Mystic Flame

by Cyndi Friberg

  “Are you staying here or should we call you a cab?”

  What was she asking? Her words made no sense. Sounds and smells pelted his overloaded brain as they skirted the bustling kitchen. He needed to meditate, to—he needed energy. Each step drained his meager strength, made his breathing labored. The second woman held open a swinging door as Sheryl maneuvered him past the threshold.

  His stomach cramped and he leaned on the female more heavily. Eating would never provide the concentration of energy he required. He needed a direct transfer and he needed it now. His training had taught him how to extract energy, but the process could be frightening, even harmful for an untrained donor.

  The second woman trailed a bit behind. “You can’t stuff him in a cab like this. I’m not even sure he’s drunk. He looks sick to me.”

  If he could get them to an isolated location he could—

  “There you are!” Regardless of the alien language she spoke, Dro Tar’s voice was all too familiar. The husky timbre had haunted his dreams and teased his mind for fifteen solar cycles. He turned his head to the side, unsure how to react to this unexpected development. Dro Tar came striding toward him, her eyes narrowed and… How had she changed the appearance of her eyes? “I’ve been looking all over for him.” She spoke English with the faintest hint of an accent. “I told him wearing his costume off stage was infantile and he proceeds to get rip-roaring drunk. Sort of proves my point, don’t ya think?”

  “We found him in the storeroom,” Sheryl explained. “I have no idea how he made it through the kitchen without someone stopping him.”

  “They’re getting ready for the dinner rush. No time to deal with a sloppy drunk.” Dro Tar had mastered their vernacular. She was as difficult to understand as the humans. He didn’t care that her posture was stiff and hostility simmered beneath her welcoming façade. He had never been more relieved to see anyone in his life.

  Dro Tar shoved her shoulder into Evan’s armpit and wrapped her arm around his waist.

  “Are you sure he’s all right?” the waitress asked as Dro Tar pivoted, leaving her no choice but to step back.

  “He just needs to sleep it off. Thanks for your help.” She maneuvered Evan away from his rescuers and started across the dining room. Heads turned and conversations hushed. They reached a man who gaped comically. “Haven’t you ever seen a drunk alien before?” She intentionally projected her voice across the room. The man smiled and people returned to their plates piled high from the buffet.

  She half led, half dragged him to the nearest elevator and leaned him against the wall as the car began a rapid ascent. “You look like shit.” His skin was so pale it was almost gray and the rotation of his eyes had nearly stopped.

  “Kiss me,” he whispered in Ontarian as his eyelids drooped.

  He wasn’t asking for affection, she understood what he needed. Framing his face with her hands, she covered his mouth with hers. Warm yet lax, his lips didn’t move at first. She leaned closer, pressing her breasts against his chest, willing him to respond. “Do it.”

  His lips parted and his arms wrapped around her back. He tilted his head, fitting his mouth more tightly to hers. Tingles erupted deep in her belly, curling and building. She arched, pushing her fingers into his hair.

  Night after endless night, she’d dreamed of his taste, longed for the urgent demand always evident in his touch. No one affected her like Evan. No one understood what she craved. This isn’t sex! He needs energy. There is nothing more to it than that.

  His tongue traced her lower lip, encouraging her to open wider without delving deeper. The gathering increased, tingles spiking from pleasure to pain and back to pleasure. He took from her carefully, his embrace growing stronger as she relaxed against his chest.

  Memories flared, lips pressing, sliding over naked flesh. Hands caressing, stroking, grasping as he moved between her legs. She’d never experienced anything as intense as making love with Evan; which made his betrayal unbearable.

  Tearing her mouth away from his, she stepped back, out of his arms. The elevator door slid open and she rushed out into the cool corridor. He moved soundlessly, but she sensed him behind her. Tension arced between them, a festering wound unattended for fifteen cycles.

  “Why are you here?” His tone was much stronger now.

  “To save your ungrateful ass.” She didn’t turn around. “Do you have the journal?”

  He grabbed her upper arm and brought her up short. “Who sent you after me?”

  “Who do you think?” She glared over her shoulder, twisting her arm out of his grasp. “Keep your paws off me. This is strictly business.” He said nothing more as she marched down the hallway. She’d expected an emotional reaction to seeing him again, but this was ridiculous. The ache in her chest made each breath painful.

  She opened her door with a cardkey and stepped inside. He ducked in half a second before the door slammed in his face. “How did you find me? I closed the portal before I locked on to a destination. There’s no way Malos could have known where I went.”

  “Then it stands to reason Malos didn’t send me.”

  He sighed, his lips thinning as tension took control of his expression. “If you want me to explain what happened back then, I’ll—”

  “Don’t bother,” she snapped. “It’s ancient history.”

  “You won’t let me explain, but you’re determined to be angry. This is sure to be pleasant.”

  She faced him, arms folded over her chest, unable to do more than glare. Thick golden hair framed his face in messy waves. Their liplink transfer had restored a healthy cast to his skin. Distinct lines bracketed his mouth, accenting the sensual fullness of his lips. Bracing herself for her body’s reaction, she looked into his eyes.

  Her heart fluttered and a slow, melting sensation curled from her breasts to her feminine core. So damn predictable. All he’d ever had to do was look at her to get her blood simmering. “Do you have the journal or not?”

  Chapter Two

  Evan swallowed past the lump in his throat. Nothing had changed. Dro Tar still had no intention of letting him explain. She’d ignored his messages and refused to see him until humiliation drove him away. By burying himself in the rigors of training he’d found something resembling peace, but she was never far from his thoughts.

  Very few Mystics could control a transport conduit with enough precision to deposit her on Earth at a specific place and time. Malos was one of the few, but Evan was certain Malos didn’t know where he’d gone. It would have taken a Seeker Circle to learn his whereabouts and only Head Master Tal had the authority to sanction such a joining.

  Balling his hands into fists, he fought his need to touch her, to caress her until she was ready to be reasonable. A hollow laugh sounded inside his mind. Dro Tar had never been reasonable. She was fire and spontaneity, laughter and defiance, but nothing as mundane as reasonable.

  “What did they tell you?” he asked, evading her question. He wasn’t going to admit to anything until he understood the situation better.

  “Why do you say ‘they’? I haven’t mentioned anyone.”

  Her stubbornness amused him far more than it should. He really didn’t have time for her obstinacy. Walking past her, he crossed to the window and gazed out into the night. The parted draperies exposed a wide thoroughfare lined with massive buildings. Lights and animated signs winked through the darkness. Each edifice was unique yet somehow similar. “Where are we?”

  “How can you not know where we are? I followed you, sort of.”

  Turning his back to the mesmerizing vista, he looked at his prickly companion. Her hair was shorter than the last time he’d seen her. It capped her head in a riot of gold-tipped brown curls. The changes in her features were subtle, faint lines fanned out from her eyes. Still, she was the same woman who’d haunted his dreams, the same woman he’d laughed with and loved. It didn’t matter! He couldn’t let it matter.

  Her clothing was peculiar. Bold black letters were
centered on a simple white shirt, but he couldn’t decipher their meaning. This trip had been unplanned, so he hadn’t undergone a language infusion. Fortunately he’d been infused with English for a previous mission or he wouldn’t be able to communicate with any of the humans. He focused on the letters I Luv Las Vegas. They still made no sense. Her formfitting black pants rode low on her hips, leaving several inches of toned abdomen bare. Would this costume help her blend with the local populace? He’d been too desperate for energy on the way to this room to notice how others were dressed.

  He dragged his gaze away from her appealing shape and centered his attention on the crisis at hand. “What did Malos tell Head Master Tal? Did anyone see what really happened?”

  “What really happened? You tell me.”

  Despite his good intentions, his gaze gravitated downward again. The shirt hugged her torso, her nipples creating distinct peaks in the clingy material. Did he dare hope she wasn’t as indifferent as she made it seem?

  “Hey, buster, my eyes are up here.” She motioned his gaze toward her face.

  “I find your apparel distracting,” he admitted with a guilty smile.

  “I noticed. Now talk or give me the journal and send me back to Tal.”

  “One of my responsibilities as Vee’s apprentice was to encrypt his journal entries and transmit them to Lord Drakkin on Bilarri.”

  She narrowed her gaze and tilted her head. Surely she had heard the name Lord Drakkin. The director of the Symposium was fiercely private and somewhat mysterious, but everyone knew his name. Evan gave himself a mental shake. He often forgot how different life was beyond the Conservatory’s shields.

  “How does Malos intend to use the journal against Tal if the entries are registered with the Symposium?” Running her finger around the neckline of her shirt, she tugged it away from her skin. “Anything entered into the Wisdom of the Ages is accessible to anyone.”

  It took a moment for her question to register. “I don’t understand. Who told you Malos intended to use the journal against Head Master Tal?”

  Her features seemed to freeze, brow furrowed, lips parted. She was clearly as confused as he was. “Why did you take the journal?”

  “I was cataloguing Vee’s possessions when I heard suspicious sounds coming from his office. I crept across the corridor and found Malos trying to remove the journal from its display case. When I demanded that he stop, he attacked me.”

  “Attacked you?”

  “He surrounded me with a containment field, but I was able to teleport out. All the while he frantically worked to free the journal. We grappled briefly and I sensed the most disturbing emotions. He was desperate to destroy the journal. It felt as if his life depended on the act, so I grabbed the device and Summoned the Storm.”

  She was silent for a thoughtful moment before she asked, “Where were you trying to go?”

  “I only meant to take the journal beyond his grasp, to safeguard it from his frenzy, but a vision claimed me as I entered the vortex and I ended up here.”

  “A vision?”

  Her tendency to echo him in that disbelieving tone was starting to grate on his nerves. “Yes, a vision.”

  “What did you see?”

  He dragged his fingers through his hair and expelled a frustrated sigh. “It’s all jumbled within my mind. All I know for certain is this location was not random. My vision brought me here.”

  She crossed to the bed and back, absently shaking her head. “None of this adds up. Malos told Tal you intend to use the information in the journal to empower some sort of Mystic rebellion.”

  “Malos is trying to organize such a rebellion, but I don’t think it has anything to do with his interest in the journal. Malos is likely hoping to keep Head Master Tal focused on me while he gathers support for the insurrection.”

  “Tal is nobody’s fool. He knows Malos is trying to undermine him, but what’s with the journal? Why would Malos want to destroy it?”

  “That’s what we must figure out. His emotions were not feigned. There’s something in the journal that will incriminate him.”

  Tapping her index finger against her pursed lips, she paused at the foot of the bed. “We can’t stay here.” She avoided holding his gaze for any length of time. Evan felt the oddest mixture of sadness and hope at her obvious anxiety. “Tal sent Malos on a wild goose chase, but he’ll eventually ferret out what Tal knows and come after you.”

  Evan laughed. “What is your fixation with animals?” They were speaking in their native language, but unusual phrases still peppered her speech.

  “Tal intentionally misdirected Malos, but I have no doubt it’s only a matter of time before he learns the results of the true Seeker Circle.”

  Evan inclined his head. “My thanks for the translation.”

  “Tal narrowed your location down to one of three hotels. This was the most probable. It’s the first place Malos will look.”

  “My vision is as troubling as is Malos’ interest in the journal. We can’t return to Ontariese until I decipher the images and understand what he’s trying to hide.”

  “Fine, but you can’t wander around Las Vegas looking like that.” She motioned toward his flowing black robe.

  “The serving women presumed I was some sort of performer. They asked if I was part of something called Star-Crossed.”

  “It’s an ‘intergalactic retelling of Romeo and Juliet’ according to the posters hanging all over the casino.”

  “What is Romeo and Juliet?”

  “A tragic play written hundreds of cycles ago.” She moved around the bed and unzipped her suitcase as she spoke. “I’m a sucker for a happy ending, so interesting new setting or not, I doubt Star-Crossed will entertain me. Passing you off as a cast member might work in this hotel, but it’s better if we blend in.” She set various items aside until she found what she was looking for. “I had to guess on the sizes. It’s been a long time.”

  The hushed, regretful catch in her voice made Evan’s chest clench. Why did she have to be so stubborn? Her perception of the events wasn’t that far from the truth, but understanding his side might have given them some hope of working through the conflict. She’d been mourning the loss of two friends, so he hadn’t wanted to push. But fifteen cycles was a long time to harbor resentment.

  Their fingers brushed as he took the clothing from her. “Thank you.”

  She met his gaze and set a small container on top of the neatly folded garments. “For your eyes.” Longing smoldered in her gaze along with a hint of pain. His pulse leapt and his fingers itched for more than a teasing brush of skin against skin. Regardless of her misconception, he was not a coward. Desire surged, igniting passion and determination.

  This reunion was long overdue.

  * * * * *

  Grat Farlay paused outside the tavern and drew the hood of his coat forward, casting his features into shadow. He hated places like this, shabby, common places that reeked of stale liquor and sweat. Unfortunately, too many things already connected him with the man he was meeting, so he’d had no option but to select a location far from home.

  Filling his lungs with cool, relatively clean air, he entered the tavern and searched the gloomy interior for his contact. A motley assortment of rabble stood at the bar laughing and guzzling Bilarrian ale. Equally unsavory patrons congregated on long benches and surrounded minrell tables. A naked holodancer undulated and contorted her body, displaying herself in graphic poses and simulating the sex act with her provocative gyrations.

  “Not one of my better programs,” he muttered as he moved up beside his contact. “But she’s all a place like this can afford.”

  Malos turned his head toward Grat and scowled. “You selected the location for this meeting. Must we stay here?”

  “They won’t let me come to you. Only Mystics are allowed within the hallowed walls of the Conservatory.” Grat failed to keep the bitterness from his tone. Mystic superiority was a longstanding and common complaint with many non-
gifted Ontarians.

  “Keep your voice down.” Malos motioned toward an empty table in the back corner of the room. “I don’t have much time before I’ll be missed. Let’s get this over with.”

  If the jerk preferred directness, Grat had no problem with that. He knew Malos was spearheading the rebellion currently threatening the Conservatory, which was one of the reasons he’d tried to limit his interaction with the ambitious Mystic. The lucrative dealings they’d enjoyed in cycles past weren’t worth the risk of being swept up in a Mystic mutiny.

  “How did you know they’d use my illustrious partner?” Grat asked as he slipped into a chair, putting the wall at his back.

  Malos stiffened, obviously uncomfortable with the question. “Only a fool underestimates his adversary.” He took a seat opposite Grat, taking care not to touch more than the rickety chair. Someone should have told him that poverty wasn’t contagious. “I know as much about them as they know about me. Can you tell me where they sent her or not?”

  As soon as Trey dar Aune strode into Vampire Adventures, Grat knew something big was going down. Then after the meeting, Dro Tar mentioned Head Master Tal as well, so Grat figured it was only a matter of time before Malos contacted him.

  “I can, but why should I?” Grat arched his brow as he stared down the Mystic. “We’re on the brink of something big and I happen to like my partner.”

  “Your appearance is ordinary at best. You have no Mystic abilities. You’re not from one of the six great houses. You scrounge together a moderate income from your obscene images, but my guess is you’ve never enjoyed the stability of a long-term social alliance, much less attracted a life mate.”

  Grat tensed, but said nothing. Knowing Malos, there had been no guessing about it. He would have thoroughly investigated Grat in preparation for this meeting. Which meant Malos knew Grat cared about two things, his younger brother and physical pleasure. The sort of pleasure he could only find in sexual simulators as things were now.