The Crystal Warriors Series Bundle

by Maree Anderson

  “And you’re sharing it with me? I’m touched, Chalcey.”

  Chalcey hit her mother straight between the eyes with her suspicions, no warning, no preamble. She needed to know for sure, and she told herself it was the only way. “Thought you might need it—especially since one of those names I recited was your Crystal Warrior.”

  She blinked. “You’re very observant, Chalcedony.”

  Ah. Back to “Chalcedony”. Francesca was distancing herself again. Erecting the barriers that she’d hidden behind ever since Benigno’s death. At least now, Chalcey had some inkling of why.

  She took a swig of her drink to bolster her courage. “Dad was the reason you couldn’t bond with your Crystal Warrior, wasn’t he?”

  Francesca’s gaze sharpened, whipping out to punish Chalcey for doubting her love for her husband. “Benigno was in the last stages of his cancer. I wouldn’t leave him. Not even when Malach begged me to. Not even when Benigno—” Her lips compressed into a thin, bloodless line. She downed the entire contents of her glass and slammed it onto the tabletop, daring Chalcey to join the dots. Daring her to judge.

  If Francesca’s chosen Crystal Warrior, this Malach, had been anything like as insidiously compelling as Wulf, Francesca wouldn’t have stood a chance. How on earth could Chalcey judge her?

  Tears laced Francesca’s lashes. Maybe she’d teared up because of the tequila. Maybe because of—

  Epiphany number two. Chalcey’s dad had been no fool. He would have figured out Francesca had met someone else. “Dad knew about your Crystal Warrior,” she said.

  Francesca refilled her glass without bothering to ask permission. “I told him everything. I thought he’d despise me, but your father only wanted what was best for me. He didn’t want me to have to sit by and watch him fade away. It hurt his pride that he was in so much pain he could no longer hide it. He pleaded with me to go, to take you and make another life for myself. And God help me, Chalcedony, to my everlasting shame I was tempted.

  “But no matter how much I thought I loved Malach, I loved Benigno too. I wouldn’t leave him. Malach understood that and he respected my choice, even though it meant he would lose his chance at redemption. Even though it would cost him his life. He was a brave man.”

  Chalcey’s mind whirred up a gear. “Hold up. You knew it would cost him his life. How did you know the stakes were that high?”

  “Pieter explained everything after I chose the malachite crystal. I think he believed that full disclosure was necessary due to my… circumstances.”

  The husband-dying-of-cancer circumstances. Riiight. How thoughtful of Pieter. But boy, had that ever backfired on him. So it kind of made sense the old man had decided to keep Chalcey clueless and leave it to nature—or rather, Chalcey’s rampant hormones and too-soft heart that made her a sucker for a sob story. Bet he hadn’t counted on Francesca’s interference, though.

  Her stomach twisted when she thought of what her father had been put through, knowing his wife had fallen in love with another man. And Malach, too. Knowing he’d been so close to a chance at redemption, only to have it ripped away when Francesca chose her dying husband over him.

  In Chalcey’s dream, Malach had been Wulf’s second in command and—

  Wulf. God. How would Wulf react if he knew that Malach had been doomed by a twist of fate that’d chosen the wrong woman for him? Or perhaps the right woman. Just at the very worst time in her life imaginable.

  Chalcey considered how she felt about the possibility of condemning Wulf to the crystal a second time. And sending him to his death.

  A shudder coursed down her body. She rubbed her arms, wishing everything could go back to the way it was before. But the cat was out of the bag now. She couldn’t pretend ignorance.

  She sipped more tequila, swirling it in her mouth, watching Francesca carefully over the rim of her glass. When she swallowed it down, the warmth pooling in her belly loosened her tension, and her tongue. “That explains a lot about—” The bitterness twisting her mother’s face silenced her.

  “About why I was so cruel to you after your father died, Chalcedony? Why I was so emotionally distant? Why I settled for Edgar?”

  Cripes. She’d nailed it. All of the above. “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you tell me, Chalcedony. I’d really like to hear what you think my reasons were.”

  Her voice oozed that particular tone parents save especially for their children. That slightly smug tone always drove Chalcey crazy. She was an adult, too. She’d been through some pretty crappy stuff and survived. She had valid opinions, dammit. So couldn’t they have a decent conversation without Francesca inferring that she was too young to know anything about life?

  Normally Chalcey would have been stung enough to toss off some smart-assed retort. But the underlying guilt and pain in her mother’s voice helped strangle her immediate knee-jerk reaction. No sarcasm, just let her have it straight. Less painful for them both that way.

  “You were depressed for months after Dad died because you were mourning him and Malach. I know you loved Dad very much. So to have even considered leaving him, you’d have loved Malach deeply, too. I bet you’ve spent every single day since then, wondering whether you made the right choice by not even trying to save him. I bet you feel guilty as hell knowing you sacrificed him for the sake of spending another few months with Dad.”

  Francesca rocked back in her chair like she’d been slapped hard. She blinked back tears but Chalcey wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. She had to get it all out. “And then you married Edgar—a man you don’t love—because you believe you don’t deserve to be happy. You’re still punishing yourself. God. Dad would be rolling in his grave. You said it yourself: All he ever wanted was for you to be happy. You loved Malach. You should have at least tried to save him. Dad would have understood. And I would have stayed and taken care of him, like he always took care of me.”

  Her mother’s features hardened and her mouth tightened, like she was biting back words better left unsaid. “You were ten years old, for God’s sake! And you’re wrong. I didn’t love Malach like I loved your father. And I would never have left your father for him. Never!” Her voice had risen to a banshee-screech.

  “Okay okay, I get it.”

  Francesca pressed a hand to her chest and took a couple of deep breaths, composing herself. “You must understand, Chalcedony. I thought it was all terribly romantic at first. I thought Malach was everything I could desire in a man. I thought I’d been given a second chance at love. I wouldn’t have to watch Benigno die a slow, pain-filled death. I could leave your father without feeling guilty because I’d been chosen for higher purpose, to redeem a Crystal Warrior and save his life. But the reality of it soon killed the romance. How could I be so selfish as to leave your father when he needed me? How could I even think about my own happiness at a time like that? In the end the decision was simple because I realized that nothing I felt for Malach was real. He was a fantasy, nothing more.”

  “So what do I have to do? Where does this leave us?”

  “How do you mean?”

  Chalcey had a sudden rush of insight which made her stomach churn and her skin crawl with horror. She didn’t much appreciate this new, insightful side of herself. The bitch needed a good slapping. “Are you telling me all this because you want me to try and save Wulf? Or because you don’t?”

  As Francesca drained her glass, Chalcey watched the alcohol-induced color seeping back into her cheeks. “Malach told me of your Wulf. He was—is—a brutal, pitiless warrior. He never lets anything stand in the way of what he wants. And what he wants is you, Chalcedony. If you hadn’t initiated the bond, you might have come through this unscathed but now it’s too late. Sleeping with Wulf has set you on a path that will force you to make a painful but wholly necessary decision.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, if you hadn’t let him take advantage of you and initiated the bonding process, he would have just been another man. And when the t
ime was up, he would have returned to his crystal. No harm, no foul. You’ve brought this on yourself. Now you have to end it.”

  Recalling her reaction when Wulf had first kissed her, Chalcey doubted with every fiber of her being that Wulf could ever have been “just another man”.

  She banished thoughts of that kiss from her mind and struggled to fill in the missing pieces. “Okay. I’ve initiated the bond but if it’s not irrevocable yet, can’t Wulf bond with someone else?”

  “No. Not now. If the bond hadn’t been initiated, Wulf might have had another chance to from a true-bond. But now—” She exhaled sharply through her nose, a gesture that suggested exasperation, as though Chalcey was being dim-witted. “If you save him, you and he will be bonded forever. You’ll always be drawn to him. No other man will make you feel like he makes you feel. And you’ll never know if your feelings for him are real.”

  Despite the liquor in her belly, icy tentacles clutched at Chalcey’s heart. “So this… this… thing with Wulf and me is going to run its course, regardless. If I choose to finish the bonding process, we could still fail the Testing. And even if I do nothing at all, it’s still a death sentence for him. In approximately three and a half weeks, he’ll go back to the crystal and Pieter will kill him.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Shit.”

  Francesca reached across the tabletop and clasped Chalcey’s hands. “I’m sorry, Chalcedony.”

  It was only after Francesca had touched her that she realized she’d been shaking. “Me, too.”

  “I know you’ll make the right decision.”

  What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  “If it’s any consolation,” Francesca continued, “Wulf is ignorant. He knows nothing about this. He only knows that he’s been released from the crystal and he’s drawn to you and no other woman. But I doubt it’s even occurred to him what he feels for you could be more than mere lust. He’s not a gentle man like Malach was. Wulf has no compassion and no tolerance for weakness. Men like him don’t do love.”

  Yeow. That tone was razor-sharp. Her mother really didn’t like Wulf at all.

  Francesca snapped her fingers beneath Chalcey’s nose. “Pay attention. This is important. If you stay away from him, refuse to have any further physical contact with him, he’ll never know your rejection was the catalyst that sent him back to the crystal.”

  And to his death.

  The unspoken words echoed throughout the room.

  Unspoken or not, they were cruel words. Words with consequences Chalcey would have to live with for the rest of her life. “And Wulf not knowing it was my refusal that condemned him makes it okay?”

  “It makes it easier on you. That’s all.”

  Jeez, she could be cold-hearted. “Did your Malach know all this? Did you tell him?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did. I felt I owed him that much.”

  “And you’re sure you made the right decision?”

  Her mother blinked. “Yes. Of course. If I’d been in my right mind, I would never have looked at another man. And I would never ever have considered leaving your father.”

  Yeah, right. Francesca could justify it all she wanted but Chalcey knew her mother had been torn. This fervent declaration was merely her way of coping with her decision. A decision that had condemned a man to death.

  The little laugh that escaped Chalcey’s lips became more like a sob. She scrubbed her face with her hands. “What if Pieter has boobed big time and I’m not Wulf’s true mate? What if my rampant hormones have robbed him of a chance to bond with some other woman, and sentenced him to death?”

  Francesca toyed with her glass. “How do you feel about Wulf, Chalcedony? What was it like when he touched you for the first time?”

  She thought hard about that question.

  “I see,” Francesca said.

  Hang on, she hadn’t even answered.

  Or had she? She would have given anything for a mirror to see the expression on her face right now.

  “And when he seduced you?” Francesca asked.

  “You mean, aside from the lamentable fact it was the best sex I’d ever had in my entire life?”

  Francesca said nothing, merely stared at her, stony-faced.

  Chalcey ducked her head, ashamed of her flippant response. “It felt like I’d found the piece of myself that was missing,” she said. “He made me whole.”

  Francesca heaved a sigh. “That’s what I was afraid of. You can’t give in, Chalcedony. The feelings these Crystal Warriors inspire in us are insidious and almost impossible to resist. You have to keep telling yourself they’re not real. And remember, Wulf will not hesitate to be as ruthless as he deems necessary to get what he wants. You must be ruthless, too.” She grabbed Chalcey’s mug and took it to the sink to wash it out.

  Confronting Wulf would have to wait until tomorrow. Chalcey needed time to think this through, to decide how much to tell him. Besides, it was waaay past midnight, and Francesca was stifling yawns and glancing at her expectantly. So of course Chalcey offered her a bed for the night—her own bed. Which, after some unsubtle prompting on Francesca’s part, soon extended to the duration of her stay.

  She mentally kicked herself for being such a wimp. She had the distinct feeling her mother wasn’t going anywhere until this thing with Wulf ended. It promised to be a hellishly long, stressful, three-and-a-bit weeks.

  Since she had no desire to elevate her stress levels still further by having to share the bed with her mother, Chalcey chose to sleep on the self-inflating camping mat she’d used before she could afford a proper bed. She wedged the mat in the corner of her bedroom. And she twisted and turned for what seemed like endless hours, one moment stifled by her blanket and the next stifled by her thoughts, until finally, she couldn’t stand another second of listening to Francesca’s calm, even breathing—like her mother didn’t have a care in the world. How could she sleep so peacefully when Chalcey’s life—and Wulf’s—were such a god-awful mess?

  She tiptoed out into the studio, dragging her makeshift bed, her mind swirling, struggling with everything she’d been told. Ignorance, in this particular case, would definitely have been bliss. And if she did choose to ignore the possibility her mother had one big-ass agenda, and did choose to believe everything she’d been told, then she had a very difficult choice to make about Wulf.

  Then again, why was it so difficult? He was to-die-for good-looking, built, amazing in the sack—uh, make that shower. And he seemed to really like her. A lot.

  What the freaking hell was her problem?

  Well, for starters, he was be-spelled. Crystal-mazed. A man like Wulf—a warrior—didn’t fall head over heels for a woman and blindly pursue her. If she’d been in his place, imprisoned, and then released into an alien world, the last thing on her mind would have been sex. And it wasn’t just because he was a male, genetically designed to have sex on the brain twenty-four-seven. The intensity of his feelings for her was unnatural. There was no other explanation. They simply had to be a product of supernatural influences beyond his control.

  Same with the intensity of her feelings for him.

  Hah. Even knowing that changed nothing. She knew what she had to do. There was no real choice at all. That was the difference between her mother and herself. Chalcey couldn’t turn her back on Wulf and do nothing about the knowledge she’d been given. Wulf was no fantasy. What they felt for each other might be a fantasy manufactured by the Crystal Guardian’s clever spell, but Wulf was a living, breathing man. He deserved a chance. If she had her way, it’d be a fighting chance, too.

  Something gently caressed her inner thigh.

  “Eeep!” She clapped a hand over her mouth in case another inadvertent utterance woke Francesca. The caress shifted and warmth cupped her groin. Her inner core moistened and shuddered, reacting as though a lover was pushing a finger inside her and stroking her most private, intimate places. She knew there was no one in the studio space with her, no one hiding benea
th her blanket. She checked anyway. And pinched her arm in case she was fingering herself, and was just too out of it from the tequila to realize.

  The sensuous stroking continued. She succumbed to the seduction of invisible fingers and hands moving over her body, gentling away her fears and coaxing her to give herself up to pure sensation. The stroking stopped, the pressure eased and withdrew. Breathy warmth teased her nipples erect. Gentle pressure pushed her back against the thin mattress as phantom lips found hers, kissing away the last vestiges of resistance.

  Assured of her acquiescence, those ghostly lips skimmed down her body as knowing fingers sifted through her pubic hair, parted her folds and pushed inside her again.

  She could not think beyond the lips caressing her, the warm wetness of the tongue probing her, licking her, the fingers pushing in and out of her. Gasping, she writhed… convulsed…. Came.

  Satiated, draped bonelessly across the mattress, her mind drifted. And she saw him. Wulf.

  He pressed his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss. Now we will sleep.

  Chalcey smiled. Her eyes began to flutter closed. She yawned and snuggled down under the blanket, drifting toward slumber…. For all of five wonderful minutes before her brain managed to gather enough energy to perform the equivalent of a huge kick in the pants, jerking her back to wakefulness.

  Sleep? After that… that… whatever it had been? Not gonna happen.

  She crawled from her cozy nest, and tiptoed into her room to find some clothes. Taking immense care not to disturb her mother, Chalcey managed to snag some jeans and a clean t-shirt from her drawer, and find a pair of sandals. She snuck back into the studio to get dressed, and then, sandals in hand, she headed downstairs.

  Wulf’s metaphysical lovemaking had been outstanding. But outstanding or not, there was no way she could allow him to have this much of influence over her. It was going to stop. Right now.

  Now if only she had the remotest clue how to stop him from doing whatever it was he’d done to her again.

  It was going to be hard but she had to be strong.

  Oh boy. She wished right about then she’d thought of another turn of phrase. “Hard” only brought to mind vivid images of a very hard, very distinctly male portion of Wulf’s anatomy.