myself when the sun is rising behind me?” With another laugh he stepped aside, revealing the roseate sky beyond the glass. “What a dilemma, troll. Stay and try to rescue the bitch princess or save yourself. I’ll be interested to see what you choose.”
There was no choice—not really. Once the sun’s full rays touched his skin, he’d be turned to stone, like his mother had been. Vidar swallowed against the sour fear rising in his throat. At least his death would come from a place of love, not hate and the need to possess. And, if he had his way, it wouldn’t be in vain.
Mahmud turned his head briefly to glance out the window and Vidar dove behind the couch, his hands pushed as far underneath it as they could go, toward where he’d seen the bottle land. Mahmud cursed, appearing beside him just as the tips of his fingers found a cool, rounded shape. Pain slammed into his chest as the jinn fired a spell, but Vidar closed his hand around the bottle, dragging it toward him, turning it.
Ahh!
With the last of his strength he pushed up, willing his body to ignore the agony trying to force it to stillness, drawing on his love for Jasmina, the thought that she would never again be at risk.
The stopper clutched in his fist, he thrust his hand up above the back of the couch and into the first shaft of sunlight bursting through the window.
Cold fire enveloped his hand, as the sensation of flesh, of being a part of his body, disappeared under the intensity of the encroaching stone. Lowering his hand, Vidar looked at the gray mass, felt nothing but satisfaction as he saw just a tiny gleam of green showing between his fingers. Encased in the safety of his hand, the stopper could never be used again.
Mahmud roared with outrage, reached out to clutch Vidar’s wrist. Bending close, his face twisted with fury, he said, “I’ll wait until the rest of you turns to stone. Then I’ll take great pleasure in smashing your hand to get that stopper.”
“You’ll never touch him again.”
Jasmina’s low-voiced threat had both men’s heads jerking up. Mahmud tried to cast, but she already had him, her magic flashing out so swift and strong Vidar felt it peel Mahmud’s hand from his wrist. The male jinn’s face grew red and he clutched at his throat. His lips opened, but no sound came from them. Jasmina strode closer and Mahmud held out his hands, as though trying to keep her away.
“You’re going to die now, Mahmud. Not for what you did to me, but for hurting the man I love.”
Shocked, Vidar saw Mahmud’s feet leave the ground, his legs kicking as the breath, and the life, was squeezed from his body. His eyes rolled back in his head and, with one final, violent twitch, he went limp.
Jasmina was already turning aside when the body hit the ground. Without a word she flew to Vidar, hugged him close. And as he closed his eyes with relief, her magic enveloped him, took him home.
Chapter Thirteen
“Damn it, Vidar. Oh, by the stars. What have you done?” Jasmina couldn’t stop shaking, crying with reaction. She’d transported them back to his kitchen and, now crouched together on the floor, had him clasped in the tightest embrace she could manage. His hand lay across his lap. The beautiful, strong fingers that only hours before had touched her with such tenderness were now fisted, turned to hard, gray rock.
“I had to be sure you’d be safe.” His head rested against her shoulder and he was trembling slightly too, but his voice was low and calm. “You said only a father or husband could get a bottle enchanted to trap a woman. No one will be able to use this stopper against you again, and another can’t be made.”
“It’s not worth your hand, Vidar.” She choked on the words, horrified that he’d sacrificed so much. Reaching down, she gently slipped her palm under his fist, cradling it, even as she shivered to feel the chill seeping from the stone. “I’m not worth it.”
His head came up. There were little lines bracketing his mouth and scoring the skin between his brows. He was obviously in pain, and Jasmina’s heart ached
to see the signs of it.
“You’re worth everything, Jazz. Whatever I have I’d give up to keep you safe.”
The clear, sweet love in his eyes stilled her weeping, for she could see something else behind his gaze, and it filled her with terror.
“It’s just your hand, Vidar.” She searched his face, saw the shadow that passed over his features at her words. “It is just your hand, isn’t it?”
He didn’t reply. With fumbling, desperate fingers she tried to unbutton his cuff, cursed as the button eluded all attempts to force it through the hole. Giving up, she used her magic to dispose of his shirt and vest.
It was painful to see the flesh of his muscular forearm fading into stone at his wrist, but Jasmina released a great gasp of relief that it didn’t go any higher. It would be difficult for him to get used to only having one usable hand, but at least he was still alive, still with her…
As she watched the line of demarcation moved, slid slowly up his arm, and the first of his tattooed runes faded to gray and disappeared.
“Oh fuck. No!”
She screamed it, unwilling to believe what she’d seen, even as her heart broke.
“It’s okay, Jazz.” He pulled her close, spoke into her hair. “I mean it. It’s okay.”
“How can you say that, Vidar?” Sudden hope made her lightheaded. “Will it stop? Is that as far as it’ll go?”
“No, darling.” There was no regret in his voice. Nothing but calm acceptance. “It’ll keep going.”
“No.” She moaned it, started rocking, not wanting to believe. “There must be some way to stop it. Don’t your people have shamans, healers? They probably deal with this kind of thing all the time. We could find one…”
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