Lone Star Magic

by Karen Whiddon

  Instead, she gave a light touch to his arm. “Hey, let’s keep it real. This is me, Carly. You don’t have to pretend around me.”

  The look of incomprehension he gave her made her alternately want to laugh and cry. Suddenly, she wanted more than anything to drive that non-emotion, that blandness, from his face. It too painfully mirrored the way she had begun to feel inside, after Liam died.

  “Kiss me,” she ordered, her voice harsh rather than seductive.

  Alrick reared back. “What?”

  The frustration built in her. “Don’t look at me as if I don’t exist.” She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to her. “Kiss me, damn it.”

  With a polite smile, he bent to comply, aiming so his mouth would chastely touch her cheek. Instead, she grabbed hold of his hair, pulling his face to hers while she pressed herself against him.

  “Make me feel alive.”

  His eyes darkened. “Carly, you don’t know what—.”

  “Oh, but I do. I want you to kiss me with heart,” she brushed her mouth over his. “Like you mean it.”

  He made a sound low in his throat. Still, he protested. “Carly, seriously…”

  She’d had enough talking. Instead, she showed him. Pressed full against him with her entire body tingling, she pressed her lips to his and kissed the hell out of him.

  Long, deep, and thorough. Her body responded immediately. As did his.

  Now she felt alive. Definitely alive.

  Reluctantly lifting her head, she studied him. His color was high, his eyes had gone dark. No longer impassive, Alrick looked dazed, aroused, and very aware of her.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was husky. Though she’d only kissed him as a sort of experiment, she realized she wanted more. She wanted, she realized with shock, the whole enchilada.

  “Thanks? You kissed me to give me thanks? For what?”

  Slowly, she licked her lips, letting him read her desire in her face. “No.” She’d asked him for truth, therefore she owed no less to him. “Actually, I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time, but it seemed wrong.”

  “Wrong?” Apparently struck dumb by her actions, Alrick only stared.

  “Yes, wrong. But kissing you didn’t feel wrong at all, truly. It felt like…”

  “Like what?”

  Taking a deep breath, she wondered why admitting the truth felt so painful. “Like coming alive.”

  Then, while his stunned expression told her he was still digesting this revelation, she kissed him again, this time arching her back so her breasts pressed against his chest. Her nipples were hard.

  She felt his body respond immediately. “Carly…”

  Laying her finger across his mouth, she stopped him. “I’ve been dead inside for so long. Make me feel alive again, Alrick.”

  He growled, low in his throat. When she tried to lift her mouth from his, he kept her in place, his arousal pressing huge against her.

  A moan escaped her. Frantic now, she wiggled in his arms, trying to get closer to him, impossible with so many clothes between them.

  He cupped her breast in his hand. She pushed for his touch, desire pushing away control. With another growl, he responded in kind.

  The sound of fabric tearing was startling.

  Wide-eyed, Carly froze. Alrick did the same.

  “This isn’t a good idea.”

  Part of her agreed. The other part, so long denied, raged inside of her, longing to drown in mindless lust. “But I want you,” she said.

  “I want you too.”

  “Then…”

  “We can’t.”

  “Why not?” But she knew. They both did.

  “Lance.”

  This, she hadn’t expected. “What?”

  “Lance. The name of your unborn son. You are to have a child who saves the future.”

  “Yes, I know.” Stepping back, she dropped her arms to her sides and prayed he wouldn’t continue. “I get the picture.”

  He must have wanted to make absolutely certain she did, because he continued anyway. “I am not to be the father.” Then, his gaze still smoldering, without another word.

  God help her, Carly kept silent and let him go.

  An hour later, Cenrick found him, slumped in his favorite, over-stuffed chair near the stone hearth, well on his way to downing his fourth or fifth goblet of ale. Or was it sixth or seventh? He’d lost track.

  The blazing fire had occupied most of his attention for the better part of ten minutes.

  Cenrick laughed when he saw him. “Why the long face? I just heard the news and think you’d be happy. Is it true her stallion has impregnated four of your best horses?”

  Stallion? Ah, his brother spoke of horses. Alrick blinked and tried to sit up straight. He had a feeling he was still sitting crookedly. “So? He’s a fine stallion.”

  Cenrick laughed again. “So he is. No need to go all defensive.”

  “I wasn’t.” But he had. He’d heard the sound of his own voice. A loud sigh escaped him.

  “What’s wrong?” Cenrick dropped into the chair across from him. Elbows on his knees, he leaned across to look his brother fully in the face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” Alrick shook his head. “Yes.”

  “Which is it?”

  “I don’t know.” He drank deeply, no longer feeling the sting of the ale slide down his throat. “Has the Mage summoned you yet?”

  “The mage? No. Why would he?”

  Alrick tried to focus on his brother’s face, but no matter how hard he tried, Cenrick still appeared blurry. Briefly he outlined what the mage had told him earlier.

  Cenrick looked properly horrified. “Does father know?”

  “A messenger has been sent.” Alrick sighed again. The ale had merely blunted his anger and deepened his despondency. “In the meantime, you’ll have to start gathering forces.”

  “Me? What about—?” Cenrick cut short his question when he realized the truth. “You have to go with Carly back to the human world, don’t you.”

  “Yes.” Alrick drained the last of his ale. “Even worse, I fear I’m the wrong man for the task.”

  Cenrick’s expression changed to confusion. “Wrong man? What are you talking about?” He shook his head. “Who could better protect her? Of the two of us, you’re the best fighter.”

  “You’re good too.” Alrick felt the reminder was necessary. “None save me has ever bested you.”

  “True.” Flashing a quick grin, Cenrick punched Alrick’s shoulder. “But you are unbeatable. The Warlord doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

  Now he admitted the second thorn in his side. “It’s not the Warlord who worries me.”

  “Then who?”

  Alrick sighed. “Myself.”

  Cenrick’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.” Pushing himself to his feet, he began to pace unsteadily. “I kissed her today.”

  “You what? Why?’

  “She kissed me first.” He turned on his heel, facing his brother while he upended his goblet in a futile search for more ale. “I taught her to ride, something her husband apparently never did, and then Mort summoned us and afterwards, I think I was in shock but… we kissed.”

  “Husband? She had a husband?”

  “Had.” Alrick grimaced. “He’s dead.”

  Cenrick still didn’t get it. “So Carly carries his child then? Their son will be the Lance?”

  “No. He’s been dead and buried for the past year. The child’s father yet remains in the future.” He made a low sound of frustration. “You’re not listening to me. We kissed. I wanted her. She wanted me. If I’d stayed there much longer, we would have…” He gestured helplessly.

  “Had sex?”

  “Made love.”

  “I see.” Then Cenrick ventured to say the very thing that had worried Alrick earlier. “Are you sure it’s not you, then? That you’re not the one who was meant to sire the boy?”

>   “Of course not,” Alrick snarled, automatically assuming a wobbly battle stance. “I am to be the protector, nothing more.”

  Holding up his hands, Cenrick shrugged. “All right, sit back down. Watching you sway and stagger is making me nervous. No offense meant.”

  Damn it, his brother was right. Alrick forced himself to relax. Grumbling, he found his way back to his chair and gratefully fell into it. “None taken.”

  At Cenrick’s signal, the serving girl appeared and refilled their glasses. She batted her long, silver eyelashes at them and smiled invitingly. Cenrick grinned back. Alrick looked away.

  When she’d left, both men drank deeply.

  “Alrick,” Cenrick cleared his throat. “Is there any real possibility you might be wrong. That you and Carly, you know…?”

  Alrick nearly choked on his ale. “Dragon’s breath, no. I’m better disciplined than that.”

  At his vehement denial, Cenrick slumped forward, visibly relaxing. Alrick wished he could relax as well. But he knew better. `Twas the closest to telling a lie that he’d had ever come.

  “What if it’s meant to be?”

  “Meant to…” Alrick nearly spilled his ale. “You know I don’t believe in that nonsense.”

  “Such a thing is possible. There have been many documented cases of true soul-mates, especially among our ancestors. Look at Kenrick of Blackstone and his Megan. Or Darrick of Thorncliff and his fae wife, the Princess Alanna.”

  “Romantic nonsense.”

  Cenrick shrugged. “Maybe to you. But these are our ancestors. If love could happen to them, love could happen to you.”

  “I am better disciplined.” Maybe saying the words twice would make them true. Again he drained his goblet.

  Cenrick quickly followed suit.

  “You’d better be.” Chuckling, Cenrick waved the serving girl over with more mead. “Mayhap you should find a willing bed partner for tonight. Take a bit of the edge off.”

  “Maybe I should.” But Alrick’s agreement sounded half-hearted, even to him. In this way also the Fae differed greatly from humans. To them, sex was a form of enjoyable recreation, with little of the emotional connotations brought to the act by human scruples. Yet somehow, sex for sex’s sake no longer seemed fulfilling enough. Not now that he’d known how good kissing Carly felt. He could only imagine how great the lovemaking would be…

  “I’m available.” Her slender body pliant, the silver-haired serving girl leaned in close. “And I’m told I’m quite skilled at bed games.”

  Blurrily, Alrick had to force himself to look at her, really look at her. Before he’d taken charge of Carly, he’d been an enthusiastic proponent of bed sport, like all the Fae. Now, all he could think of was Carly.

  For some reason, he knew Carly would feel betrayed.

  As he would, were Carly to take her own lover among his people, or hers.

  The thought stunned him. Shocked him. After all, she had to mate with someone to sow the seed that would become Lance, the all important child of the future.

  “Alrick?” Cenrick prompted. “Are you going to take her up on her invitation or not?”

  Alrick blinked. “I don’t even know your name.”

  Her seductive gaze dipped lower. “Since when does that matter to you, my Prince? It’s never stopped you before.” Her laugh was sunny and uncomplicated. “Your prowess is legendary, highness.”

  Before she’d even finished, Alrick was shaking his head.

  “My name is Elfora, then. If that matters.”

  “Elfora.” Though he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, Alrick saw no other way. “I’m sorry…” he began.

  Her heart-shaped face fell. She began to back away. “I understand. No harm meant. None taken.”

  Once she had gone. Alrick resumed his moody study of the fire.

  “Mind telling me what that was all about?”

  Alrick didn’t even look up. Cenrick would, he knew, keep at him like a dog with a bone until he answered. “As a matter of fact, I do. Mind.”

  “But—.”

  “She wanted to use me.”

  “What?” Cenrick’s mouth fell open. “Who? Elfora?”

  “Yes. No.” To his absolute horror, Alrick felt his face burning. “Her too. But I was talking about Carly.”

  “Carly wanted to use you?”

  “Yes.” Abjectly miserable, Alrick didn’t understand why this made him feel so bad. And not understanding made him angry. “She wanted me to make love to her, to make her feel alive.”

  “And this bothered you?”

  “Yes. Of course.” He gave another heavy sigh, slopping ale onto his tunic and absently wiping at it with his sleeve.

  Expression baffled, Cenrick studied him. “But you’re Fae, not human. We’ve always taken our pleasure where we find it. Especially you.”

  “I did. I do.”

  “Then why…?”

  More ale spilled. With a growl, Alrick drank the rest of it in one motion. “I don’t know. Damn it. I have no earthly idea. Maybe it was because earlier she was mourning her husband out loud. Talking about how after he died, she didn’t want to live. Then she kissed me, asked me to make her feel alive again.”

  “And you couldn’t deal with this?” For some reason Cenrick seemed to find the idea amusing, to judge by the sparkle in his violet eyes.

  “No.” Alrick pushed himself up and tossed the empty goblet on the hearth. The resilient crystal bounced twice but didn’t shatter. “I couldn’t.” Then, his movements unsteady as hell, he made his way for his own chambers, where he prayed he could stretch out on his own bed and find temporary oblivion.

  Morning would come whether he willed it or not.

  “Time to go.”

  Carly opened her eyes. Once again, Mort sat beside her bed, though this time he’d exchanged his amber colored robe for one of vibrant maroon that shimmered as he moved.

  “Good morning to you too.”

  Mort grimaced. “`The sun rose over an hour ago.

  She ran a hand through her hair. “I slept late?”

  “Yes. I and your animals have been waiting in the courtyard since dawn.”

  She’d overslept! “Alrick?”

  “No sign of him either.” The elderly man peered at her with narrowed eyes. “I half thought to find him here.”

  Carly felt her face color. “No way.” Sitting up, she waved away her embarrassment. “Can we still go, or is it too late?”

  Grinning at her, Mort waggled his finger. “The spell is not time sensitive. I can speak the words any time.”

  “And send us back.”

  “Right. Send you home. Back to your own world, where you belong.”

  “Where I’m not safe.” She felt an instant of panic, which she promptly pushed away. “Are you sure I have to go back? I’d rather stay here.”

  “You are no coward. You must face your fear.” ”

  Though the mage sounded certain, Carly wasn’t so sure. Maybe she could buy a little time. She tried again. “Why not let Alrick remain and prepare your army?”

  “That isn’t his destiny.”

  “So you’ve said. He’s not happy about this though.”

  “Unfortunately, truth is sometimes hard to swallow. But he knows I speak true. Fae do not—.”

  “Lie.” She finished for him. “I know, I know.” Swinging her feet over the side of her bed, Carly saw her discarded dress. “If I have to go home, I’m going to need some clothes.”

  “You still have the gown you wore yesterday.”

  “Ah, that.” Did she need to tell him Alrick had ripped it? “I uh, it got torn.” Odd how she suddenly seemed to share the Fae compulsion to tell the truth.

  Mort frowned. “Torn?”

  Wrapping the sheet around her, she padded over to the corner where she’d tossed the dress. Lifting it, she showed him the ripped bodice, wincing inwardly at the awful pun if she were to say the words out loud. Mort wouldn’t understand the reference to romance novels
anyways.

  “I want my old clothes.” Firmly, but politely. If she was to be the mother of the head of some future movement, she’d better practice her diplomacy. “Normal clothes. You can’t expect me to run around in frilly dresses in the middle of a Texas summer. Where are those pants I wore yesterday to ride?”

  “They’re being cleaned.”

  “Then get me some others like them.” Letting the frothy green material fall back to the floor, Carly advanced on the older man. “Why do you guys dress like this anyway? I can’t go trotting around the hill country time dressed like an extra from Camelot.”

  This time he ignored what he didn’t understand and shook his head. “I’ll try to find you another tunic and pants.” He stood. “If I do, I’ll have them brought to you. Right now I’ve got to find Alrick. I’ll see you in the great hall in an hour. Your dog and horses will be there as well.”

  “Horses? I only have TM.”

  “You now have two.” He looked smugly pleased about something. “All of the mares are in foal. Alrick has chosen one of them to take with you. Now each of you can ride.”

  “A pregnant mare?” The symbolism didn’t escape her. “You expect me to ride a—?”

  “She will not be showing yet.” On his way out the door, Mort’s words trailed after him. “The great hall. One hour. There are more dresses in that trunk. You might want to put on one of them until the other clothes get here.” Halfway out the crystal door, he paused. “In case I can’t find anything else.” With that parting shot, he left.

  In case he couldn’t find anything else? Put on one of the… Grumbling under her breath, Carly wrapped the sheet around herself and padded over to the trunk. The lid creaked when she opened it. The damn thing had been packed full of Faerie dresses. They all were frilly, frothy, and ornate. Each one seemed more fabulous than the last – if she were going to the Academy Awards or a super-fancy ball on a cruise or something. For a trip home to her Texas ranch, and back into the line of fire, Carly wanted something a little less flashy, a little more comfortable, and a hell of a lot easier to move around in. Like Levi’s.