Well, he would have to figure out a way to make her understand that she had nothing to fear from him.
He set down the sketchbook and continued down the corridor. Not that he had much farther to go; beyond the room where he had found the sketch was only the kitchen, which was also empty. The hallway ended there.
Flummoxed, he stood in the middle of the kitchen for a moment, surveying the space. It was small but well laid out, with stainless steel appliances and a concrete floor. In the wall opposite was a door, one Qadim assumed must lead to the pantry.
He really didn’t think Madison had squeezed herself in there with the canned soup and boxes and bags of dry goods, but he told himself he must look, since she seemed to have disappeared otherwise. When he opened the door, though, he could only stand there with his mouth slightly agape, staring at the world he had just uncovered.
That was no pantry. It was not even a storeroom. Storehouse, more like, for racks of food and other supplies seemed to stretch in every direction. How long could all this sustain one person? Years, it seemed. Possibly longer. So with all this at hand, why had Madison ever felt the need to come above ground?
Curiosity, or boredom, or perhaps a mixture of the two. Qadim didn’t know how long he could live without seeing the sky or feeling the wind in his hair, even if that sky was only the livid, ever-shifting heaven of the otherworld. Yes, this place could have sustained Madison for a long time, but only if she could manage to survive the feeling of being buried alive.
Somewhere up ahead he heard a faint noise, as if something on one of the shelves had been bumped into. The lighting down here was poor enough, consisting of a few widely spaced fluorescent fixtures — to save energy, he supposed — so he could understand how Madison might have misjudged where she stood.
But that misstep was all he needed. He headed in that direction, moving slowly and deliberately now that his quarry was almost in sight. And there she was — backed up against the cinderblock of the far wall, face pale and frantic in the semi-gloom.
“So,” he said. “I’ve finally managed to find you.”
Chapter Nine
He couldn’t be here. How was he here? She’d locked all the doors behind her, and those doors had been rated to withstand near-miss tactical nukes and a variety of other nasty weaponry. Clay Michaels had always said that absolutely nothing could get through those bomb shelter doors.
Obviously, Clay Michaels hadn’t thought about making them djinn-proof.
Because Qadim stood there, only a few feet away from her. His dark eyes glittered dangerously in the uncertain light, and he took a step forward. Madison wished there was someplace she could run to, but her back was up against the wall, and she knew she was trapped.
“And here I thought I was being such a good host,” he went on. His gaze shifted to her left arm, now free of the sling, which she’d discarded as soon as she left the Hotel Andaluz. “Ah, and apparently you are more healed than you wanted to let on. I see.”
Her throat was so horribly dry, but she managed to force out his name. “Qadim — ”
He stepped forward again. Now only a foot separated them. “I am curious to hear your explanation. Or should I more accurately say your excuse?”
“I — ” God, it had all made so much sense in her head. Now, though, seeing his very real anger, she wasn’t sure what to say. She swallowed, then continued, “I — I was feeling better, and I knew if I told you I thought it was best that I should go, then you might try to stop me.”
“And why would I do that?”
Because I could tell you wanted me. No, she could never say that. It would be putting things far too much out in the open. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about the tension that had grown between them. Her common sense had told her she needed to get out, even though her emotions revealed a very different story. He was glaring at her, obviously expecting her to say something. “I — when you told me about Los Alamos, I knew that was where I needed to go.”
Madison could tell that her reply surprised him. The heavy eyebrows lifted, then pulled together as he frowned. “Why would you want to go to Los Alamos?”
“Because you said there was an entire community of regular people like me living there. Why else?”
Something in his expression softened. “My dear, the last thing which could be said about you is that you’re a regular person.”
A small shudder went through Madison. The casual use of the endearment surprised her, because Qadim had never spoken to her in such a way before. He had been pleasant, but also polite. It was only now that she’d begun to get a better read of the emotions that had been roiling under the surface. Of course, it also didn’t help that he was standing so close. Once again she thought of how good he smelled, like warm earth and dry grass.
“A regular person who isn’t djinn or Chosen,” she said, glad that her voice sounded far steadier than she felt. “So doesn’t that mean Los Alamos is the best — maybe the only — place for me?”
He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he stood there and watched her for a moment, as if weighing the best thing for him to say next. Another step, and then he was almost upon her. If he’d still been wearing his robes, they would surely have been brushing against her jeans. “I don’t want you to go to Los Alamos.”
Of course he didn’t. And actually, with him that close to her, Madison could feel her body telling her that it didn’t want to go to Los Alamos, either. It could have been the flush of her journey here, when she’d jog-walked the whole way, constantly looking over her shoulder, that made her so warm.
Somehow she didn’t think so.
And it seemed that Qadim could sense her response as well, because he placed one hand on the wall next to her and leaned in, so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheek. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to tingle.
His voice was a low rumble. “Do you really want to go to Los Alamos?”
She swallowed. God, say something, she commanded herself, and yet the words wouldn’t come. Why did he have to be so physically overwhelming, so overpowering that she couldn’t respond like a rational human being? She’d never had a man affect her like this before.
Because she knew she didn’t want to go to Los Alamos. The plan that had seemed so clear to her only a few hours ago now sounded like a fool’s errand. Why would she want to go to a place where she didn’t know anyone when she could stay here in Albuquerque with Qadim?
His voice pressed on her again. “Do you?”
Still the words seemed to stick in her throat. She couldn’t say anything, could only stare helplessly up at him.
At her continued silence, a flicker of triumph showed in his dark eyes, and he bent even further, was so close that his mouth nearly touched hers. Forcing her to meet his stare, he said softly, “Do you want me to stop?”
He was going to kiss her. She knew that was what he had planned, and yet she also knew she wouldn’t do anything to prevent him from doing so. He must have seen the uncertainty in her expression, or else he wouldn’t have challenged her to see if she truly would ask him to stop.
But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Maybe that was crazy, but the world hadn’t been sane for a very long time.
A corner of his mouth twitched. Was that the beginning of a smile? Madison couldn’t tell, because in the next instant that mouth was pressed against hers, his lips hard and strong and insistent, and she couldn’t do anything except open her mouth to his, feel his tongue touch hers as need exploded all through her body. His arms went around her — or maybe hers went around him — and in the next instant she was all but grinding herself against him, wanting to feel every inch of his hard, magnificent body clasped against hers.
She was drowning, disappearing into him. The whole world had become the feel of his arms around her and the taste of his mouth and the warm scent of his skin. But it was all right if she fell, because she knew he would hold her up.
Her legs were shaky, and dimly sh
e could tell her shoulder had begun to throb again, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was that Qadim was kissing her, and all of her worries and concerns had melted away as if they’d never been. How could it be wrong when no other kiss had ever felt this right?
At last he did break the kiss, but gently, and he still held her close. “You didn’t tell me to stop.”
“No.” She attempted to chuckle, but it came out sounding shaky and something close to a sob, and so she went on quickly, “I decided I didn’t want to.”
“Ah.” He touched her shoulder, his palm warm through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “It’s a little sore, but it’s all right.”
With a gentleness that surprised her, he bent and laid his lips against her shoulder. “I’ll try to remember to be careful.” He straightened, and when he met her gaze, it was with a new glint in his eyes. “Although it seems you’ve healed far more quickly than you let on.”
“I — I’m sorry about that.”
“I will forgive you this time. But don’t lie to me again, Madison.”
His mouth was almost smiling, but the stern tone of his voice told her that she’d upset him. She went and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I won’t. It was cruel of me. I was just — I guess I just didn’t know what I should do. This thing — this attraction — it scared me. I had to reconcile what I knew of the djinn with the little I knew about you, and I guess none of it made sense.”
“I fear I can’t fault you for that too much.” His hand moved over her hair, and something about the gentleness of the gesture made her want to weep. Maybe it was only that she’d gone so very long without the comfort of another person’s touch, or the sound of their voice. “But now perhaps you can show me more of this astonishing home of yours, and how you ever came to be here.”
She led him out of the storeroom, explaining as they went that the home above them and the shelter where she’d been living for the past year had belonged to the man her father worked for, a man who apparently thought of Madison and her family as his own, since he was alone in the world. This man had worked with weapons, had known of the dangers that lurked in the human world, and so he had built this structure, a project that had taken him many years.
“Of course, I don’t think he really had djinn in mind when he designed it,” Madison said, then led Qadim into the family room. Her gaze fell on the sketchbook, and she quickly lifted it from the coffee table and shut it.
“I fear I already saw that,” Qadim told her, amused by the flush of embarrassment in her fair skin.
“Oh.” She put the sketchbook back down. “I suppose it’s just that it had been so long since I’d seen anyone that I wanted to commit you to memory. It was just a quick little doodle.”
“I’d say it was far more than a doodle. You are a very talented artist, Madison.”
A lift of her shoulders. Clearly, she was just as discomfited by compliments on her art as she was by praise for her appearance.
“And I would have known that,” he continued, “if I had but thought to ask. I apologize for that.”
“‘Apologize’?” she repeated, looking surprised. “Why would you apologize for not asking me about what I did for a living? That was all in the past.”
“Perhaps,” he said, then reached out a hand. She took it, and let him pull her down to sit next to him on the sofa. There, that was better. For they did need to talk. The tour of the shelter could wait a little while. “Although I might say that if you worked at something you did not love, then it would be in the past. But the painting I saw on the easel in one of the other rooms seems to tell me differently.”
“Oh, well.” Her shoulders lifted, and he noted the way her mouth tightened, as if the movement had pained her. So yes, she was doing much, much better, but she was not all the way back to normal yet. He would have to remember that, and perhaps be gentler than the fire currently surging in his veins wished him to be. “I had to do something to fill up the time.” Then she straightened, and her chin went up slightly. “But you’re right. I do love to paint. That’s mine, too.” She nodded toward a piece on the opposite wall, done in heavy brushstrokes in shades of purple and gray and deep earth tones.
“It is quite exceptional,” he said honestly. In all truth, he had never been one to study art, as human artistic expression was something his sister had been rather obsessed with. The djinn had artisans, but not artists. Some had postulated that there was something about the limited lives of humans which made them strive for the ineffable, to reach for something they could never have, whereas the djinn were content to create pieces that were beautiful and functional, and nothing more than that.
“You’re going to give me a swelled head if you keep saying things like that.”
“‘Swelled head’?”
Madison chuckled. “Modern American idiom. All it means is you’re going to puff up my vanity.”
“I’m not sure vanity is involved when the person in question is truly gifted.”
“There you go again.”
The only proper response was to pull her to him and kiss her again. Her mouth opened to his right away, eager and warm and tasting better than anything he could have ever imagined. He had dreamed of what it would be like to hold her in his arms, but the reality was so much better than his dreams.
And what he wanted even more was to push her down into the sofa cushions and claim all of her, taste all of her — and yet he knew she was not quite ready for that. Soon, he thought, but for now he would have to content himself with the sweetness of her lips.
When they parted, her breaths came quickly, and once again her cheeks were flushed. “So are all djinn such good kissers, or is that just a particular talent of yours?”
“As to that,” he replied, attempting to sound casual, “you would have to ask some of the Chosen for their opinions on their lovers’ kisses. Although some of them might be biased, if they were influenced by djinn glamour in order to be more…pliable.”
“Djinn glamour?” Madison asked, a frown creasing the smooth skin of her forehead. She didn’t exactly pull away, but Qadim could sense a stiffening of her posture that hadn’t been there a few seconds earlier.
He probably should not have said anything. But he had told Madison there would be no more lies between them, and that promise should apply to him as well. At any rate, in this particular matter, he had nothing to hide. “The djinn possess the ability to make humans susceptible to their charms, for lack of a better term. A human will think that she — or he — is madly in love with the djinn, and will become intimate with them. This is where your legends of the incubus and the succubus arose. But those were not demons who had laid down with humans, but djinn who found it amusing to trick mortals into becoming intimate with them.”
Some of the color left her cheeks, but she appeared calm enough as she asked, “So it was like mind control?”
“A crude way of putting it, but something like that, yes.”
A dawning fear showed in her eyes, and this time she did draw away from him. “Did you — did you do that to me just now?”
“No,” he said at once, although she didn’t look particularly reassured by his adamant response. “To be honest, I considered it early on, but then I realized that I did not want a counterfeit of desire. I wanted you to want me because that was your wish, and not something I imposed on you.”
“But — ”
He leaned toward her and pressed the softest of kisses against her cheek. Her eyes shut, dark russet lashes startling against her pale skin, but Qadim could not tell for sure whether that was because she enjoyed the caress…or because she didn’t want to look at him in that moment.
“Dearest, I am telling you the truth because that is nothing more than you deserve. You fled from me, but I could see that you were conflicted. But if you had tried to stop me back there” — he inclined his head in the direction of the storeroom — “then I would h
ave stopped. It would have pained me greatly, but I have never been the sort of man to force a woman. I had no need to.”
“Popular with the ladies?” she teased, although he could see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes.
“Again, I will not lie to you. We djinn live long lives, and I have spent time with a number of women. But you are the only person in my life right now.”
Madison was silent, and Qadim feared she might ask him for an exact number of his former lovers. Women could be odd about such things. He hoped she would not ask the question, for truly he had lost count centuries ago.
“How long?” she said then.
“‘How long’?” he repeated, not sure what she was asking.
“How long do you live?”
“Many of your lifetimes.”
Again she went quiet. He wanted to reach over and touch her, give her some sort of reassurance, but he sensed now was not the time. This was all new to her, and she needed to absorb the information in her own way.
And what if she asks why you have not made her your Chosen, if you desire her so much? he thought then. He had no real answer for that. For he did desire her, but he had never found any woman so entrancing that he could stomach the thought of spending eternity with her. One of his former lovers had remarked acidly that just because his own sister was such a calculating harpy, he should not think all women were the same. Perhaps Reveka had been right, but it was not a risk he’d ever wished to take.
“And is it rude to ask how old a djinn is?”
“Not rude, precisely,” he replied. “But sometimes it is a question we cannot answer, for as the centuries flash by, it becomes more and more difficult to keep track. But I think I can safely say that I am some years older than you.”
Forsaken (The Djinn Wars Book 5) Page 12
