But however bad her own situation appeared, Wulf’s was far worse. If they failed the Testing, Pieter would bind him back to his crystal and destroy him.
“How did it feel, Wulf? In the darkness, all alone for centuries—it must have been hellish.” She needed to hear the full extent of his suffering. She had to know and understand, so that she could know and understand him. She felt strongly that her pity and compassion for what he’d suffered would not be fake. This, at least, would be something she could give him that was real.
He stirred and grasped her hand, pulling it into his lap. He turned it palm up and circled his thumb gently over her skin. If she didn’t know better, if she didn’t know how strong he was, she might have believed he sought comfort.
Silence blanketed the room and for once Chalcey didn’t feel the need to keep it at bay with smart-assed comments or senseless chatter.
“’Tis black.” His voice sounded empty, devoid of emotion. “No, more than black. An absence of everything, even light. I cannot see any part of my body, not even my hand when I hold it to my face. There is no sound. I hear nothing, not even the screams I know are tearing my throat apart. And I feel nothing, not the touch of my own hands, or the clothes I know I wear on my body. ’Tis endless lack of sensation. I am suspended in a great nothingness with naught but my own thoughts to keep me company.
“Before…. Before I was imprisoned, I did not believe in Halja—the place you call Hell. But now I do. Because I have been there. And suffered. And I am glad that Malach’s suffering has ended. I would wish death upon him, rather than condemn him to another lifetime of eternal nothingness.”
“What—?” Chalcey swallowed to ease to harsh dryness in her throat. “What did you do to deserve that sort of a punishment? Why did Pieter hate you so much?”
His face tightened. “You are so very certain that I committed a crime, Chalcedony.” Then he puffed out a sigh. “Who can know what truly lies in a man’s heart? Doubtless the old man suffers too, in his way. His spell condemns him to live until we, his victims, find our life-mates. And knowing the warriors of my world, and how they look upon women, that task is an onerous one, indeed. To live on and on in the body of an old man, weary of life, yearning for eternal sleep, but denied? ’Tis a form of torture, too. I believe that my men and I are not the only ones punished by his spell.”
He was silent for a while, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he sought the right words. Or perhaps relived the events leading up to his capture.
“As for our crime against your people? We Styrians did not believe it to be a crime. Our priests commanded us to do what needed to be done to ensure our race survived. Without women, we had no way to procreate. And because our progeny were always males, we needed more women. We stole your world’s women, yes, but our race’s very survival depended upon them. Even so, no woman was ever forced to lie with a man. ’Tis not our way. I cannot speak for how the Choosing ritual is done now—or indeed, if ’tis still done at all—but in my time we treated all the women well. Their every need was taken care of.”
Someone had to play devil’s advocate. “But you took them away from their homes, their families and everything they knew, Wulf. Your people took them for breeding stock. And however much your captives might have eventually accepted—even liked—the men who chose them, you took away their choices. That was unforgivable.”
“Perhaps. But if the old man is as strong in magic as he appears, why then did he not simply send us home and destroy the opening from our world to yours? I do not think my men and I deserved such punishment as was given us.”
“Me, neither.” Chalcey couldn’t do it, couldn’t take the easy way out by refusing to complete the bonding. She couldn’t condemn Wulf to oblivion and then death. He’d suffered enough.
So what was a soft-hearted girl, lying next to a hot naked man who needed saving, to do next?
Well, duh. Jump his bones of course. Besides, she reasoned that she’d found a loophole in this whole living-together-forever-as-life-mates thing. Once Wulf was safely a permanent part of her world and no longer bound by the crystal, he could go his own way if he so chose. And she could get on with her life, too. Without him.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
She also figured they should get the whole sex and bonding bit out of the way, so they could move on to the Testing bit of their unorthodox relationship. And as she lay in Wulf’s arms after having fabulously mind-blowing sex for the second time that night, the bond proclaimed itself completed.
“Did you hear that, Chalcedony?” Wulf asked.
“If you mean that bell-like sound chiming in my mind? Yep. I did.”
There was nothing more to say. They’d fulfilled the terms of the bonding by exchanging true-names and having sex the requisite three times. It only remained to be seen whether they would pass the Testing or fail.
Wulf woke her in the early hours of the morning. And this time, it was more than sex. This time, it was more like making love, so tender, so achingly poignant, that she wept. And as she arched beneath him and sobbed his name, it was then that she realized the truth. Be-spelled or not, she’d fallen for Wulf. Hard.
The Crystal Guardian sure knew how to pick ‘em.
Evil bastard. One day he would get his.
~~~
Chapter Twelve
Chalcey wandered out of Sam’s guest room and nearly bit off her tongue when she spotted Sam’s surprise guest lounging full-length on a couch, flicking through TV channels. She’d have been tempted to make her excuses, and grab Wulf and hustle him out the door if she hadn’t been so concerned about Sam. Of all the guys she must have had to choose from last night, did it have to be this one? Was she freaking insane? It was enough to give a girl chronic indigestion even before a single morsel of food passed her lips.
“Samantha,” Wulf said. “May I have a private word with you?”His tone was so polite and carefully neutral that Chalcey shivered.
Uh oh. She sank into the nearest seat at the kitchen table. She didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that Wulf, too, was majorly unimpressed by Sam’s choice.
The man of the moment finally seemed to notice Sam had other company. “Well well. If it isn’t tits on a stick. Whassup, Chel-sea?” He tossed the remote on the floor, rolled of the couch, and slimed over to the table, choosing to plunk his jerk-off ass into the chair opposite her. He gave her an ingratiating smile, like he hadn’t just insulted her, and expected her to be thrilled to bits he’d remembered her name, even if he didn’t pronounce it right. He chose to ignore Wulf. Probably the only smart thing he’d done lately.
Chalcey made a noncommittal noise and closed her eyes to send a brief prayer for a happy ending to this god-awful farce. She blamed herself. She shouldn’t have played down her encounter with him. She should have told her best friend exactly what had happened, and how scared she’d been. Surely then Sam would have been a heap more choosy. Shit. What a mess. It’d be a miracle if this breakfast ended without somebody doing bodily harm to somebody else.
“Samantha,” Wulf said, an edge to his tone conveying that he was just the teensiest bit pissed.
“Later, okay, Wulf? I’m a bit tied up at the moment.” Sam wouldn’t meet his gaze.
Her usual practiced nonchalance when it came to casual encounters of the sexual kind was an epic fail. All Chalcey saw spread across Sam’s face was guilt and self-loathing. She would give Sam eleven-out-of-ten for her attempt at Happy Homemaker, though. She’d donned a frilly apron over that ass-skimming silk robe from last night, and taken a staggering amount of food from the refrigerator. Now she was frying up bacon, eggs and hash browns, and studiously ignoring the elephant in the room.
Poor Sam. She’d really screwed up this time. Chalcey had half-expected she would try to excise Marcus from her life by using the most convenient hot-looking guy available. She hadn’t expected the aforementioned hot-looking guy to be Ray. Worse, Sam didn’t look at all thrilled about how he
r night had gone, either. He must have been a real jerk.
Ray chose that moment to leer at Chalcey. He compounded his crimes by glaring at Wulf as though he’d like to spear him with his fork, sneaking supposedly covert glances at Chalcey’s cleavage, and ogling Sam’s ass.
If Chalcey hadn’t been so completely certain that the shit was going to hit the fan, she might have found his antics more amusing. Well, that and the fact she was freaking out at the thought of a knife-wielding scumbag having anything at all to do with her best friend, let alone spending the night with her. She could barely choke down her orange juice, her throat was so tight from imagining Wulf doing something drastic. Like hauling the waste of oxygen out onto the deck and tossing him over the railing.
Wulf, however, seemed content to let the matter slide—perhaps for Sam’s sake. Whatever the reason, Chalcey finally allowed herself to relax. Wulf was more than capable of dealing with whatever Ray dished out.
Sam put the finishing touches to her cholesterol-laden fry-up. She dumped the serving platter onto the table, and instructed them all to tuck in. Ray filled his plate, and then proceeded to fill his face without even acknowledging Sam’s efforts.
Wulf scowled at the other man. Evidently it was perfectly fine to sit and watch a woman slave over a hot stove, so long as you thanked her nicely afterward. Humph. He’d be sorely disappointed if he expected Chalcey to buy into that credo. And rather hungry a lot of the time, too.
“Thank you for your efforts, Samantha,” Wulf said. “This hearty fare is much welcomed, for I am hungry indeed this morning.”
“Thanks, hon,” Chalcey said, mindful of her manners. “This is wonderful.”
Sam beamed. “No problem, you guys.”
Wulf threw Ray a pointed glance, but the dumbass didn’t take the hint.
Chalcey decided it might be prudent to clue him in. “Ray?” she said, oh-so-sweetly interrupting his single-minded mastication of his food. “You gonna thank Sam for cooking you breakfast? She’s gone to a heap of trouble.”
“Huh?” He glanced up from his plate and seemed surprised to find himself the subject of three critical gazes. “What’re you all staring at?”
Sam rolled her eyes and fluttered a hand in a gesture of mock-despair. “Just forget it, guys. It’s not important.”
“I disagree,” Wulf said. “My people have a saying that has served us well for countless generations: Show gratitude to your woman and you will never know hunger, but show her contempt and her food will nourish you no longer.’
“What the fuck’s that s’posed to mean?” Ray mumbled around a churning, half-chewed mouthful of sausage and egg. Wow. Classy.
“You did not show Samantha any gratitude for her efforts to feed you,” Wulf said. “Ergo, you are an unconscionably rude bastard.”
“Is that so?” Ray tossed his fork aside and stood so abruptly that he sent his chair crashing to the floor.
Chalcey noted that his eyes were glassy and slightly unfocussed. Crap. What the hell was he on? She tried to catch Sam’s gaze.
“Indeed it is so.” Wulf remained seated and began to eat.
“I showed her enough gratitude last night,” Ray said. “She had a good time—a real good time.” He made a V with two fingers, lifted them to his lips and waggled his tongue between them. All the while, he stared meaningfully at Chalcey, as though he expected her to be envious. Eeeew.
“It’s her should be thanking me after what I did for her. Least she can do is cook me up a good feed. Isn’t that right, babe?”
Sam didn’t deign to respond. And she still wouldn’t look at Chalcey.
“I said, isn’t that right, babe?”
“Yes, Ray.” She spat the words. “You give good head. Happy, now?”
Yikes. Sam was sooo not impressed. She sat rigidly upright in her chair, an angry red flush staining her neck and crawling up her face. Yep, majorly pissed. This could get ugly real fast. Ray had really crumbled his cookies. Good. Hopefully Sam’d kick him out on his ass, and be a heap more careful about who she brought home from now on.
Hopefully. Any time now would be real good.
Radiating smugness, Ray righted his chair and sat down to finish his breakfast. It took mere seconds before he put his foot in his mouth again. “Heard you enjoying yourself last night, Chel-sea. Got a bit rough, huh?” He made a production out of stroking his chin drawing attention to Chalcey’s bruise. “Figured you liked it rough. I told Marcus you were gagging for it. Told him he should go for it. Girl like you’d show him a real good time, wouldn’t ya, Chel-sea?” He looked her up and down in a way that made her want to rush off and scrub herself clean in the shower. With steel wool. “Yeah. You look the type to show a guy a good time. Know what I mean?”
“Gee, thank you, Ray. I know exactly what you mean.” Charming. This guy was first class pond-scum.
Chalcey dared a sideways glance at Wulf. He’d gone still. Too still. Ray was about to get his comeuppance.
“Wulf,” Samantha murmured.
“Samantha.”
They stared at each other, communicating in some wordless fashion. In perfect unison, they rose from their seats to take up positions either side of Ray.
What followed was a faultlessly choreographed sequence of events that left Chalcey openmouthed, and impressed as hell. Wulf plucked Ray from his chair, cuffed him ’round the head a few times to make his point, and then dragged him across the room by the scruff of his neck. Completely unhurried, Sam strolled to the door and flung it open a split second before Wulf slung Ray through it, then slammed it shut.
She sauntered over to the phone. “Hello, security? This is Samantha Greenwood. I have just ejected a Mr. Ray Walker from my apartment. Would you please send someone up immediately to ensure Mr. Walker is escorted from the building? Oh, and be careful. He may have a knife on his person. Yes. Yes, please. Absolutely put him on the no-go list. Thank you. And you have a good morning, too.”
Wulf and Sam then sat down to finish their breakfast, ignoring the pounding on the door and the outraged imprecations Ray was squawking from the hallway. A short time later, Chalcey heard raised male voices and then ominous silence.
In Sam’s place, she’d have called the cops. It was now or never. She had to get this off her chest. “You’re my best friend so I hate to say this, Sam, but I’m going to anyway. Ray is a foul-mouthed dick. And I think he’s using, too. That makes him dangerous.”
Sam paused, fork halfway to her mouth. “Yeah. Enough with the lecture, Chalce. I should have listened to you.”
“You deserve better—Marcus, for instance. You know he turned up at the party asking after you.” And planted one on your best friend, but let’s not go there.
“Mmmm.” She lowered her eyes and continued eating.
Chalcey knew better than to press the point. If she began to loudly extol the virtues of a relationship with Marcus, Sam would likely ignore him on principle. She’d said her piece and she wasn’t about to harp on at her best friend for her appalling taste in men. Best friends didn’t do that to each other.
Wulf, apparently, agreed, and the three of them finished breakfast in thoughtful silence. Then, to Chalcey’s utter astonishment, Wulf cleared the dirty dishes from the table, rinsed them off, and stacked them in the dishwasher. He hummed as he put in the dishwashing tablet, carefully programmed the dishwasher and turned it on.
Sam intercepted Chalcey’s slow blink of surprise. “He’s fascinated with anything electronic,” she whispered. “It’s quite entertaining watching his face when the TV’s on, or he’s listening to the stereo. It’s like he’s enthralled.”
Chalcey could well imagine he would be, considering where he’d come from. She envisioned his people as nomadic tribes who lived in tents—sort of like romanticized versions of the Bedouin. Not exactly prime space for electronics or white-ware.
“Coffee?” he inquired from the kitchen.
Chalcey glanced at Sam, who nodded, her green eyes twinkling with gl
ee. “Yes, please.”
“Chalcedony?”
“Er, yes? Please.” Two days with Sam and she’d already managed to partially domesticate him. Way to go, girlfriend!
She watched Wulf as he moved about the kitchen. Despite his size, he moved with a cat-like fluidity—the inherent grace of a born fighter, a man whose body was a weapon. Even in jeans and an immaculately tailored shirt—no doubt courtesy of Sam’s bottomless purse—he oozed contained power, as though he could explode into violence at a moment’s notice if sufficiently provoked. There was something uncivilized and primitive about him. At least by the standards of your average modern American man. She had no doubt whatsoever that Wulf was considered the epitome of the ideal male in his own world.
He began to grind the beans in an old wooden and brass hand-grinder fixed on the wall. Chalcey raised inquiring eyebrows at Sam. “Didn’t think that thing worked. Thought it was a purely decorative antique or something.”
She shrugged. “Me, too. Mom gave it to me. I thought it was just a useless ornament. Didn’t even realize it worked until Wulf started mucking around with it. According to him it’s important to hand-grind coffee beans—something about releasing more flavor into the brew. That’s why he refuses to use my electric grinder, about the only electric gadget he hasn’t taken to.”
They observed him winding the handle of the grinder for a while longer. “Are you sure he knows what he’s doing?” Chalcey asked.
Sam grinned. “Chill. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He didn’t appreciate the way I made the coffee at all. It’s almost a ritual for him, like a Japanese tea ceremony or something. And I have to say he makes a great French press. Seems our coffee is similar to a brew he drank back in his— Back home.”
Chalcey narrowed her eyes at Sam but she was all big innocent eyes and guileless expression. “What’s the big deal about him making coffee, Chalce?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing. I’m just surprised he makes such a production out of it, is all.” And here she’d been worrying that Wulf would struggle to fit in to his new life. He was adapting well. Maybe there was hope for him yet in this world. The ability to make a good coffee was an excellent start, anyway.
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