“Other than not overwhelming me, are there advantages to waiting?”
“It might help with the side effect of processing so much energy.” She’d seemed troubled by her sexual reaction, so he was purposefully vague.
She pushed back from the table and stood, the mug still in her hand. “Are there eggs or something? I don’t think a liquid breakfast is going to cut it for me this morning.” Before he could answer she crossed to the refrigerator and opened the door. Now that she had something to do, she became less self-conscious. “You blast me with energy and I get turned on. You said it wasn’t unusual.”
“Reacting to the excess energy is inevitable. Having your body channel the overflow into a sexual outlet is a bit more unique.” The distinction was counterproductive to her calm, but he wanted to be completely honest.
“So I’m an oversexed freak?” She began cracking eggs into a bowl, carefully keeping her face averted.
He moved to the counter and stood beside her, yet she remained focused on her breakfast preparations. “You’re not a freak.” He touched her shoulder and she paused but still wouldn’t look at him. “We’re attracted to each other and the energy amplified the attraction. That’s all there was to it.”
She finally glanced at him. “What if it happens again?”
“That’s up to you. I’ll remain completely professional.” He moved closer and felt the familiar sting of transformation in his eyes. “Or I can help you through it.”
“Tori warned me about this.” She put the eggs back in the carton and faced him. “If we end up in bed together, you’ll consider it a marriage proposal.”
He stubbornly fought back a smile, knowing it would rile her. “I think Tori’s forgetting a pivotal fact. I’m not Ontarian.”
Her brows scrunched together and she tilted her head a bit to the side. “Then what’s your connection to this mission?”
“Finish your breakfast and I’ll explain.” Few people knew his history. He wasn’t ashamed of his past. He just didn’t see the value in dwelling on events that couldn’t be changed. He needed Jillian to trust him and this seemed like a good way to start building that trust. “Most people know my father is Rodyte and most assume my mother was Ontarian.”
Jillian returned to her preparations as she asked, “Why do people presume she was Ontarian?”
“Because I’m a Master-level Mage. It’s highly unusual for the Conservatory to accept an outsider, much less one with no Ontarian blood.”
“What’s the Conservatory?” She glanced at him, eyes bright with curiosity.
“It’s the elite training facility for Mystics on Ontariese.”
“You said ‘the elite training facility’. Is there only one?”
He smiled. She didn’t miss much, but her attention to details could be counterproductive when they had so much to accomplish. “There are many training facilities, but only at the Conservatory can one become a Master-level Mage. Still, it’s not important to this story.”
“Sorry.” She returned his smile. “I’ll try and hold my questions until the end.” She motioned toward the eggs. “Do you want some?”
He shook his head. “I’ve already eaten.” It wasn’t an outright lie. He just didn’t want the means by which he’d replenished his energy to launch another tangent. “My mother was my father’s captive for three years before she escaped. She knew I’d be taken away from her as soon as I was weaned, so she started planning for our escape as soon as she realized she was pregnant.”
“He was a Shadow Assassin?”
“No. The Shadow Assassins were established by a Rodyte named Vade. He built upon traditions that have been observed by Rodyte warriors for centuries.”
“Is there a shortage of women on Rodymia?”
“Not at all. It has to do with magic. The war between Bilarri and Rodymia surrounds the ability to manipulate magic. Basically—and this is extremely simplified—Bilarrians can do magic and Rodytes can’t.”
“So Rodytes capture Bilarrian women hoping their offspring will be able to do magic?”
Again he was impressed by her perceptiveness. “Primarily. It’s also an act of rebellion. They consider the captive females prisoners of war. In fact, they’re called war brides.”
“Wow. That’s twisted, but I understand the concept.”
“My mother barely escaped, but she expended so much energy in doing so that she never recovered. She had friends on Ontariese and they raised me as their own. My name was changed and everyone was told that I was the orphan of an Ontarian slave and a Rodyte warrior.”
She turned off the burner and carried her plate of scrambled eggs to the table. He refilled their mugs then joined her.
“It’s easy to understand why you’d be interested in stopping the Shadow Assassins.” She paused for a forkful of eggs. “Were you assigned to the team or did you volunteer?”
“Lor asked if I was interested, so I guess I volunteered. We’ve worked together many times in the past and my connection to this mess is even more twisted than just my personal history.”
“Really?” She waited for him to elaborate and when he didn’t, she said, “You can’t just leave me hanging. How are you connected to the Shadow Assassins?”
“I’m not. I’m connected to the women in the notebook.”
She set down her fork and swallowed hard. “Please tell me we’re not related.”
He chuckled, thrilled by the dread in her eyes. “Not even remotely. I led the team that was sent to hunt down the renegades.”
“Renegades? What renegades?”
He thought back on everything he’d told her and realized they’d not discussed the Dirty Dozen. He sighed. Not only was the topic distasteful, it also highlighted the biggest failure of his career. “Ontarians have tried multiple strategies for improving the ratio of men to women on their planet. Many humans are genetically compatible with Ontarians. So about thirty years ago, they worked with the US Government to recruit unattached females who were willing to relocate to Ontariese.”
“Sort of like mail order brides?”
“I’m not familiar with that term.”
She shrugged. “What you described sounds similar. Anyway, go on.”
He paused, trying to encapsulate the information so they didn’t spend the next hour talking about the unpleasant subject. “We’re not sure why, but twelve of the participants in the program broke off and completely disregarded the rules. They targeted college campuses and seduced countless females. Rather than courting a potential life mate, they lured them into bed, did their best to impregnate them, and then moved on to their next conquest. They called themselves the Dirty Dozen.”
“There are so many disgusting elements to that story. I’m not sure what to say.”
“The Ontarians were equally disgusted. I led a team that was tasked with finding the Dirty Dozen and returning them to Ontariese to pay for their crimes. The mission didn’t go well. It took much longer than it should have to complete and one of my people was killed in an ambush I should have seen coming. Their leader, the most ruthless of the lot, might have escaped. We never found his body.”
“This was thirty years ago?”
“Just under.”
“You think these assholes are responsible for all the women in the notebook?” Her revulsion was understandable. The renegade’s behavior had been reprehensible.
“It’s likely.”
She stared into the distance, her gaze troubled. “Tori’s the right age. Even Angie barely fits into the criteria, but I’m only twenty-six. I couldn’t have been fathered by one of the renegades.”
“You could have if the leader is still alive.”
Pushing her plate away, she stood and crossed to the coffee pot. Odintar spotted her mug still on the table and brought it to her. “Thanks,” she muttered as she filled the mug. “This is the gift that keeps on giving.”
“No more surprises.” He took the coffee pot from her and returned it to the burner. �
�There are still countless details you need to understand eventually, but you know the important things now.”
She drank most of the coffee faster than he’d thought possible then set the mug in the sink. “Let’s get started. I want to know who I really am.”
“And I’m hoping to help you learn. But you have to understand that it won’t happen instantaneously. Even if I succeed in releasing your gift, or gifts, it could take you years to explore their full potential.”
“I get it.” She smoothed her hair back from her face and squared her shoulders. “This is only the beginning.”
“And how shall we handle it if my energy has the same effect on you that it did last night?”
She shrugged again and her lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “As long as we’re clear that it’s just for fun, I’m not opposed to letting you ‘help me through it’.”
As if of their own volition, his arms pulled her against his chest and his mouth angled over hers. She gasped, tensed, then melted into his embrace. It took a moment longer for her to respond, but her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips parted beneath the gentle probing of his tongue.
He pushed his fingers into the back of her hair and made a loose fist. She tasted faintly of coffee and her scent fueled his desire. He tilted his head, fitting his mouth more firmly to hers. This was what he’d wanted all morning, what he couldn’t stop wanting. His tongue moved with slow, thorough stokes, memorizing every hollow and surface of her mouth.
His other hand found the hem of her T-shirt and slipped beneath. Her skin was so soft and warm that he moaned. He wanted her naked and spread beneath him as he slowly tasted every inch of her amazing skin.
“I don’t want a relationship,” she whispered when his mouth freed hers and trailed along the underside of her jaw. “You have to accept that.”
“I know.” Which didn’t mean he agreed; it just meant he’d go slowly until he convinced her that she had nothing to fear. He nipped her chin then continued down the side of her neck.
She eased her hands between them and pushed against his chest. “I thought you were going to explore my mind, not my body.”
He loosened his hold without letting go. “Can’t I do both?”
Jillian trembled in his embrace, but it wasn’t fear that made her shake. If any other man had pounced on her the way Odintar had, she would have shoved him away. So why had Odintar’s aggression made her melt? The man knew how to kiss. There was no denying that. Still, the overt hunger in his gaze should have been enough to warn her away. And still she stood there staring into his blue-ringed eyes.
“We’re here for a reason and it’s not this.” Her body clenched as if in protest of her sensibility.
He closed his eyes and slowly released her. When he raised his lids again, the blue rings were gone. “I apologize.”
“Why?” She smiled, hoping to ease the tension arcing between them. “I enjoyed it. Didn’t you?” His eyes narrowed and he reached for her again, but she twisted sharply to the side. “Work before play, you naughty boy.” He chuckled and for an instant ruby-red rings appeared in the depths of his gaze. “What the…” She moved closer and touched his face just below his left eye. “Now the rings are red.”
He laughed and the rings burned brighter. “That doesn’t happen very often. Rodytes have blue rings in their eyes while Bilarrians have red. Mine are triggered by emotion. Primal emotions like anger and passion bring out the Rodyte blue. Lighter emotions like amusement and joy turn the rings red.”
The color scheme seemed backward to her, but she couldn’t argue with the facts. Each time she’d seen the blue rings he’d been aroused or annoyed. It was only his laughter that turned them red. “I’ll do my best to keep them red.” She took another step backward and motioned to the wide opening leading to the rest of the house. “Should we go back to the living room?”
“Wherever you’re most comfortable.”
She snickered. “I’d be most comfortable in my apartment.”
“For the time being, you’re stuck here with me.”
Rather than belabor the point, she walked into the living room and sat in the chair facing the sofa. She expected Odintar to move to the sofa, but he pulled the ottoman slightly back from her legs, then sat down. He held out his hands and she slowly took them, dreading the helplessness that surged through her whenever he touched her mind. Powers like his were supposed to be fiction, yet he moved through her mind as easily as she could cross a room. He didn’t need to tell her to close her eyes. With the first brush of his energy, she lowered her lids and braced for impact.
“Jillian.” When she didn’t open her eyes, he squeezed her hands. “Look at me.”
She opened one eye and then the other, feeling rather foolish.
“We don’t have to do this. Now or ever. I thought you wanted to learn your true potential.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you preparing for battle?”
With a sigh, she drew her hands out of his and scooted back in the chair. “I’ve always had a thing about personal space. Unless I’m onstage, I don’t like anyone getting too close to me. When you enter my mind, it feels like the worst sort of invasion.”
“Is there a reason you’re this distrustful? Were you traumatized in some way?”
Her gaze narrowed and she folded her hands in her lap. “Do you know about Angie’s attack?”
“Yes. Were you—”
“No. It’s not physical with me.” She sighed. It was hard to explain without sounding petty and she fought daily not to be defined by her mother’s attitudes. “I spent my childhood listening to my mother rail about how I couldn’t trust anyone. According to her, friends would always disappoint me and men would use me then throw me away. I didn’t want to believe her, tried not to let her attitude shape my personality, but too many of my own experiences reinforced her position.” She shrugged with an indifference she didn’t feel. “Even after years away from her influence, I find myself pushing people away.”
“What about Tori and Angie? Have they disappointed you?”
“No, but that doesn’t keep me from being cautious. It’s really hard for me to let anyone get close.”
“All right. How about if you get close to me?”
She stared at him, unsure what he expected. God, the man was gorgeous. He wasn’t classically handsome. His features were too bold, his manner too assertive. But he appealed in that rugged, outdoorsy way that always weakened her knees. She licked her lips and opened her hands against her thighs. “What do you want me to do?”
“Whatever you want to do.” His gaze narrowed for a moment and a tingly itch erupted in her mind. “Can you feel that?”
“Yes.” It was a little hard to miss.
“It’s the link I anchored last night. Close your eyes and follow it into my mind.”
Shocked by the offer, she closed her eyes. Was this what Tori meant when she’d asked if Jillian had seen beyond his shields? Tori made it sound incredibly intimate. This must be something else. Rather than ask for clarification, she focused on the sensation and found the link. It looked like a shimmery thread stretching out into the distance. This delicate fiber had allowed him to pull her onto the metaphysical plane? It must be a hell of a lot stronger than it looked. Instinctively, she reached out and touched the cord. The image inside her mind was incredibly clear. It was like watching herself on video. She gently plucked the link, like an instrument string, and vibrations reverberated through her entire body.
“That’s right,” Odintar encouraged. “Now follow the strand.”
“I don’t know how.” She didn’t know how to do any of this and yet she’d managed to find the link.
He gently took her wrist and guided her hand to his face. His skin was warm and smooth. He must have shaved while she was sleeping. The image inside her mind focused as well and the sensations intensified. She scooted forward, easing her knees in between his. Yet in her mind, she stood beside the thread
, her face lit by the fiber’s silvery glow.
“Can you see where the link goes?” His tone was hushed and his fingers remained around her wrist.
“Yes.”
“Picture yourself walking along beside it. Come closer.”
She reached for the cord again, but her fingers sank into the strands this time. Energy rippled around and cascaded through her. She shivered, using the resulting restlessness to propel her forward, along the flickering thread.
She could sense him more clearly with each step, feel his strength and the astonishing scope of his power. Emotions pulsed from him and images flowed, detailed yet disordered. Like a high-speed montage, events inundated her mind. She saw a boy with curly dark hair and sad, watchful eyes; then a petulant youth sneaking down a shadowed corridor; followed by a young man locked in a passionate embrace with a blue-haired woman. Emotions accompanied each scene, yet they seemed random. These were not pivotal events in his life, just snapshots in time.
Too often he stood apart, an observer to the happenings around him. At first she couldn’t tell if the separation was by choice or if the others wanted no part of him. Then bursts of anger and determination wove through the loneliness. He might appear indifferent, but his heart ached to belong.
Compelled by the memories, Jillian pushed deeper into Odintar’s mind. She knew what it was like to be an outsider, to hunger for acceptance. The only time she felt truly at peace was when she was utterly lost in a dance.
Jillian saw the woman again. She was older now, her black hair only streaked with blue. Odintar stood beside a rumpled bed wearing only a pair of pants. Trying not to be distracted by the sculpted perfection of his body, Jillian assessed his expression. He clenched his jaw and his nostrils flared, but she saw only pain in his eyes. The woman hurriedly dressed as she shouted her frustration and disappointment at her soon-to-be-ex-lover. She stormed from the room and Odintar cursed then his image morphed into the sad-eyed little boy.
Fallen Star Page 8
