An indigo feather the length of her hand dangled from a silver clasp. Frowning, she stroked a finger down its silken length. A surprisingly pleasant scent, reminiscent of heat, spice, and the crisp fresh air of a mountain plateau, tickled her senses.
And it wasn’t the only thing tickling her senses. An alarmingly familiar mix of heat and cold was stirring in her blood again, tightening its bands of control. Numbness spread across her palms. Her fingers tingled with a frosty ache. When she tried to drop the necklace, her hand wouldn’t obey.
Even as she backed up the slope to solid ground, the hairs on the back of her neck stood. Desire rose, so strong it robbed her of her breath. Power radiated out like tentacles. Not again, she moaned at the sudden rise of the sentience.
Like a hound on a scent, it flowed below her skin, alternately caressing, and then probing forcibly at her mental barriers. A second wave of energy crashed against her shields, buckling them. The sentience invaded her mind. Where fear and desire had been its favorite tool, it now flooded her with joy. Delight, elation…those feelings seemed too small, too insignificant to encompass what she felt beneath her skin, within her mind. Her possession was now complete—every sense was alive with the feelings, even as she watched it from afar. Almost against her will, her hands looped the medallion around her neck.
Silvery flames burst to life along her arms to pool between her hands. It didn’t hurt. Agony she could have dealt with, this…this new sense of rapture was so much worse.
A cloud appeared in the air, to hover an arm’s length from her. Faint as smoke, it thickened, swirling and rolling like fog. Churning and spinning, colors danced until it had grown in size.
Vivid greens, muted greys, sun-bleached whites. They formed a stone courtyard adorned with fountains, statues, and lush foliage. Then darker whorls of indigo mixed with lustrous browns, coalescing into an exotically handsome man. He was tall, bronze-skinned, bare-chested, and wore some kind of bright, indigo-colored cloak. The cloud of magic spun itself larger, revealing more of the man. Oh, it wasn’t a cloak. He had…wings. Not a man at all, this must be a phoenix. She glanced at the indigo feather hanging from the necklace, then lifted her gaze to what—or rather who—might be the source of the feather. While she’d spent a dumbfounded moment staring down at the feather in her hand, he’d turned, his back now to her as he looked out over a stone-tiled courtyard. His fingers tapped against his thigh in clear agitation. From behind, he looked less human.
A stiff breeze ruffled his crest feathers into disarray and plastered a long, fan-shaped tail against his calves. He whirled around, whipping his tail out of the way, and paced in her direction. She focused on his face. His strong brow, well-defined cheekbones, and firm jaw surpassed human beauty. Still, the intensity of his gaze would give a wise woman pause. She wasn’t sure if his frown was a normal fixture or just a reflection of some inner conflict.
Her gaze roamed his broad shoulders, down the naked expanse of his muscular chest to his waist where a paneled-leather kilt hung low on his hips. He truly was majestic, exuding a sense of contained power in his every move.
“Hmm, perhaps I’m not the wisest of women.”
She sighed, mentally pushing aside the faint hint of longing. There would be no place for such feelings. It was war, and those who commanded armies had already decided their species would be adversaries. “Yes, he’s attractive, but you must have other reasons for revealing him to me.”
Magic swirled faster through her blood. “Guess that’s a yes.”
Wincing at the throb in her head, she concentrated on his image.
He paced in a semi-circle, his frown deepening as he searched his surroundings. When his gaze locked onto something in her direction, tension rippled along her spine and lodged between her shoulder blades. Graceful, predatory he stalked toward her and swiped the air. Nothing happened. He continued to look perplexed, his feathered brows furrowing into a frown.
Sweat dampened her skin in a sudden cold flush; her breath grew shallow. Ashayna scooped a handful of debris and heaved it at him. It flew through the image and smacked into a tree trunk behind it. Was it just a vision?
His expression turned thoughtful. Tilting his head to one side, he closed his eyes. His lips moved, shaping unknown words. Instantly, the sentience flared in response, sending a wave of its foreign wanting through her. She clamped her will down, determined she wouldn’t be enslaved. A rush of power surged through her mind, expanding out, breaking past her control. For one horrifying moment she felt her body gathering itself to move closer to the strange window, but blessed and merciful Creator, something distracted the phoenix from his work. He looked over his shoulder to someone behind him, just out of Ashayna’s range of view. The outer edges of the magic window blurred, softening…until, one tendril at a time, the cloud destabilized and vanished.
With the disappearance of the window, the wellspring of the sentience’s chaotic magic slowed, its attacks less focused. Slowly, its chilled touch receded from her mind and followed her blood vessels back to her heart, where the sentience coiled in upon itself. She sucked in a surprised breath and flexed her fingers to restore circulation.
Was the strange window to some distant place really gone?
Ashayna hugged herself, cold down to her soul. Shivers started in her arms and fingered their way down her back. Even her knees shook. A pulse pounded in her head. The ground heaved uneasily to her eyes.
Woozy, she slammed a shoulder into a nearby tree for support. Rough bark bit into her back, grating against her leather vest as she slid to the ground. Pine scent engulfed her. Her hair snagged in the bark and tangled in the small drops of pitch leaking out of fissures.
Lowering her head, she pressed her forehead against her knees. “I’m a Stonemantle, I don’t cry, I will not disappoint my father. I can deal with this. I will deal with this.” She inhaled slowly, forcing her breath through her nose and willed her heart to calm.
Something nudged against her hip. A strangled sound, half grunt, half yell, burst from Ashayna’s throat. Swiftrunner shoved at Ashayna a second time, continuing her quest for one of the few patches of grass struggling to grow in the dense shade. A shaky laugh escaped her. She shifted her knees and the mare snatched up a mouthful of greens.
When Ashayna’s body shivered as her sweat cooled, she reached for the new weight around her neck. Wind caught at the feather, making it dance on the end of its silver chain. From the coloring this feather belonged to the phoenix she’d just seen in her vision. It seemed the sentience was very interested in making his acquaintance.
She closed her fist above the delicate clasp and brought her other hand up to stroke the feather. Its strangely familiar scent wafted around her. Gently she tucked the feather under her vest, ignoring her first instinct to rip it from her neck. After all, she might find a use for the necklace at some point, and it seemed to pacify the sentience.
Swiftrunner jerked her head up, grass trailing forgotten from her mouth. Her ears riveted forward as one hoof dug a furrow in the mud.
“What is it, girl?”
The mare flicked an ear in Ashayna’s direction, then snapped it back toward the trail. A shadow the size of a small horse glided between the trunks of two large evergreens. Her stomach flipped when another twig snapped much closer to her position. Snuffling sounds to her left set her heart racing.
She stood and reached for the reins. Her mare nickered, dancing in the mud as Ashayna settled into the saddle. At her quiet word, Swiftrunner broke into a trot. There was a sharp bend in the trail ahead, and then a straight level run. They approached the bend. Twenty paces, ten paces, less than five and she urged the mare into a canter. She chanced a glance back. Three lupwyns—reminiscent of giant wolves—loped into the open, abandoning the shelter of the trees for the better footing of the path. Ashayna bent low to Swiftrunner’s neck and the mare broke into a ground-eating gallop.
End of sample.
Lisa Blackwood, Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2)
Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) Page 28
