The Crystal Warriors Series Bundle

by Maree Anderson

  Sam’s voice interrupted Chalcey’s little domestic fantasy of Wulf wearing a frilly apron—and nothing else—wielding a feather duster. Talk about porn for women. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “I said, so when are you going to tell me where he really comes from?”

  Chalcey leaned back in her chair, smoothing her features to hide her shock. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not stupid,” Sam said. “It’s screamingly obvious he’s not from this part of the world. I was curious, so I asked him straight. He’s told me a bit about his background but there’s a lot more to it, isn’t there, Chalce? I think he’s a time-traveler. So how did he get here?”

  Chalcey glanced in Wulf’s direction. It was his story, his fate. She had no right to blab it to Sam. “There’s really nothing to tell,” she began, racking her brains and steeling herself for a furious bout of prevarication.

  “Tell her, Chalcedony,” Wulf ‘s voice rumbled from the kitchen. “Tell her everything. I give you my permission.”

  “You sure?” She tried to read his impassive expression.

  “I am sure.”

  “All right. But you’d better make that coffee good and strong. I have a feeling she’s gonna need it because what I know is pretty out there.”

  “Indeed.”

  To her everlasting credit, Sam did not laugh in Chalcey’s face and accuse her of being a complete and utter head-case. She could be very grown up when she wanted to be.

  She did smirk an awful lot during particular bits of the story, though. Especially after some pointed questioning on her part forced Chalcey to admit they’d already got the making love thrice bit out of the way. Sheesh. Now she could add “sex-crazed” to her growing list of dubious personal attributes.

  “That’s some story, Chalce.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Oh, it’s a fantastic tale but I believe you all right. How else could you manage to hook a man like Wulf?”

  “Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Chalcey made a rude face at her friend. Even though she’d kind of been thinking the same thing herself.

  “Kidding.” Sam sipped another cup of Wulf’s excellent coffee. “So happens I believe in curses and the like.”

  Chalcey snorted, and quickly turned it into a cough when Sam’s deadly serious expression didn’t falter. “You do?”

  “Have done ever since I was a little girl and my mother took me to see this spooky old fortune-teller.” She giggled in a self-conscious fashion. “The woman went on and on about this darkness that she could see hovering about Mom’s aura. Claimed some jealous bitch had cursed Mom to eternal unhappiness, so she would be forever seeking a man capable of fulfilling her, and forever failing to find him. I had nightmares for weeks afterward.”

  Chalcey felt her eyes go huge and round and owl-like. Mrs. Greenwood had been married four times already and was apparently eyeing up a potential fifth candidate.

  Sam correctly interpreted her expression. “Exactly. So what are you going to do?”

  Chalcey glanced sideways at Wulf, locking gazes with him. “Wait for the Testing, I guess. And hope like hell we pass.”

  He reached over the table and squeezed her hand. “You will not fail me, Chalcedony. I have faith in you. Do not be fearful. If it is my fate to be destroyed by the old man at this month’s end, then so be it.”

  “I’ll be damned if I let that happen!”

  “Do not say that—not even in jest, Chalcedony. Having been damned for what seemed like eternity, I assure you that you would not like it overmuch.”

  Chalcey drained her coffee cup. Her stomach gave one of those twisting lurches and her mind pricked. She’d forgotten something. Something important. Her gaze dropped to her watch. Mickey’s hands showed it was just gone ten-thirty. “Shi-it! Teacher’s meeting at eleven. I have to fly.”

  “I will accompany you,” Wulf said.

  “There’s no need. It’s just routine stuff. You’d probably be bored witless.”

  Sam disagreed. “But what about your mother, Chalce? It might be a good idea to have Wulf around to help you defend yourself.”

  “Defend myself against Francesca? Why? Don’t you think that I can handle her?”

  “Chalcey, Chalcey, Chalcey.” Sam shook her head. “Frankly? No. She’s going to take one look at you and know you’ve er, fully consummated your relationship with Wulf. If I know Francesca, she’s going to have kittens. And you’re going to be hip-deep in her crap.”

  “What do you mean she’s going to take one look at me and know I’ve had sex?”

  “What do you reckon, Wulf?” Sam drafted him to her cause and Chalcey had to endure them both gazing intently at her.

  Wulf sighed. “You are right, Samantha. Francesca will know immediately. I will have to distract her.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Chalcey said, scoffing. “And exactly how are you going to distract my mother, Wulf?”

  “You’ll be late,” Sam interjected. “I’m calling you a taxi. And it’s not ridiculous at all.” She grabbed the phone and began to dial.

  “God, Sam. How the hell can someone know I’ve had sex recently just by looking at me? And hang up that phone because I don’t have enough cash for a taxi. We’ll just have to run like heck.”

  “Soon I will have earned enough cash to pay for our transportation,” Wulf said. “But in the meantime, Samantha has been generous enough to advance me a loan. I will pay for the taxi.”

  Chalcey had started for the bathroom, intending to check out what everyone else was able to see. Hang on…. She halted. “Earn it? How?”

  “He can tell you in the taxi on the way,” Sam said. “And Chalce? Take it from me, your mother will know what you’ve been up to the moment she lays eyes on you. Mothers are uncanny like that. My mom always knew when I’d had sex. That’s why I bought my own place—I got sick and tired of the lectures every morning over breakfast. It ruined my digestion. Trust me, Francesca will know.”

  Every morning? She almost felt sorry for Mrs. Greenwood. Almost.

  Sam smiled enigmatically. “Taxi’s probably here. Good luck with Francesca. You’re gonna need it.”

  Wulf ushered Chalcey out the door. “Bet you’re wrong!” she yelled over her shoulder.

  “Bet you I’m not,” Sam said. The door slammed, cutting off Chalcey’s chance to have the final word.

  “Do not worry, Chalcedony,” Wulf said, as the elevator descended. “I undertake to shield you from the knowing eyes of the local populace and divert their attention from your sorry state.”

  “My sorry state?” She glared up at him. Damn man was grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, you!” She punched him on the arm, and then shook her abused knuckles. Yeow.

  All the same, she didn’t look at the front desk clerk as she passed. And she avoided looking the doorman in the eye as he opened the door to the taxi, too. If she did have “I had sex last night. Whoopee!” indelibly scrawled across her forehead, it was better to be safe than sorry. She would play it cool. Her mother would never know.

  ~~~

  Chalcey was still reeling from learning that Wulf had scored a gig as a bouncer at one of Sam’s favorite clubs when she pushed open the door to the studio. “Hey guys!” she greeted Jai, Paulo and Leah. “Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

  Francesca came hurrying out from the bedroom. “There you are, darling. I’ve been worried sick—” The words died on her lips. “Chalcedony!” she said, her hand fluttering at her throat like a retro movie heroine. “How could you?”

  Everyone turned to stare at Chalcey. Their gazes fastened on her face, then did a full head-to-toe sweep. She couldn’t help herself. She smoothed her hair. “What?”

  Jai recovered first. Hands on hips, he chortled with an unholy degree of wicked delight. “Go, Chalce!” He threw back his head and howled in a credible imitation of a wolf, then slapped Wulf on the back. “You the man!”

  Oh. My. Freaking. God.

  Paulo’s g
rin nearly split his face in half. “Had a goood night, huh, Chalce?” He dropped a wink. “It’s about time you cut loose, sweetie.”

  Chalcey covered her face with her hands. She was so done-for.

  When no further comments were forthcoming, she risked a glance at Wulf from between her fingers. He had pride-filled male written all over his face. In fact, all three guys were grinning like idiots. Men.

  And Leah? She was looking Wulf up and down, mouth still agape with what Chalcey presumed to be incredulous awe. She blinked and her gaze slid to Chalcey. “Yum. You go, girl.” Sheesh. No help there.

  Chalcey finally plucked up enough courage to check what her mother thought. Francesca, of course, was the only one present who didn’t think that Chalcey having sex was at all amusing or awe-inspiring. Her eyes were cold as little steel ball-bearings. “I need to talk to you, Chalcedony. Right this minute.”

  Chalcey opened her mouth to state the obvious, that she was about to begin a staff meeting and Francesca would have to wait, when Wulf cut in. “I would like to talk to you first, Francesca.”

  She glared at him, looking very much like she had a hankering to carve out his liver with whatever blunt instrument was handy. Then she nodded. “Very well. We will talk.”

  Wulf cupped her elbow in his hand and led her toward the bedroom. Chalcey caught a glimpse of her mother’s face before Wulf closed the sliding door carefully behind them. All her fury had vanished as if it had never been. Her expression conveyed anguish, as though physical contact with Wulf brought terrible memories to the fore.

  Poor Francesca.

  And poor Wulf. Chalcey didn’t envy either of them the coming conversation. But at least her own confrontation with Francesca had been averted. For now, anyway. Francesca was unlikely to let it rest.

  “That was tense,” Leah finally said, breaking the awkward silence. “Your mom’s pretty protective of you, huh?”

  Chalcey would have loved to retire somewhere private, where she could gaze deeply into a mirror and try to spot what everyone else had so easily read in her face. Instead, she acted like a professional and got down to business. “Yeah. She’s a worrier. Let’s get started. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

  As she went over class lists, timetables, lesson plans, codes of conduct and the myriad of other tasks she hoped would contribute toward running a successful dance studio, her mind kept wandering to Wulf and Francesca. She would kill to know what they were discussing.

  She racked her brains for anything Francesca could conceivably say to drive a wedge between them. She couldn’t think of a damn thing but that didn’t mean she was home-free. She knew her mother, knew what she was capable of. Francesca had self-justification down to a fine art—she wouldn’t have been able to condemn Malach if she hadn’t.

  Chalcey was committed to Wulf now but she didn’t trust her mother to respect her wishes. When it came to Wulf, she didn’t trust her mother at all.

  ~~~

  Francesca suffered him to escort her to the tiny kitchen before she rounded on him. “Get your hands off me.”

  Wulf pulled out a chair and applied firm pressure to her shoulder. “Sit.”

  She obeyed him. Not that she had a choice in the matter. And she knew it. She eyed him like he was a rabid dog, crouched and ready to rip out her throat if she made a wrong move.

  He puffed out a breath through his nostrils. He would get nothing useful from her in this state. “Would you like coffee?”

  “Tea,” she said.

  “Tea.” Of course it would be tea. Nothing would be easy for him where Francesca were concerned. He filled the electric kettle, plugged it into the wall socket, and flicked the switch. This appliance differed from Samantha’s but the on-switch was obvious enough. He depressed it. After a few seconds, the rumble the appliance made told him he’d not forgotten a step. Pride warmed his belly. Such a small accomplishment, but significant all the same. He could adapt to this world he’d believed magical. In time, even the wonders of electricity and heated water on tap would seem prosaic and unremarkable.

  He rummaged through the canisters on the countertop, and found nothing resembling tea leaves. One contained little bags of what looked like tea leaves. Rather than face Francesca’s scorn if they proved to be something other, he held the canister out to her. “I do not know how to make tea without leaves and a pot. If you wish a drinkable brew, then best you instruct me.”

  She blinked at him. A tiny frown creased her brows. “You would accept instructions from a woman?”

  “Of course.”

  “I can’t say I’m enthralled by the prospect of tea-bags but they are convenient. Pop one in the cup, pour over boiling water, and let it steep. I’ll help myself to milk and sugar. If I am permitted to help myself.”

  “Be my guest,” he said, knowing full well the implication that Wulf was at home here, in Chalcedony’s private rooms, and Francesca was the visitor, would irk her.

  When she had resettled herself in her chair, he sat opposite and allowed her to drink her tea. The silence grew as he observed his opponent—for that was how he thought of her. She was dangerous, this woman who’d been chosen for Malach, only to spurn him and condemn him to death.

  Certainly, Wulf considered Malach’s death a blessing to a second incarceration in his malachite prison, but he could not like Francesca for her choice. Her dying husband had begged her to seek happiness with the other man in her life—even given permission for her to leave him. And what had she done? Chosen a dying man over one who could have lived.

  He could have forgiven her for Malach’s death if she’d failed the Testing. What he could not forgive, was that she’d not tried at all. She’d cast Malach off, left him to his fate. And worse, to Wulf’s mind, was that she’d told him exactly what she’d learned from the old sorcerer.

  Malach had known the full implications of her choice, and faced his fate with dignity as befitted a warrior of his strength and caliber. But to be so close to redemption, and to be condemned by a woman who refused to give him a chance? Pure torment. Enough to drive a man to insanity. Wulf could only pray to his gods that Malach had not languished overly long in his crystal prison a second time. And that when the sorcerer had destroyed his crystal, Malach’s death had been swift and clean.

  “Why am I here?” Francesca said, shattering Wulf’s reverie. She shrank back in her chair when he fixed his full attention on her. A little of what he’d been contemplating must have been etched on his face.

  “Chalcedony has told me of your past with Malach. She came to me last night, and told me everything. And afterward, we completed the bond.”

  “Idiot girl!” The last remains of Francesca’s contrived poise dissolved, and her hatred lashed out like a whip. “I told her to protect her, so that she’d make the right decision. And what does she do? She runs straight into your arms and—”

  “Gives me a chance at redemption. She is a courageous woman, your daughter.” He cocked his head to one side, examining her features, comparing. “I think she must take after her father.”

  Francesca reared up from her chair, and leaned over the table. He knew what she was about to do. He allowed it, and did not attempt to block her blow. She stared at his cheek, her expression a mixture of fierce satisfaction and horror. And when he did nothing, she collapsed back into her chair, limp, all the fight and fury drained from her. She cradled her wrist in her lap. Her mouth worked, but she could not summon the words.

  “I will get you ice for that.” He half expected her to flee the instant he turned his back to pull a tray of ice-cubes from the small freezer section of the refrigerator. He could not tell whether she’d decided to brave his company, or whether she was too drained to move. Regardless, she’d saved him the effort of restraining her before he’d said his piece.

  He handed her a dishtowel filled with ice. “Some advice, Francesca. It would behoove you to learn to punch. A punch has far more chance of inflicting damage than a slap.”

  He n
oticed that her hand shook when she took the ice-pack from him. “And one last thing.”

  Though her gaze never wavered, she stiffened, expecting the worst. A smart woman, Francesca. “Do not interfere with Chalcedony’s choice.”

  “Or?” The question was the merest whisper. If he’d not been watching her intently, he might have missed it.

  “Or you risk losing that which you hold dear.”

  Francesca gasped and recoiled. Her complexion paled to a color akin to bones bleached in the desert sun. “Are you threatening to murder my husband?”

  Wulf blew out an exasperated breath. “You are so very willing to believe the worst of me. No, you foolish creature. I am not threatening your husband. I am cautioning you to accept that Chalcedony is a woman grown, and must make her own decisions. You have disclosed everything you know and now ’tis up to her. If you continue to meddle, you risk losing the one thing you have left that you truly love.”

  He did not linger to see whether she accepted his words. Chalcedony had chosen to bond with him, knowing full well the ramifications. Francesca would be a fool to alienate her daughter to such an extent that Chalcedony would excise her mother completely from her life. Francesca did not strike him as a fool.

  He put the woman from his mind as he strode from the kitchen. His focus from hereon in would be Chalcedony. If his life were to be measured in weeks, he would live every day as though it were his last. And, by the gods, if he could spend each night until the Testing in Chalcedony’s arms, he would die with a smile on his face.

  ~~~

  Chapter Thirteen

  It had been no surprise to Chalcey when Francesca voluntarily took up residence at the Four Seasons, a fancy hotel not far from Sam’s apartment. Her mother had finally accepted it was too late, that Chalcey couldn’t leave Wulf now—not even if she wanted to. It would tear her apart and hurt too much.