Wind and Fire

by T. J. Michaels

  A wave of relief swept over her. It was a dream. It always seemed so real. Even the sensitive buds of her nipples puckered at the false memory of his breath wafting over her skin. She rose, wrapped her robe closely about her body, and went through the motions she could have sworn she’d already done. Slipping her hand into the warm pocket, Sara went still when her fingers wrapped around a small glass vial.

  “How in blazes does he do that?” She almost wished she had the courage to ask him. Almost.

  She washed up quickly. Dressed in her Houseman’s uniform and slipped the vial into her trouser pocket. As she rushed to the kitchens, Sara pushed away guilt for what she was about to do. Failure equaled pain—lots and lots of brilliantly delivered pain—courtesy of a much too-handsome devil.

  He was supposed to exist only in dreams. Unfortunately for her, he didn’t seem inclined to stay there.

  Chapter Two

  By the time Rhia made it to the dining hall, she looked and felt like every description of hell she’d ever read about in the old story books. In addition to the sweat and dirt stains that covered her tunic, her leggings sported a long, jagged rip. The fabric flapped annoyingly as she walked, baring a good amount of bruised thigh. She’d almost had her leg sliced open in the middle of teaching the final knife-fighting session of the day. Good thing she hadn’t been instructing laser whips instead. Geesh.

  She pushed the thoughts away and focused on what awaited her upstairs in her rooms—a blasted bath, and she couldn’t wait to sink into the warm... ewww!

  She sniffed and then sniffed again. Was that rank smell her, or the filleted protein on her plate? Not wanting to offend, Rhia ate quickly at a table closest to the wide double doors and headed up to her apartments.

  The twitchy burn in her legs made her hiss out loud as she climbed the tower stairs. Wiped out, and absolutely tired of being so damn tired, she forced herself to trudge on. Why did her place have to be on the only floor that couldn’t be accessed by a lift?

  Finally, at the top of the tower stairs, she reached for the key around her neck. Her hand brushed the sharp corner of a note she’d completely forgotten about. Removing the crumpled piece of paper from her breast pocket, Rhia immediately recognized her father’s bold, flowing script. Even bolder words had her bristling before she was halfway through the short missive.

  To: Rhia Greysomne, First Heir to the Seven Colonies of Draema Province

  Consider this a formal reprimand from the Office of the High Counsel. I don’t have time to run all over the City looking for you as you take on more and more responsibilities. I had to send a Houseman to find you to deliver this note. I’m sure he’s just catching up with you and it’s probably well past dinner time as you’re reading it.

  “Damn it, how does he always know?” she wondered aloud.

  You are hereby relieved of all duties except for the diplomatic responsibilities of the First Heir. In addition, you may teach one, and only one, combat or blade class. All of your other duties related to the Society of War have been assigned to other officers. Further, you are to leave at first light for Harbor Station to inspect the two new airships built for the coastal patrols. You will also inspect the troops stationed there under your brother’s command. Joan Rouillard and Brita Shae will accompany you. To make the journey shorter, I’ve assigned you a hover driver. He’ll take you to the train, where you’ll board for Harbor Station. And no, you may not take the outmoded form of transportation you prefer—that damned horse of yours.

  It was bad enough he was making her take the train to the harbors, but she wouldn’t be allowed to even transport herself to the station? Not that she knew how to operate one of the hover things anyway, but that wasn’t the point. And Moonlight was not outmoded, damn it!

  With an annoyed huff, she finished reading.

  I advise you to find time to enjoy yourself while you are at Harbor Station, young lady. You will come to my offices before you leave to pick up a message for your brother. When you return to the High City, your life will change considerably.

  Regards,

  Grey Greysomne, High Counsel of Draema Province

  Commander in Chief, Society of War

  Her father had sent a note to tell her off. This was a new experience. Grey Greysomne usually delivered any displeasure directly to her face. But a note? Geez, how impersonal could you get? And what did he mean her life would ‘change considerably’ when she returned from Harbor Station? And why did she need to go inspect a ship or troops? Her younger brother was the Harbormaster for a reason. That man knew all there was to know about the blasted vessels. What a total waste of time. But as one of the highest-ranking officers of the Society of War, she had her orders and would obey them. Of course, she wouldn’t admit to being secretly pleased with the opportunity to visit her brother and his family. Perhaps she’d rest better there.

  Rhia cringed as she recalled the weeks of nightmares so terrifying, so wrong, that she’d jerked herself awake with a scream on her lips. There’d been several nights where she’d awoken with sweat-soaked bed linens stuck to her body as she sat huddled in the center of the bed. She was sure her skin had tried to crawl away and hide a time or two, as well.

  But last night everything had changed. Sleep had been peaceful and strangely calm with the presence of an old man. Her dream had been simple—the man seemed to enjoy nothing more than keeping her company, and the nasties had stayed away. It would be nice to drift off and not wonder what was in store. Maybe some rest and a change of scenery would do just that. Perhaps Harbor Station was the ticket.

  Rhia read the note again, stuffed it back into her pocket, and fumbled with her key tag. The flat, square fob gleamed dully in the bluish light of the iozene lamps set into the walls. Holding the tag to the center of the panel next to the door, a familiar click indicated the release of the lock.

  One step into her private domain, Rhia felt the cares of the day melt away. This space was uniquely hers. It was strategically unsound to have walls an enemy could hide behind, so there were none in this space. Instead, it was large, airy, and tastefully arranged so she could see from one end of the suite to the other without obstruction.

  The sleeping area was dominated by a huge, curtained bed, but it was the floor that defined the space. It was covered with soft, gray, hand-knotted carpets. Where the carpets ended, so did her sleeping area. A large mosaic of tiny gray and white tiles in the shape of the sigil of the House of Greysomne covered the dining area floor. It was centered by a large table; its base of polished marble was topped with a thick, smoky glass pane. Off to the left was the mantel covered with awards and weapons, over a wide, and thankfully blazing, iozene fireplace.

  A few steps past her large, four-post bed, a chilly wind sent the silky bed curtains billowing. The midwinter breeze flowed through the glass doors that led to her private balcony. Only... she was sure those doors were closed and locked this morning. Brita would have been the last person out of these rooms, and she would never have left them unsecured.

  Shivering from the whoosh of cool air, Rhia dropped her blade and belt down on top of the dining table with a loud clunk as she passed. She pressed the little switches that controlled the wall of thick, beveled panes and waited impatiently as the glass slid silently along the tracks.

  The moment the balcony doors closed, her trouble meter tipped off the scale. Turning ever so slowly, she peered into the darkness. Sharp senses tried to see and hear everything at once as her eyes adjusted.

  The open curtains let in the glow of a half-moon, whose light was obscured by a passing cloud. Looking past the mantle, Rhia peered toward the bathroom entrance. The sheer curtains that gave her privacy were pulled open as usual.

  However, what was unusual was the shadowed figure standing there. A black cloak swirled around a body as it took a step forward, and the “it” was revealed as a man.

  “Hello, Rhia.”

  Bryan Collaidh? Aw hell. She hadn’t seen him since she’d made First Bl
ade, cycles ago. The haunted look on his face, and the dark shadows under his eyes, made it obvious those cycles had not been kind. His pale skin stood out in stark contrast against lackluster, shoulder-length black hair. Didn’t he know greasy hair was out of style in Draema? And what was with the all-black garb?

  The creep hadn’t left the province under the best of circumstances. As far as she was concerned, he was still unwelcome in the High City, and certainly unwelcome in her personal space.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, not bothering to hide the contempt in her voice.

  The lines of his mouth hinted at the cruelty she knew he was capable of. A malevolent black gaze followed her steps. Deep set, and round as old-fashioned playing stones, his eyes seemed too large for his face. He looked like an overgrown guppy, complete with thin, pouting lips. An image popped into her head of this unwanted guest, complete with gills and fins. His lips glub-glub-glubbed as bubbles floated up towards the surface of the river she wanted to drown him in.

  Her amusement faded quickly as she considered the situation. It took a bold man to break into her apartments with no fear. Why would he take such a risk? The answer was obvious—he still didn’t have any goddamn common sense.

  Rhia watched him closely as she walked across the room. The glowing fireplace halfway between them cast his smooth, black clothing with an eerie, orange tint.

  “I asked what you’re doing here, Bryan.” At the mantle now, she stretched her hands toward the warming flames, appearing completely at ease.

  “I’ve come to visit you, old friend,” he drawled, moving slowly toward her. He attempted to smile, but it must have made his face hurt. The skin appeared to freeze just around his mouth in the middle of the feeble attempt.

  “Old friend? What are you, nuts? I haven’t seen you since the day you decided to use my face as a punching bag.”

  “I’m a changed man, Rhia. Cycles of surviving on the borders can do that to a person.” He ground out the words as his gaze seemed to focus on something far, far away. Some called the borders “Hell’s Eastern Seventh Level.” Judging from the menace rolling off of her nemesis, like dust clouds of choking malintent, the name must be pretty accurate.

  She took a deep breath, then another. Blast it, she’d always been calm when meeting a foe. But she’d never faced a known enemy whose very presence dragged one of the worst moments of her life out of the locked dungeon of her mind.

  Her typical pre-fight calm was nowhere to be found. No, she was torqued the hell off. And this wasn’t going to end nicely.

  She almost smiled.

  Biding her time, Rhia leaned against the smooth mantle with one arm draped casually atop the ledge. Her fingertips brushed the hilt of the specially commissioned blade her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday. For a few seconds she considered pulling the razor sharp work of art down off its mounting, but changed her mind. The blade was too special to dirty on the likes of Bryan Collaidh. Too bad she didn’t have a laser pistol handy. At least those left wounds that didn’t bleed much. Rhia was sharp enough to know that this little conversation was going to end in a fight, and the less blood on her tile, the better. Getting blood out of crystal grout was no easy feat.

  Then she noticed that Bryan wasn’t moving. Simply stood there, wasting her time.

  “Look, Bryan, I’m tired. I had a long day, and I really don’t feel like being bothered. I was so busy this evening I was two hours late to dinner. Now I’m two hours late for bed. Can’t you just go away? Perhaps we can talk in the morning.” Knowing she didn’t mean a word of that last part. After all, there was nothing to say.

  “You have grown into a beautiful woman, Rhia. And I think I’d rather talk now. Besides, I’ve returned to Draema Proper for one purpose. To claim you.”

  Laughter bubbled up and out of her throat before she could stop it. She just couldn’t help it. Claim her? Ridiculous! Her smile was genuine, but her thoughts took another turn, and her insides turned with it. What if he was serious? A serious lunatic, that is. He wanted her? Why? He certainly didn’t love her. She didn’t think he even liked her.

  Sigh.

  Okay, he had about an inch on her in height, and maybe twenty pounds in weight. The calculations only took a moment. She could take him down fast, then call in a favor to a couple of the soldiers who roomed on the floors below. The advantage of living in her father’s Citadel – it only took seconds to get someone up here to help drag the body away.

  But Bryan still hadn’t moved. Not even to blink. Perhaps a reminder that she outranked him would push him over the edge so they could get this over with.

  She rolled her eyes and said sleepily, “Get out, you idiot. Otherwise, as the highest ranking officer in the Society of War, I’ll personally have you assigned to the iozene mines with all the other miscreants.”

  Then she waited for him to lose it like he had long ago, when he’d taken a closed fist to her face. Her offense? A rank promotion ahead of him. Angry and full of jealousy, he used his failure as an excuse to abuse her. In his mind, the anger had been all her fault. Personal responsibility? Puh. Those two words weren’t in his vocabulary.

  Hands raised in surrender, he headed toward the door. Halfway there, he changed direction.

  Damn it.

  He looked back and forth, between her and the katana lying on the table. The metal under the black leather, which crisscrossed elegantly over the handle, gleamed dully in the moonlight. Bryan picked it up, testing the weight of it in his hand.

  Calculation flared in those cold, black eyes as he took a single step, pivoted and threw the weapon clear across the room. It bounced off a wall near the front door with a loud clang. She had no doubts now—the man was definitely nuts.

  From rage to cool civility in a blink, he crooned, “I hear you’ve made Blademaster well before the usual ten cycles. But it doesn’t matter whether you’re a Blademaster or not, we’re going to reinstate our former engagement.”

  Bullshit.

  One hand on her hip, she took an angry step forward. “My father didn’t approve of you back then, and he certainly won’t approve now. Besides, if you were on the up-and-up, you wouldn’t have broken in and waited for me in the dark. What the hell do you really want?”

  “Give me a minute. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He lunged.

  Rhia was ready, and ducked past him so fast he found himself facing the fireplace with nothing but air where she had been seconds before. A clean kick to his kidneys from behind slammed him chest-first into the mantle. The wind whooshed from his lungs. After a few wheezing breaths, he faced her with eyes drawn tight in an angry frown. And a bit of... shock?

  “Surprise, asshole.”

  He hadn’t expected her to be able to defend herself without a weapon. Well, good. But she’d rather have a blade between them. Rhia ran for her steel.

  Bryan dove, taking her feet out from under her. She went down hard, skinning her cheek on the smooth, hard mosaic under the dining table. But stinging cheeks were a relief. If she’d landed a few more inches to the left, her jaw would have made solid contact with the glass and marble of the table.

  She rolled over with a groan and was happy to be in absolute pain rather than knocked out cold.

  Then he was on her, trying to capture her hands as they connected with his eyes, cheeks, and lips. Rage, thick and palpable filled the bit of air between them.

  “I’ll have what I want whether you agree or not, Rhia.” Pant. “Once I fuck you.” Snarl. “I’ll present evidence to the Council.”

  What the hell?

  “Your honor,” he sneered as if she had none, “will require you to declare me your mate. Our houses will be joined, one way or another. Good thing you were altered at the Age of Consent. Without a hymen, at least it won’t hurt. Much.”

  Whoa. How did he know when she’d been altered? And what the hell else did he know? The records of every member of the Society of War, especially hers as First Heir, wer
e classified. No one knew her secret other than her father, and her friends, Brita and Joan.

  Her mind screeched to a halt. The law was clear. As female First Heir, she’d had her hymen painlessly removed at the Age of Consent as required. But afterward, Rhia didn’t have the Draeman privilege of screwing around.

  While mates, lovers and Sensuan were carefully recorded for all members of the Society of War, for Rhia the rules were a bit different. She had two choices—she could take an assigned lover for a time, whose identity and time of service were carefully determined and recorded...

  Or, she could take a mate. Period.

  Her mate’s identity would remain secret for a time until she declared the union to the Council, or proof of consummation was given. Vows could be taken in the presence of her father and a witness, or she could elope. This was to keep the First Heir’s mate from being assassinated before he could actually say, “I do.”

  No one, especially Bryan Collaidh, should know that her records were clean – no assigned lover, no mate. If he managed to prove he’d had sex with her, she was screwed. And not in a good way. No recourse. No way out.

  Except to get free. Right now.

  Rhia jerked her hand loose. A fist connected with the side of Bryan’s head, sending it sideways with a wicked snap. The jeweled dagger always strapped to her thigh was almost in her hand when the bastard dropped his full weight down on top of her. She just couldn’t get a full breath. Her head spun. Wriggling black spots swam around her field of vision.

  Ugh, she was going to throw up.

  A backhand to the jaw didn’t help. She hadn’t seen the blow coming and now both her hands were above her head, held securely in his grip. His free hand brutally squeezed and twisted a tender breast. And he had an erection. Ewww.

  She swallowed hard as more bile surged and her dinner bubbled threateningly at the base of her throat. Frustrated and angry, Rhia let out an ear-piercing scream when Bryan pushed his hand roughly underneath her tunic searching for the top of her leggings.