by Susan Grant
“I say we take this one here,” Rom said. With his chin, he motioned to an approaching brown hulk.
The snail thumped into the tree behind them, jarring it as if it were a fragile twig. She took a steadying breath. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
“On my call we drop onto its back.”
“And then it’s ‘ride ’em, cowboy.’” The creature’s antennae veered her way. Jas shrank back. The thing was probably plotting a round of snail rodeo. Or were snails too dense to tell if you were intimidated, unlike horses and big dogs? She hoped so.
Rom shifted position. “Ready?”
She gulped. “As I’ll ever be.”
“Three, two, one—go.”
Her stomach soared up to her ears as she plunged from the tree. She hit the snail hard and scrabbled for a handhold. The cool, moist shell smelled like wet leaves, and the texture was similar to that of a coconut husk, making it easy to grip. Rom helped her crawl to the hump near the snail’s undulating neck. The surface was wider and flatter than she’d thought, giving them room to spread out. They held on to the shell’s rim, sprawled on their stomachs, side by side. As it crested the hill, the snail swayed slightly, like a gigantic elephant. Silent, they watched the landscape move slowly past. Two moons rose and another set. Ahead the sea gleamed like a treasure chest of pearls.
“What do you think?” Rom asked, the white teeth of his grin visible in the dark.
She laughed in delight and relief. “It’s beautiful!”
Rom wound his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “You’re beautiful.” He nuzzled her ear, then settled his mouth over hers in a warm and sensual kiss.
She risked letting go of the snail shell with one hand to sift her fingers through Rom’s clean, silky hair. He deepened the kiss. The excitement of the ride and her seemingly nonstop desire for him spiraled into an explosive mix. Almost giddy, she followed the line of his jaw with breathless, nipping kisses. He responded with the familiar sound he made in the back of his throat whenever she aroused him.
“If you continue doing that,” he said, caressing her breast, “you’re going to find yourself being made love to on the back of a snail.”
“Hmm. Have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Made love on a snail?” She worked her thumbs into the waistband of his pants. “Or will I be the first?”
He forced her onto her back. “You know the answer,” he said, seizing her mouth.
Joy shot through her. She was first with him, always first. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and kissed him passionately. His rich masculine scent blended with the fragrance of damp earth.
Rom’s movements became more earnest. His boots scraped over the shell’s uneven surface, and she felt him unfastening his trousers, nudging her thighs apart with his knee. She was wearing stretchy pants under a tunic, and he easily tugged them to her ankles. Her legs fell open to the cool evening air. And then he filled her with his thick heat. “Omlajh anah,” he murmured. “Inajh d’anah…” Gripping the shell’s rim above her head, he anchored her with his body, rocking slowly.
Her eyes found the starry sky above, and she spiraled higher, soaring in the magic of his touch. The ocean breeze cooled her perspiring skin; the swaying of their bodies mirrored the snail’s unhurried gait. Timeless. Eternal. She teetered on the line separating conscious thought from pure sensation. Her pleasure tightened, became exquisitely focused. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and she arched into Rom with a soundless plea for release.
He caught her moan with his mouth, kissing her until they found heaven together, limbs entwined, souls meshed, joy resonating between them until only the sound of their labored breathing filled the night.
In the tent the next morning, dawn seeped through the canopy of trees and past the thin membrane of their shelter. Unable to sleep, Jas watched the filmy blue light caress Rom’s sleeping face, softening his patrician features. By all appearances, he was a happy man. But she knew he privately tormented himself over Zarra’s death, and questioning whether Sharron would eventually attack the Vash homeworlds. The eight ancestral planets were critical, and surely his first targets. If the worlds were decimated, it would break the back of the Vash Nadah federation. Without a central government, there would be carnage, turmoil, a battle for control.
What would happen to Earth in such a collapse? The thought chilled her. Without a space fleet, her planet would be helpless in an interstellar war. Not to mention all the other planets that might be destroyed.
No political system was perfect, certainly not the Vash Nadah, but the alliance of ancient families was all that seemed to separate the galaxy from the terrifying, lawless place it had been eleven thousand years ago. The realization unnerved her, pricking her soldier’s instinct to defend. It was time to do something about Sharron.
Chapter Seventeen
“You’re safe; the rest of my crew is safe,” Rom said as he paced the length of their small tent. “I’m not going to jeopardize that by heading off on a revenge-driven crusade.”
“I’m not suggesting you do this alone.”
“I want no part of galactic politics.”
But other than appealing to the Vash Nadah rulers for help, the same men who had turned their backs on him decades ago, he had no way to drum up the kind of support he needed to wipe out the Family of the New Day and their illegal weaponry. He just wouldn’t see that. Composing her thoughts, Jas tried to come up with enough justification to change his mind. “You’re not facing the same enemy you did twenty years ago. Tell them that. Beela’s involvement with the group is significant. It means Sharron’s now recruiting highborn Vash. That means he’s gained credibility, and that’s going to bring him more powerful, more influential followers.”
“The presence of that highborn Vash woman disturbed me,” Rom affirmed.
“It shocked you. I was there. I saw it in your face.”
Dryly, he said, “I’ve been living in the frontier. I haven’t kept up with which royals have fled courtly life and which ones haven’t. Certainly Vash Nadah intelligence has kept track. They undoubtedly are aware of the Family of the New Day.”
“But not that Sharron’s alive.”
“Perhaps. Or maybe they’ve chosen to ignore that fact.”
“Idiots.” She shoved their extra clothing into a waterproof sack, snatched the sleeping bag, and rolled it up with furious, jerky movements. “The Family of the New Day’s not a cult anymore. It’s a full-fledged revolution.”
“I know this, Jas—”
“Beela said they’d bring the war to us, to our homes, our families!”
“Boasting is the bread and butter of zealotry.”
She whirled on him. “Do we take that chance?” she implored. “Do we have the right to take that chance?”
Uncertainty etched weary lines on either side of his mouth. Hands clasped behind his back, he halted in front of the open tent flap and stared outside. After long moments of promising silence, he said, “It would take an immense army to locate and destroy his military storehouse.”
“Then we’ll raise one. Look, you said you never had proof of his evildoings. Well, now you have me. I’ll tell them about the medallions, the antimatter bombs, the fun he planned for me after I had his baby. Put me in front of the Great Council—”
“Galactic politics.” Rom spat the phrase as if it were a swear word. “Give me the distant frontier, where a man can carve out his own fortune.”
And where he could exist far from the reminders of failure that had dogged him all his adult life.
An acute, wistful longing overtook her. She could give him what he wanted, and gain happiness for herself at the same time. Earth qualified as the frontier. They could settle there, live out their lives pretending the galaxy wasn’t teetering on the brink of war. But even as she worked up the nerve to invite him home, the mere thought of confining this larger-than-life hero, this onceheir to the galaxy, to her ordinary suburban li
fe in Scottsdale, Arizona, kept her from doing so.
Frustration boiled inside her. She snatched a towel and a packet of soap. “I’m going to the spring to bathe.” She prayed she could sort out their dilemma.
Early morning was beautiful on unspoiled Ceres. She wore a pale green dress, one of the outfits she had bought while waiting for the starspeeder to be repaired, a slim, ankle-length garment in a giving fabric designed for space travel. The plush and cozy cloth reflected the dawn light in the slightest of shimmers. It had rained for a while after they’d returned to the tent last night. She remembered listening to the drops drumming on the roof. But it had stopped while they were sleeping, and now only occasional plops of water fell from the tall trees.
She hugged her arms to her chest, inhaling air thick with the rich essence of dampness and plants. But the splendor of the forest brought her no peace. She thought of Rom, the grief and loneliness he’d suffered for so many years, after losing his family as a young man. He’d sacrificed more than anyone had to see Sharron dead. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting face the trauma of loss all over again. Could she?
Head down, she marched into the woods. Runoff water from daily rains had carved a narrow path to the spring. But the boggy ground kept her from walking as fast as she would like. Supposedly the snails were now slumbering in their burrows, but she’d rather not meet up with one alone.
A flock of scarlet birds flitted overhead. She turned to watch them, and her flimsy sandals skidded atop a flat boulder made slick with ooze. She fell hard. Feet swerving out from under her, she yelped and slid like a drunken sea otter into a puddle of stagnant water. Sour-smelling muck splashed onto her face and hair. She spat, wiping the back of her hand across her splattered nose and chin. Silver eddies caught her eye as she wobbled upright, microscopic creatures swirling like glitter in the storm she’d created. Amazing, even the algae were gorgeous in this Garden of Eden.
Where the spring formed a small, tepid pool, the water was clean and clear, with a silt-layered bottom as silky as baby powder. After bathing, she leaned against a sun-warmed boulder and squeezed excess water from her dress and hair. Her toes curled in the spongy, mosscovered ground, where dappled sunshine danced. She looked forward to bringing Rom to the spring. He loved water, having grown up on a desert planet where water was considered a luxury, even for a privileged family. They’d spend the afternoon together, relaxing, laughing…making love. Low in her belly she warmed with the thought. Sensuality was an integral part of her personality, and probably always had been, something she was beginning to see as she learned to express that passion physically, rather than confining it to a paintbrush.
The warmth changed to a vaguely unsettled twitching in her stomach. What she needed was some Vash breakfast stew—and the good-morning kiss she’d forfeited to argue about Sharron. She headed back.
Savory scents met her at the top of the rise. Lost in thought, Rom was stirring the contents of a pot bubbling on a rack over a laser fire. Her stomach rippled with hunger, then a faint nausea. Absently she rubbed her belly as Rom scooped food into two bowls and joined her on a fallen log. She dragged a piece of flat bread through her stew, hoping to rouse her appetite. But her stomach protested, making her skin feel warm and clammy. She set the bowl down.
“Lost your appetite?” Rom inquired. “Now you know why I don’t care to argue before breakfast.”
“No, it’s not that.”
Thoughtful, he regarded her. “You hardly ate last night, either.”
“Because I was nervous about the snails. This is different.” She took several gulps of air to quell her roiling stomach.
“Nauseated?”
She nodded.
Eyes softening with curiosity and concern, he pressed his palm to her forehead. Then he strode into the starspeeder, returning with a bag of medical supplies, dozens of drugs, biochemically and genetically engineered to cure almost every ill imaginable. She’d learned that, because the medications were so effective, most who lived in the central part of the galaxy saw doctors only for severe injury and surgery.
Rom sprayed a scented mist under her nostrils. When she inhaled, her abdomen knotted up, as if someone had punched her in the gut. She shot to her feet and ran to the bushes, her hand pressed over her mouth. She fell to her knees, almost blacking out. Her stomach heaved in great spasms until she was left empty and shaking. She was vaguely aware of Rom’s presence behind her, his hands smoothing her damp hair away from her face and neck. Sitting back on her haunches, she closed her eyes and panted.
“The worst is over, angel,” he assured her, lifting her to her feet. Her legs wobbled, and she leaned against him as he led her away from the underbrush to a blanket he’d spread over the dirt near the fire.
Her stomach muscles unclenched. After a few uncertain moments, she ventured, “I think the drug’s starting to work.” But queasiness enveloped her as soon as she sat. “Maybe not.”
“The drug acts more swiftly with some individuals than others. It’ll catch up.” Rom eased her backward, settling her against his chest and within the cradle of his thighs. Her damp dress felt horrible, though it hadn’t bothered her before, but she was too unmotivated to change or ask him for help.
“Any better?” he asked.
“No…it’s…not helping.”
He misted her again with the medicine. “Inhale…hold it. That’s it. Now let it out slowly.” Her pulse pounded in her ears. Rom’s wide palms circled over her lower belly. “Perhaps it is something you ate.”
“We had the same meals, though.” Another queer spasm gripped her middle, and she closed her eyes. “I wonder—it could be too early, I know, but…I could be pregnant.”
His hands froze.
Embracing the idea, she said wistfully, “I was so sick with the twins. For months.”
His breath caressed the side of her throat. “But Jasmine, I can’t—”
“Yeah, well, that’s what you were told. In a diagnosis made years ago. But how do you know it’s still true? Every woman you’ve slept with since took precautions against pregnancy, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“It’s been some time since we first made love—without protection—and I’m late.” She stopped to pant so she wouldn’t have to dash to the bushes before she finished. “What if your sperm count’s come back? All it takes is one.”
“Jasmine—”
She turned slightly. “But what if?”
His hands fanned protectively over her abdomen, his signet ring sparkling in the sunshine. “Jas…to father a child, our child—” He swallowed and held her tighter. “Long ago I’d accepted that such riches would never be mine.” His voice held enough pain, enough hope, to bring tears to her eyes.
In that defining moment, she saw her reservations about remaining in space for what they were: she’d believed her family and friends couldn’t exist without her because it was a built-in excuse to flee happiness, to flee Rom’s love, for fear of being disappointed again. Accepting that, she allowed a future she hadn’t contemplated to unfold in her mind’s eye: Rom, the seasoned warrior, cradling an infant in his muscular arms; then herself, breastfeeding after all these years.
“Can you see us as new parents?” she asked, laughter in her voice. “At our age?”
“Nonsense! We’re in our prime.” Rom pushed aside her damp hair and pressed his lips to the side of her throat. “Vash Nadah delight in large families. We’ll have more after this one.”
A hot-cold sensation spilled into her middle. Prickles of nausea quickly turned into needles scouring her insides, but she couldn’t take the deep breaths necessary to blunt the pain. A hiccup slashed at her insides. She winced, touched quivering fingertips to her lips, and her hand unfurled into a blossom of glistening crimson blood.
She wasn’t pregnant; there wasn’t going to be a baby. And she might not live to try again to make one. Along with skyrocketing fear, the unspoken understanding flickered between them.
He hoisted her into his strong arms. She must have passed out for a few seconds, for when she came to, she was on her knees, puking her guts out in the bushes.
Rom waited until Jasmine lifted her head, then dabbed her mouth with a soft towel. Foreboding consumed him. She was bleeding internally—the color had already leached from her lips.
Aboard the starspeeder, he settled her into the bunk. “Try to remember. Did you nibble on something at the spring?” He leaned over her. “Fruit? A blade of grass? Anything at all?”
Her brows drew together. Between what appeared to be spasms of extreme pain, she managed, “Puddle…fell. Swallowed water.”
His anxiety spiked. Parasites. Voracious parasites existed that could consume internal organs in the space of hours. He tucked her in bed, bolted out the door of the starspeeder, and tossed their camping gear in the cargo hold. Then he blasted out of Ceres for Gorgenon Prime, the planet where they’d had the starspeeder repaired, and the only one in the system with a doctor.
With the coordinates entered into the navigation computer, he floated in zero gravity back to the bunk, hunkering down by Jas’s side. Inventorying his medical kit, he grabbed a pain-blocker and an antiparasitic. They would buy him time, of which instinct told him he had precious little. He fitted the pain-blocker patch below her jaw, then slipped a paper-thin antiparasitic disk under her tongue. “This will help until we get to the doctor,” he said, brushing his knuckles over her cheek.
Her midnight hair floated around her head like a halo. Her lips had taken on a bluish tint, and her skin was turning gray. Between breaths, she moaned.
Rom felt helpless, and he detested it. Even if he reached a physician in time, the damage done by then might be extraordinary. By all that was holy, he had no business taking her to Gorgenon Prime. She needed a Vash Nadah–trained surgeon, not the run-of-the-mill practitioner he’d no doubt find there. Vash Nadah physicians were the best doctors in the galaxy. But he might as well wish for a magic wand. Those renowned, highly skilled individuals were raised from birth to treat the eight rulers and their families—and served them exclusively.
