Her first question was answered within seconds. Solstice was, indeed, at 10:04 p.m. MST this year. That small confirmation made her heart thud hard.
She went to her favorite search engine and plugged in “Avaon”, along with every spelling variation she could think of. For a moment she paused before clicking on “search”. Did she really doubt Rhys? Did she really want confirmation?
Then she clicked. It was unlikely she would get a straight answer anyway. The internet could be frustratingly blank on some subjects.
A dozen pages popped up that dealt with baby names, hotels, jewelry, and other bizarre connections with the variants she had plugged in. She was on the verge of shutting down the browser, feeling a huge guilt for sneaking around behind Rhys’ back, but a perverse need to know it all made her click on the second page of results, and that’s when she found it:
Adaon ab Taliesin Adaon or Avaon, son of the chief of the bards, and a bard himself, was also celebrated for his valor. The Traids…
camelot.celtic-twilight.com/infopedia/a/adaon.htm - 4k - Cached - Similar pages
She looked at the entry and it seemed to pulse on the page. She knew very little about the Welsh language, but she did know that ‘ab’ meant ‘son of’. With a hand that shook, she clicked on the link.
The page that opened up featured lines of verse that her gaze picked out first:
Hast thou heard what Avaon sang,
The son of Taliesin, of the recording verse?
The cheek will not conceal the anguish of the heart.
Quickly, Jenna hit the power button, turning the power off, and pushed the laptop away from her. She felt ill; cold sweat broke out in her armpits and on the back of her neck. The shakes had grown worse.
The name didn’t have to apply literally. It couldn’t be literal. That would make Rhys…how old? Before she could even begin to mentally tally the centuries, she sheered away from it. Ridiculous.
She pushed at her temples, massaging them. What had Rhys said? It’s a name I used once, long ago.
Coincidence. That’s all. Plenty of men called Arthur walked around these days and none of them was a legendary warlord from fifteen centuries ago.
She went and unpacked her belongings, but the task had lost its sheen, and eventually she found she was standing in front of the window, staring out at the snow. Rhys’ effervescent mental kiss kept playing over in her mind. She had not imagined the joy behind it, the almost bashful happiness. That simple pleasure didn’t belong to a man who had lived hundreds of years. After such a long life, wouldn’t he be jaded, cynical…even mistrustful and world-weary?
How could she even entertain the possibility of someone living that long? To where had her sense of reality fled? It scared her that she could even consider it rationally! Hastily she retreated back to the comfort of his mental kiss. The simple pleasure in it.
She wanted him back. Now. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and feel his solidness. His human-ness. Flesh and blood couldn’t be denied.
* * * * *
A package was delivered an hour or so later, and Jenna used the chain on the door and the spy hole to verify who it was before she opened the door enough to accept the big flat white box.
A note was taped to it. A big flourishing scrawl spread across the small sheet. It’s all right. You can open it. Rhys.
Even though the scrawl seemed to fit with Rhys’ personality, she still had no real way of knowing this came directly from him. She considered it for a moment. It was an unsealed cardboard box that typically held flowers, and seemed totally harmless.
She reached out with her mind. Rhys?
Jenny. I’m here.
She showed him the box. Did you send this?
Enjoy it, Jenny, came his warm mental caress. Then his presence withdrew.
Reassured, she pulled the lid off and brushed tissue paper aside. Then she grew very still.
She had expected to find flowers. Had wanted to find flowers.
She picked up the dark green velvet, and pulled it out of the box, and fingered the pleated paisley silk. Her heart skittered, hard and irregular. With slow steps she laid the dress on the bed, and stepped back. She went back out to the sitting room, and looked around the suite…a suite in a hotel that had such high prices it had taken two years’ worth of her savings to stay a week in the smallest, meanest room in the hotel.
She heard Rhys’ voice again, from last night. It’s amazing what compound interest will do, given enough time.
How much time had it taken?
She hurried over to the bar and dug out a can of pop. It took three attempts to open it, and she slopped it over the bar as she took her first mouthful. She paused after two mouthfuls, wondering if it would stay down, for it churned in her stomach.
She heard the locks on the door thunk, and Rhys pushed the door open, and came in, looking around for her. “You’re here. Good.” He glanced at the white box on the table, and smiled. “And the dress, too.” He picked up her hand and kissed it. “There’s a Christmas party here at the hotel tonight. We’re invited.”
“Who invited us?”
“The manager.”
“You know him?”
“Tolerably well. Enough to be invited, anyway. It’s black tie, so I did some fast arranging.” He glanced at her, and then studied her more closely. “Are you all right? You don’t object to the dress, do you?”
“It’s beautiful. Although the price tag makes me want to puke.”
“That’s what credit cards are for.” He shrugged. “I can afford it, Jenna. So allow me this indulgence. Please?”
She took a deep breath and it seemed to help.
She came around the bar to his side and slid her arms around his chest, resting her head on his shoulder, as she had longed to do. His heart beat against her cheek, and it sounded perfectly normal.
His hands stroked her back. “You’re trembling.” He sounded surprised.
“I’m…afraid. There’s so much to know, to learn…it’s all going so fast. I wouldn’t have chosen this for myself, Rhys. But I’m being forced to it. When all I want to do is…be myself. I just want both of us to be normal. Ordinary.”
“For tonight, we can.” His voice rumbled against her ear.
“And the future?”
He lifted her chin, made her look at him. “There are no guarantees. For anyone. You just have to take time as it’s given to you. Moments, remember? Enjoy the moments.”
She kissed him, and knew as she reached for a reassurance that he couldn’t it to give her. But for the moment she could fool herself that all was normal. Ordinary. That Rhys was simply a wonderful lover she had found. A vacation romance.
The kiss deepened, and then she was no longer pretending. With fingers that trembled with excitement, not fear, she stripped him of his shirt, and ran her hands over his shoulders and chest. She admired the strength they represented, enjoyed the heat of his flesh, the satiny touch of the skin and the hard muscles beneath. She coaxed him to his feet, and he rose willingly, his hands deftly sliding her tee shirt from her as he stood.
Yes, this was normal. Rhys was just a man. He responded as a man. All her dark imaginings were just that: her imagination run riot. But she saw a flash image of the computer search engine, and the corner of doubt remained, and fear with it.
She shucked off her jeans, the last item of clothing, and pressed herself against him. “Make love to me, Rhys. Fuck me as hard as you can. I need to feel you…”
His hands on her ass were hot and demanding, holding her against him. He kissed her again, his tongue driving deep. When his lips lifted from hers finally, she pushed him away a little—enough to undo his jeans and slide them to the floor so he could step out of them. She stripped him bare and finally stood before him, then took his lengthening cock in her hands, stroking it. Rhys’ gasping groan at her touch urged her to do more, to make him groan again.
That groan was as human a sound as any man could make. How could she be w
rong about him?
She stepped back a pace, feeling a wanton abandon, a desire to test his human frailties, to see them with her own eyes. Empirical evidence…indisputable evidence.
She cupped her breasts, looking at him. “Want to touch them?” she asked. “Lick them?”
Rhys’ eyes narrowed. “You have to ask?” he growled.
It wasn’t quite enough. Not yet. She needed to push him further.
She stroked her nipples with her fingers, and let her eyes close dreamily. “Mmm…” Slowly, she began to run her hands all over her body, a languorous, sensual stroking.
Rhys took a step towards her. He radiated a stunning urgency, and his sense image spiked her own excitement. She licked her lips, reckless abandon overtaking her.
“No! Stand still. Stay where you are. Watch.”
“If I watch I cannot stand still. Do you know how that can drive a man, Jenna?” His voice was husky, but the sharp, feral pleasure pouring from him caught at her throat and left her breathless.
She hadn’t fully appreciated until that moment how exciting a man found it to watch a woman pleasure herself, but now she used the knowledge to the full. She licked her fingers, and circled her nipples with the wet tips, making them crinkle and tighten sharply. While caressing one breast, she let her other hand slide down to her pussy, and stroked it, delving deeper with each stroke. Although this was a familiar act for her, it seemed new and utterly thrilling with Rhys watching. She was hyper-aware of her fingers slipping between her labia, and the gentle stroke along her clitoris. Each stroke was a silvery ripple of pleasure, far more intense than any she had ever experienced on her own, and she gasped in reaction. Her juices were copious, coating her fingertips with hot moisture.
“Jenna…” Rhys’ growled warning made her heart jump a little, and an extra thrill rippled through her. The deep excitement in his voice was unmistakable. Now she saw his weakness. His vulnerability.
She closed her eyes, caught up in the waves of pleasure from her own masturbation, concentrating on what her fingers did and letting the excitement build up. She was aware of the little moans and sounds she was making, but they sounded distant, as if another person made them.
“Dear god, enough!”
Jenna scuttled backwards as he lunged for her. But he was faster. His arm snagged around her waist, and brought her to her hands and knees. It should have given her a tactical advantage, because it’s more difficult to pick a person up when their center of gravity is close to or on the ground.
But picking her up wasn’t his intention. She felt his hands on her hips, and realized with a rush that he intended to take her right here. Even as the realization shot through her, she felt his cock pushing through her folds, spearing her, filling her.
She clenched the carpet, gasping, her hips twitching forward. Rhys drove into her with a single-minded intention. Had she pushed him that far?
His heat permeated her, through his cock inside her, and from his hands on her hips, the heat of his pelvis as he slapped up against her buttocks with each frantic thrust. He panted…a driven sound she had never heard.
Well, she had wanted this, had she not? She closed her eyes, giving herself up to the sparkling waves of reaction rolling through her. They swelled and grew.
Stroke yourself. Do it. The command was harsh, but behind it she heard the ragged excitement that had driven him to take her in this way. She’d tapped into a primal, human instinct in him and now it flowed to her.
Shaking with a novel excitement far beyond anything she had ever experienced, she reached between her legs and stroked her clitoris with little hard strokes and fed the silvery thrilling spikes back to Rhys.
In return she felt his pleasure spiral, uncontrolled and blind to anything but her sensations, which steepened the ascent, sharpened it.
Her climax ripped through her and she groaned aloud and mentally, as Rhys climaxed, his fingers digging into her hips, and his body locking tight over hers. With each spasm of his cock, the hot liquid spilled inside her. His mind touched hers, giving her a glimpse of an incoherent maelstrom of admiration, joy and a total, primal satisfaction enhanced by her own climax. Behind it all was a wondering, a small fear at the way she had begun to encompass his mind, soul and body.
There. There was the human frailty she had sought. But having found it brought her no comfort at all.
With a deep, guttural groan, he withdrew and fell to one hand on the carpet beside her. She glanced at him. His eyes were closed tight, and sweat showed on his temples and forehead.
She climbed to her feet, and walked with unsteady steps to the bathroom, to clean up. She scooped a handful of his semen into the palm of her hand and studied it. Could there be a more human sign than this, the spilling of a man’s seed?
She washed it away, trying to wash away her doubts and fears with it.
* * * * *
The Banff Springs Hotel Christmas party was hosted by the hotel itself—a glittering formal affair for all the hotel’s favorite guests, suppliers, friends and more. The sumptuous banquet served over three hundred people, in the biggest function room in the hotel, and must have kept dozens of staff busy in the service areas behind the scene.
As soon as she saw all the diamonds, gold and fur on parade, Jenna relaxed. She was barely adequately dressed in her outrageously expensive gown, and far from being overdressed.
You outshine them all, Rhys assured her.
She could accept it as more than an offhand compliment, because she saw behind his words the sweeping glance he’d made, taking in the guests within his view, and how none of them had drawn his eye the way she did.
There was a secondary tone to his thought, one of pride.
That kept her chin up, and her eyes wide, as she watched the other guests mingling and chatting. Very few people appeared to be on their own. A solitary man with a crookedly tied bowtie watched her, but was quickly joined by a woman who placed a whiskey glass in front of him, and he turned to smile at his companion as she sat down beside him. Then Jenna realized many people were watching her, for she would catch their gaze before they averted it or turned away.
She tucked her arm under Rhys’ elbow.
“What is it?”
“People. Watching us. Do you think they’re…?”
You can determine that for yourself.
Right. I forgot. The next time she caught someone’s gaze sliding away from hers, she reached out mentally to sample him and found nothing. No field, no hint of energy or response.
* * * * *
They found their table, which they shared with eight other guests, including the mayor of Banff, and the editor of the Banff Crag & Canyon newspaper. Rhys brought a bottle of champagne, and poured her a glass.
“I don’t usually—”
“Tonight, I insist.” He pushed the glass towards her with a smile. “Drink.”
“So long as you’re driving.” She picked up her glass.
Rhys lifted his a little. “Long life.”
She drank, and enjoyed the tickle of bubbles on her nose.
Time for a lesson. He put his glass down and sat back, watching her.
Now? Here? With all this noise and people listening?
He looked around. No one is listening to us. No one can hear us.
Jenna frowned, feeling her brow wrinkle, and glanced around. There’s noise. Talk.
Exactly. He lifted his glass up towards her again. “Can you think of another toast?” At the same time as he spoke, she heard his mental whisper: and reach to me this way, too.
She lifted her glass. “To…” and tried to push a thought to him at the same time, but couldn’t do it. She could either speak, or push. She laughed a little. Hell, who’s going to want to listen to two different things at once, anyway? Especially with all this noise. It wasn’t particularly noisy—this was a very elegant crowd—but there was a lot of chatter around them, and the music added its own filter.
The practice is useful, anyway.
He picked up her hand where it lay on the table, and threaded his fingers through it.
I’ll need more sugar.
He tapped her glass. Carbonated sugar.
But her gaze drew to the back of his hand, at yet another scar there. It looked like an old burn. She ran her finger over it. So many battles. Do you have only enemies? No friends, no peace?
There are many watchers. I know a lot of them. His other hand came over hers, halting her finger from tracing out the scar, and he gave her a quick glimpse of another party—far more rowdy and congenial than this elegant affair—filled with old friends and trusted companions. Although the glimpse gave her no overt clue she had the distinct impression it had been in England, some time ago.
Do you see your friends often?
She felt his mental headshake. I move around a lot.
How do you contact others? How does word pass?
Email. Fax. Telephone. The usual ways. His mental laugh was a warm breeze through her mind.
She pushed her annoyance at him, and showed him an imaginary computer screen, an email form, and fingers typing out ‘slew two of the enemy today…lots of blood’. There were ways before the electron was discovered, surely?
We are as limited as the rest of the world over long distances, but the fields tell us much. I knew where to find you, didn’t I?
But not specifics. She took another sip of her champagne.
Are we not talking specifics now?
How far apart can we be to do this?
He shrugged, a physical shrug, and shook his head a little. Who knows? Some can only manage a quarter of a mile. Others, especially those who are bonded, can reach much further. And I have a feeling that you, Jenny, will out-reach all of us.
The diner on her left passed the breadbasket to her, and she passed it on to Rhys, along with her next question. Someone must train the new watchers. There has to be some organizing body that runs the show.
Winter Warriors Page 24
