by Jayne Castle
"It's okay." He continued to knead her tense shoulders. "You've got a right. It's been a rough day."
"You think so? Gosh, I only came across one dead body, went through a police interrogation, and found out that you are now the chief of the Cadence Guild. Just an ordinary day." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "No good reason that I can see to break down in tears."
He winced. "It's the last item on the list that made you cry, isn't it? The fact that I've agreed to take over the Guild on a temporary basis."
"Why did you do it, Emmett?" she asked starkly.
"It's… complicated," he said.
"Tell me one thing. Does it involve Tamara Wyatt?"
The question surprised him. "Hell, no. Tamara has nothing to do with this."
"She's your ex-fiancée. She ended the engagement and married Mercer Wyatt when she found out that you were going to step down as boss of the Resonance Guild. And now you've just taken over the Cadence Guild, her husband's job. You two have a lot of history."
"Whatever Tamara and I had together ended when she made it clear that she wanted to be the wife of a Guild chief more than she wanted to be my wife. I told you that the night you met her."
"If this isn't about Tamara, what is it about? Is the old saying true? Once a Guild man, always a Guild man?"
"The Cadence Guild is in a very delicate situation right now," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Wyatt says he's preparing to step down in another year or two. He claims he is committed to modernizing the organization along the same lines as the Resonance Guild before he leaves office."
"You really think he intends to turn the Cadence Guild into a respectable business enterprise with a board of directors and an elected CEO at the top? After running the organization with an iron fist for over three decades? Give me a break."
"Wyatt is nothing if not a cold-eyed pragmatist." Emmett wondered, even as he spoke the words, why he was bothering to try to defend the boss of the Cadence Guild. Probably because he had just agreed to take over the job himself, he thought. Deep down he had been praying that when Lydia found out what had happened she wouldn't consign him to the same category as Wyatt, that she wouldn't conclude that he really was a low-life mobster.
"I agree he's probably one heck of a realist," Lydia muttered.
"He is genuinely concerned with the future of the Guild. He took a good hard look at the current position of the organization and realized that the Cadence Guild must change if it wants to stay relevant."
"Hah."
"Wyatt admits that he's having trouble attracting and keeping good, well-qualified hunters. There was a time when a talented dissonance-energy para-rez signed up with the Guild for life. Now a lot of them join for a few years, make some quick money ghost-hunting, and then get out in order to enter a more respectable profession." He hesitated. "That's especially true for hunters who want to marry outside the Guild."
"Uh-huh."
She didn't say anything else, but there was no need for further comment, he thought. They were both well aware of the facts. Ever since they had been established during the Era of Discord, the hunters' Guilds had operated as closed, insular societies with their own traditions and their own rules. Historically, if you were raised in a Guild family, the odds were very high that you would choose a spouse from another Guild family.
"Wyatt wants to change the image of the Cadence Guild," he said. "His goal is to turn it into a professional business organization."
"The way you did with the Resonance Guild?"
He wasn't sure where she was going to go with that. Her tone was a little too neutral for his peace of mind.
"That's the general idea," he said.
"No offense, but Wyatt seems to be off to a rather poor start, what with nearly getting himself murdered this morning." She blew her nose into a tissue. "That sort of thing isn't good for the professional image, you know. Tends to make people think in terms of gangland feuds and mob boss rivalries."
He said nothing. He had no more arguments to give her.
She sniffled again, blotted up the last of her tears, and wadded up the tissue. "You're supposed to be a business consultant now, Emmett."
"I am a business consultant. As far as I'm concerned this job with the Guild is just that, a short-term consulting position."
"If you go back into the Guild, you may not get out a second time."
Very deliberately he took his hands off her shoulders. "And if I return to the Guild, you'll end our relationship? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"No." She whirled around, eyes glittering with sudden fury and outrage. "I'm trying to tell you that the idea of you running the Cadence Guild, even for a few weeks, scares me more than all the illusion traps and energy ghosts in the Dead City, that's what I'm trying to tell you."
He felt his own temper start to slip. "Does the thought of sleeping with a Guild boss offend your delicate sensibilities so much? I figured that you and I had something more going on than just a casual fling."
"Don't act dense."
"Sorry, but it's not an act. I feel dense at the moment. I'm also real tired of playing guessing games. Why don't you tell me exactly why you're crying? Keep it simple. Short sentences and no more than two syllables, okay? After all, I'm a hunter, remember? I don't do big words."
"Fine," She threw up her hands. "You want to know why I'm crying? I'm crying because I'm terrified that if you take Mercer Wyatt's position, whoever tried to murder him last night will try to get rid of you, too. I'm scared to death that if you take over the Cadence Guild, you'll be putting yourself in grave danger." Tears welled up in her eyes once more. "And I can't bear to think about what I would do if you got hurt or worse."
He stared, dumbfounded, at the fresh tears running down her face. "That's why you're so upset? You think whoever went after Wyatt will come after me?"
She swiped her eyes with her sleeve and nodded mutely.
"Ah, honey."
He stopped, not sure how to proceed. He had been braced to hear her tell him that she would break off their relationship if he took over the Guild. He had been so intently focused on arguments designed to convince her to tolerate the situation for a short period of time that he could not wrap his brain around this other thing. She had dissolved into a puddle because she feared for his safety?
He could not recall the last time anyone had been overly concerned about his health and well-being. Back in Resonance it was understood that he could take care of himself.
Admittedly, over the years he had managed to reduce a couple of previous lovers to tears but the aggrieved parties had always made it clear that the reason was the usual masculine sin of failing to understand and respond properly to a woman's needs. None of those old lovers had ever cried because she was concerned that he might get hurt or killed.
Relief and a strange sense of satisfaction surged through him. Lydia was worried about him.
"It's okay," he said. "There's no reason to be concerned about me. What happened to Wyatt looks like something personal, not Guild politics."
"Is that right?" She turned away to grab another handful of tissues. "How do you know that?"
"I'll explain later. Right now I've got something more important to do."
She dabbed a few more tears and glowered at him over her shoulder. "Such as?"
He smiled slowly and reached out to pull her back into his arms.
"Such as this," he said.
He caught her face in both hands and raised her mouth to his. She stiffened. And then, with a soft, muffled cry, she practically leaped on him, wrapping her arms very tightly around his neck, holding on as if she was afraid that he would slip away from her.
"Emmett."
Everything in him went from zero to full-rez in a rush. Desire swept through him, heating his blood and making him heavy and restless with need.
He had intended a gentle, soothing embrace, a few cuddles and kisses designed to calm her and reassure her. But her sud
den, impassioned response sent any gentlemanly plans he might have had up in smoke.
"Okay, this works, too," he whispered against her throat.
He pulled her with him down onto the bed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Fuzz tumble off the windowsill and scamper across the carpet. The little ball of dryer lint drifted out of the bedroom and disappeared discreetly down the hall. Probably embarrassed him, Emmett thought.
He turned his attention back to Lydia, who had landed on top of him and was straddling his thighs. The position had forced her skirt high above her knees.
"Promise me you'll be careful." She unbuckled his belt.
"I'll be careful."
She unfastened his shirt. "Promise me you won't take any chances."
Acid green ghost light danced at the edge of his vision. It winked out quickly only to be followed by another shower of sparkling energy. Flickers, he thought; the little flashes of unstable dissonance energy often appeared when he and Lydia made love.
Psi energy leaked and whispered out of small cracks, hidden openings, and invisible vents in the ancient green quartz walls that surrounded the ruins in this part of town. Often, when he found himself highly aroused with Lydia the wavelengths of his sexual energy resonated with the stuff. The result was the small bursts of harmless ghost light that winked out as quickly as they appeared.
"Right," he muttered, crumpling her skirt up around her waist. He touched the crotch of her panties. She was already damp. Satisfaction roared through him. "No chances." Except with you, he added silently. Loving Lydia was far and away the biggest risk he had ever taken.
She released him from the prison of his zipper. Her fingers slid along the underside of that part of him that was now rock hard. When she cupped him he stopped breathing for a few seconds.
She flattened herself on top of him, threading her fingers through the hair on his chest and kissing him with her mouth open.
Energy stirred and shimmered in the air around them. Not ghost light, just a frisson of sensation. Lydia was the source this time, he realized, although he didn't think she was aware of the invisible currents shifting across the bed.
She was an ephemeral-energy para-resonator, otherwise known as an illusion trap tangler. Her para-talents took a different form than his own. She could not summon ghost light, but she could de-rez the dangerous snares of illusion shadow that the long-vanished aliens had left behind to guard their secrets in the ruins. She was the best tangler he had ever worked with, he thought. When it came to wielding raw psi power she was, in her own way, as strong as he was.
She slithered down his body, touching him with the tip of her tongue at various points along the way. He realized where she was headed and knew that if he didn't gain control of the situation he would lose it before he got to his own favorite destination.
He rolled her onto her back. With a few efficient moves he got himself out of his pants and shoes. When he came down on top of her, anticipation had seared away all coherent thought.
He unfastened her jacket and then her blouse and took one sweet, ripe nipple between his teeth.
Her eyes were bottomless pools of intense blue by the time he had finished undressing her. He bent his head and kissed her until she was shifting and twisting beneath him, until she moaned. The soft sound of her need was the sweetest music he had ever heard.
He settled between her warm thighs. The scent of her passion sharpened his need until he could think of nothing else but losing himself inside her.
Ghost light sparked again when he found his way into her tight, wet heat. She raised her hips to take him deeper. He felt her fingers rake his back beneath his unbuttoned shirt.
He stroked into her and her body clenched. He thrust again, very slowly this time, withdrawing almost completely. She gave a little scream. He sank himself to the hilt. She convulsed around him.
Her climax rippled through her, drawing him inexorably toward his own release.
He held on until the last instant and then he let the power of her orgasm sweep him away.
Although some instinct compelled him to try to master the flow of sexually charged energy that pulsed between them, in the end, he was never sure if he had accomplished his goal. When he was with Lydia the white hot boundary between surrender and control was impossible to define.
Chapter 3
LYDIA RELUCTANTLY SWAM up out of the delightfully vague state that had followed in the wake of the over-the-top climax. She was getting used to great sex, she thought. Maybe that was not such a good thing. Life would probably be a whole lot simpler had she never discovered what she had found in Emmett's arms.
Granted, her previous sexual experience had not been what anyone would call extensive. In fact, her friend Melanie, who was something of an expert on the subject, had warned her on several occasions about the dangers of her excessively dull sex life.
But the truth was that passion had never been a particularly high priority for her, Lydia thought. For as long as she could remember, her single great, shining goal had been to become a para-archaeologist. After the loss of her parents when she was in her late teens, she had found herself alone in the world. The dream of exploring the underground catacombs of the Dead City and cataloging the secrets of the ancient Harmonics had helped to fill up many of the empty places in her life.
The vision of herself as a brilliant, highly respected member of the faculty of para-archaeology at the university had consumed her. She had planned to achieve a sterling academic reputation, write brilliant papers and books, and announce stunning new discoveries in the Journal of Para-archaeology.
Her ambition, drive, and strong psi talent had carried her far for the first few years. She had been on track to fulfill all of her goals. But approximately seven months ago, everything had come to a screeching halt. The disaster in the catacombs that she bitterly referred to as her Lost Weekend had nearly gotten her killed. Worse yet, it had shattered her promising career.
The experience had also left her with a case of amnesia regarding the events of those two days. She had no clear memories of the forty-eight hours that she had spent wandering in the endless glowing tunnels and passages beneath the Dead City.
The details of the incident had been pieced together at the inquiry. According to her companions on the research team, she had disappeared down an unexplored and unmarked corridor and never returned. As soon as someone had noticed that she was missing, the team leader, Ryan Kelso, had sent the ghost-hunters to search for her, of course. But it was too late. She had vanished.
Forty-eight hours later she had awakened to find herself alone in a small, uncharted chamber. That was not the worst of it. The really bad news was that she had somehow lost her rez-amber. She had known then that she was doomed. Tuned amber functioned like a compass in the maze of the catacombs. Without it she had no means of making her way to any of the exits.
But Fuzz had found her.
To this day she did not know how he had done it, let alone how he had sensed that she was lost in the first place. But she would never forget the glorious sight of him crouched beside her, anxiously licking her face when she had at long last opened her eyes.
He had led her unerringly to the nearest exit. She knew only too well what her fate would have been had he not appeared when he did. The only question was whether she would have died of thirst before she went mad wandering aimlessly through the endless green night of the alien catacombs. The odds of being found by a search party were almost zero.
No one had been more surprised to see her reappear than her colleagues on the excavation team who had given up hope. There had been great joy and celebration all around-for about three days.
And then the reality of her new situation had sunk in: Everyone assumed that her experience underground had shattered her para-rez pitch. The shrinks who had checked her out afterward quickly filled her medical file with such ominous phrases as sustained para-psych trauma and para-amnesia. Typical aftereffects of an encounter with an
illusion trap or a large energy ghost.
The most amazing aspect of the case, as far as the para-psychologists were concerned, was that she was able to function with any degree of normalcy after the experience. She was certainly not the first ephemeral-energy para-resonator to lose control of one of the nightmarish traps or blunder into a powerful energy ghost. She was, however, one of the few who had gone through such an experience and not ended up in an institution.
She was labeled extremely fragile, psychically speaking, and therefore unreliable on a professional excavation team. No one wanted to work with a tangler who had been badly fried.
At the formal inquiry the two ghost-hunters who had been charged with responsibility for protecting the team had blamed Lydia for taking off on her own without due regard for the very strict safety rules. She, in turn, had accused them of failing to do their job properly.
The findings of the investigation had been pretty much a foregone conclusion. Officially, the disaster was deemed to be a result of Lydia's failure to follow established procedures. She had been dismissed from her position at the university.
For her part, she had vowed never to trust a ghost-hunter again.
Life had certainly changed a lot in the past few months, she reflected. Instead of working on an academic research team, she was now employed at a third-rate museum, Shrimpton's House of Ancient Horrors, and she was dating a ghost-hunter.
On the positive-rez side, her sex life had definitely improved.
On the negative-rez side, she knew that she had fallen in love.
She was aware of Emmett sprawled heavily on the bed beside her, one arm flung around her waist in a casually possessive grip.
She stared up at the ceiling. "I can't believe that I'm sleeping with a Guild boss."
"Temporary Guild boss," he mumbled into the pillow. "Acting Guild boss. No, wait, let's make that consulting Guild boss."
"I'm sleeping with a Guild boss."
"Former Guild boss?" he tried.
"Guild boss."
He rolled over onto his back and folded his arms behind his head. "You can be a little too literal-minded at times, you know that?"
