Teasing Danger [Darklands Book 1] Page 16

  But Mathin was making no progress against him, either. Time and again their blades struck, and neither man faltered or so much as blinked.

  Until their swords locked.

  For a moment, they strained against one another, steel hilts biting into the flesh of their hands, neither willing to give an inch. Then Mathin said, “Rumor has it that you've been at the Sylph.” He paused a moment to make certain his comment fully penetrated Keilor's battle haze. When he was certain that he had his full attention, he asked suggestively, “Tell me, how does she taste?"

  He never had a prayer after that.

  Chapter 10

  "I can't believe you fainted,” Rihlia said again, shaking her head.

  "Be quiet,” Jasmine grumbled from her position on the couch. She did not want to talk about it.

  Urseya smiled smugly. “I thought it was romantic. The beautiful, love-sick damsel, swooning at the feet of her lover...” She sighed, putting a wrist to her forehead and ignoring Jasmine's glare. “Everyone will be talking about it."

  Jasmine sat up on her elbows and snapped, “He is not my lover!"

  "Your warrior, then."

  "He's not my anything!” she protested, getting hot, but was interrupted by a snigger in the corner. She glared at Fallon, who had arrived earlier in the day and had watched from the crowd. She pointed a finger at him. “You be quiet, too."

  He held up his hand, palm out, in a gesture of innocence. With a straight face, he said, “Do not worry, your secret is safe with me.” He grinned. “However, I think there are several hundred other witnesses that might possibly slip and tell him.” Snorts and open laughter greeted those words, and Jasmine crossed her arms and sat back on the couch, her face flushed with annoyance.

  Why was it that the one and only time she had ever fainted had to happen in front of hundreds of witnesses? She cringed just thinking about how Keilor had been presented under her pavilion as the champion. She'd stood up to acknowledge him, and suddenly all the blood had drained out of her head with sickening speed, and the next thing she'd known, Rihlia was patting her cheeks and demanding to know if she was all right. And the look on Keilor's face once he'd realized that she had swooned! Swooned!

  She'd tried to tell everyone on the way back to her room that it had been just a little head rush, caused by standing up too fast, but perhaps she'd protested too much, because no one believed her. Portae had scoffed and insisted that it had definitely been a swoon, caused by too much excitement, and stated with authority that the only cure was lie down and have some nice, sedative tea.

  So here she was, lying on her couch with her feet up, gagging on a truly awful tea, and being tormented by a roomful of insensitive clods.

  After a bit Rihlia took pity on her, or perhaps she got tired of her friend's mulish expression, because she began shooing people out of the room. Urseya, however, wasn't leaving without a parting shot.

  "Don't worry!” she called out as she left. “If you swoon at his feet again, I'm sure that Keilor will find some way of reviving you.” Fallon grabbed his sister's arm and started dragging her.

  "I can still sick Mathin on you!” Jasmine sat up and yelled back as the door shut behind them. “Great,” she muttered as the tea cup she'd been precariously balancing on her stomach and trying not to sip from spilled on her dress, soaking through to her stomach. With more muttering, she clinked the cup and its saucer down on her coffee table and got up to rummage in her wardrobe. She emerged dressed in her jeans, black T-shirt and bare feet, and moved back over to flop down on the couch again, snagging a glass of chilled juice on the way over. Casanova butted her hand, and she absently scratched around his nubby horns.

  Rihlia sprawled in an over-stuffed chair opposite her and propped her chin on her hand. Eyeing Jasmine's clothes, she asked, “Are you planning to wear that for Keilor?"

  Jasmine grinned at her and wriggled deeper into the couch. “Why not?” She stifled a yawn. “He won't be here for a while yet. No doubt his fan club has him busy still signing autographs,” she joked with just a touch of sourness. No one had asked him to sign anything, but he had been surrounded by a rather large group of women the last time she'd seen him.

  "Jealous, huh?” Rihlia asked, knowing full well that she was stating a fact. When Jasmine just sighed and twisted her glass on her leg, watching the orange juice lap at the edges, she prodded, “If you don't like it, what are you going to do about it?"

  Jasmine leaned her head back and let out a slow breath of air. “Stake a claim, I guess.” She thought for a minute. “This morning I thought he was pond scum. This afternoon, he's looking pretty good. Tomorrow, I might want to kill him again, but maybe this way I can get him out of my system.” She rolled her head toward Rihlia. “Avoidance just seems to aggravate the condition."

  Her friend smiled. “I was wondering how long it was going to be before you gave it up.” Her smile died, and a very serious expression came over her face. “There are some things you ought to know about the Haunt, Jas.” She paused. “I don't think it's fair that you should go into any relationship with Keilor without knowing the truth about the guards outside the door—” she gestured, “—and the other soldiers you've seen.” Jasmine watched her without blinking, and she cleared her throat. “They've got a lot more in common than you think."

  "They're the same. I know.” Jasmine's expression never wavered as she sat up and put her juice on the coffee table. “I've known for a while now.” When Rihlia looked uneasy, she sighed and laced her hands together. “You were afraid I'd be scared, weren't you?"

  "You are scared!” Rihlia dropped her feet to the floor and leaned forward. “I've seen you watching the guards. It scares you spitless, and don't pretend it doesn't!” she finished, almost defiant.

  Jasmine bent her neck towards both shoulders, popping the joints and stalling. “Sure, it scares me. It's weird, and I'd be a liar if I said otherwise. But,” she interjected before she could be interrupted, “—I'm not afraid of you, or your family. It's just going to take a while to get used to.” She thought for a moment, searching for a comparison. “Kind of like having someone you care for get in a really bad wreak and mess up their face, or become a burn victim, or—"

  "Burn victim!"

  "Hey, don't take it personally,” Jasmine admonished her. “You know what I'm trying to say.” She looked deep into Rihlia's eyes. “I've known you how many years, now? Should I start believing that suddenly you're going to go nuts on me and kill me or something, or let anyone else hurt me?"

  "No! You know I'd never let that happen. They'd have to get through me first,” she vowed. “I know you'd do the same for me, too."

  Jasmine smiled a little and looked down. “All right.” She took a deep breath. “I will try not to be so jumpy around the Haunt, but I can't promise overnight results, ok?” She slanted a teasing look at her friend. “You could have warned me sooner, though.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and said, sotto voice, “Hey, Jasmine, watch out for these guys, because when the moons are full they turn into a Wookie!"

  "They are not Wookies!” Rihlia protested, laughing. “They're more like—” she stumbled.

  "Werewolves?” Jasmine supplied, lifting a brow.

  She winced. “They are not werewolves. They won't eat you."

  Some of the fun seemed to drain out of the game for her, and Jasmine switched tactics.

  Grinning, she said slyly, “Poor girl. First you get kidnapped, tricked into marriage, told you couldn't go back or have any visitors, and then to top it all off, you find out that you married a Wookie."

  Rihlia choked. “They are not—” She giggled, unable to finish.

  Jasmine continued blithely on. “I wish I'd been there to see his face when you first told him that you were not going to allow a walking carpet to sleep on the bed,” Rihlia hooted and she chuckled. Waving a hand, she said with drama, “They say that men are animals, but really, this is going too far."

  Rihlia wiped her eyes and smile
d at her friend. Then her smile faded. She said soberly, “The first time I saw him change, I freaked out.” Jasmine nodded with understanding. “He looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. When I cringed away from him, he changed back and tried to explain that he'd only shifted in case we ran into danger, that he was better able to defend us in that form.” She paused to explain, “Apparently they only take on the Haunt when on guard duty, in training, or when threatened.” She shook her head and winced. “The things I said to him."

  She laced her hands together and was silent a moment. “Things didn't go well for a while. After everything that had happened, I couldn't trust him. Everything was so strange and scary, and it took a long time for me to figure out that he wouldn't hurt me.” She looked through the window and smiled faintly. “He's not a very patient man, my Jayems.” She said ‘my Jayems’ as if unused to admitting the sentiments revealed by that simple designation. She continued softly, “It was seeing him fight so hard to be patient, to wait for me, that made me feel about him the way I do."

  She looked so poignant, sitting on the elegant coffee and cream chair, one leg drawn up pensively, hands clasped around it.

  She looked like a queen.

  Jasmine frowned, dismissing the disturbing image. This was her friend, always her friend, and no disconcerting, newly discovered rank was going to come between them. Her voice gruff, she said, “Well, I guess after the way you reacted, Keilor should consider himself lucky that I haven't been chasing him around with a wooden stake and a mallet."

  Rihlia shook her head at her. “It's a silver bullet for werewolves, at least in the movies.” Jasmine waved that away negligently, and Rihlia stood up. “I guess I'd better take off. Keilor's going to be here soon. I expect a full report in the morning.” She waggled her brows.

  Jasmine threw a pillow at her.

  Keilor gazed down at Jasmine's small form curled on the couch with amusement. It seemed that the events of the day had worn her out. Another man might have been offended, and he was a touch disconcerted that he hadn't found her flushed and nervously awaiting his arrival. After this afternoon....

  "Jasmine,” he called softly, not wishing to startle her. She moaned something incoherent and snuggled deeper into the cushions, seeking warmth. He grinned. It seemed his woman did not like leaving her dreams. Feeling mischievous, he said loudly, “After you swooned so prettily for me earlier today, I had hoped for a more enthusiastic reception."

  That did the trick. She blinked and gave him a grumpy glare. “I didn't swoon. It was a head rush. How many times do I have to say it?” She stretched with unconscious seduction, and whatever he'd been about to say evaporated from his tongue. She was so beautiful.

  "Sorry,” she apologized. “I didn't mean to fall asleep on you. If you can hang on five minutes, I can change and—"

  He cut her off with a light, tender kiss, a touch of his lips only against her parted lips. When he withdrew, she blinked at him in surprise. There were advantages to catching her befuddled from sleep, he decided with satisfaction. “Come as you are. I wished to take a walk through the gardens, if you're willing. There will be enough light for a couple more hours for you to see well enough.” He left her side for a moment, searching, then returned with a pair of black, woven leather sandals. When he knelt to slip them on her feet, she stared at him in bewilderment.

  "What are you doing?” She sounded almost ... frightened.

  He slipped the other shoe on and fastened a light silver chain around her ankle. Jasmine tilted her foot to get a better look at it. The light glinted off the alternating silver links and flashing opal stones. She looked at him for an explanation, something vulnerable in her eyes, and he had the feeling that gifts had been few and far between in her life.

  That would change. “I suspected that if I wished for you to wear something silver, I'd have to dress you in it myself.” His allowed his eyes to smoke, just a little. “Unless there's something else that you'd rather wear for me?"

  Jasmine coughed and stood up fast, dusting her hands busily on her pants. “It's very pretty, thank you. Uh, let me just comb my hair.” Avoiding his eyes, she hurried to the armoire and took out a brush, sweeping it through her hair before putting it up in a fast twist. She paused in the act of fastening the clip, her eyes flashing to his reflection. “I'm not really good with hair styles, but—"

  He smiled. “You can wear it down for me at dinner.” Jasmine lowered her eyes and rubbed the sole of one sandal into the floor.

  Ah, now this was more the reaction he'd been hoping for, he thought with satisfaction. Lust seemed to be commonplace for her, but proper courtship appeared to be among the unknown for the lady, turning her into an inexperienced girl completely out of her depth.

  He rather liked the thought of teaching her to swim.

  He could have raised her hand to his lips, but didn't. Instead he took it in his own and walked with her to the door. Her small hand trembled lightly in his.

  Obviously, he'd chosen well.

  This wasn't at all what she'd expected.

  The hedge enclosed gardens smelled heavenly. Beautiful, exotic white birds with red, blue and green crests chattered in the trees, filling the air with their music. Every once and a while they would pass an exceptionally nice smelling flower or herb along the stone paths, and Keilor would stop and tell her its name and perhaps a little about it. Once he'd even picked a small spray of blossoms and tucked them into her hair.

  Jasmine couldn't figure out what he was up to. She'd never seen him so gentle, so considerate of her needs and wishes. This morning she'd expected to be the one who'd entertain the winner, and when he'd woken her from her sleep she'd felt guilty for not being ready for him. Now he was the one going out of his way to make their time pleasurable. It confused her, and left her feeling vulnerable and so feminine and ... soft. For a woman who'd had to be strong from infancy just to survive emotionally, the sensation left her off balance, and she found herself leaning hesitantly on Keilor for guidance.

  He seemed to like it.

  "We brought what we could of the familiar with us,” he was explaining. “Books and seeds, especially. Good fortune was with us, and we found mild winters here. What could not be grown outdoors thrived under glass.” He nodded towards the enormous green houses they were approaching. “All of our children are taught something of horticulture in school.” He held the door open for her.

  This was no utilitarian space. Everything was orderly, but the tropical plants didn't stretch in long, boring rows. Instead they were arranged much like plots, with attention paid to both attractiveness and maximum productivity. Jasmine was enchanted. Many of these plants she'd never seen before.

  "What is this?” she asked, gingerly touching a coconut sized, hairy brown fruit hanging from a tangle of stems connected to a trunk. She tapped it experimentally and found the rind to be as hard as a nut.

  Keilor laughed. “It's a cannonball tree, though it's been bred to remove the stench and improve the flavor. The plants it's descended from smell much like sewer sludge. When I was a boy I decided to cultivate one for an academic project. Somehow, the plant I grew reverted back to its original form. Imagine my surprise when the lovely scented blossoms produced fruit edible only for a stag,” Jasmine chuckled, and he added impishly, “They made very useful stink bombs, though. It took weeks to get the smell out of our rival cadet's barracks."

  She smirked. “Making friends and influencing people even then, huh?"

  He gave her a sidelong glance but didn't take the bait. Instead, he gestured to another plant, an interesting specimen with long pods growing directly from the trunk. “The cacao tree. The chocolate you love so much grows in these pods."

  "Really?” She look at the tree with interest. Forget the kale and the turnips, someone had been thinking when they brought seeds for this thing along. Excited, she turned a little too quickly to ask him a question and lost her balance. When she grabbed onto his arm to steady herself, he hissed. Fearing she'd hu
rt him, she quickly let go, then frowned. She'd felt a bandage under the long sleeve of his shirt. She touched the midnight silk carefully. There was definitely a bandage under there. “You hurt yourself."

  He shook his head. “It's nothing."

  "But—"

  "A medic looked at it. You don't have to worry, it will be fine.” When the worried expression didn't leave her face, he teased, “Would you like to see for yourself?"

  For a moment she looked as if she would say yes. Instead she looked down and thrust her hands into her pockets, nudging the crushed shell with the toe of one sandal. “I guess the tournament was a bad idea."

  He raised her chin and looked into her troubled eyes. “The tournament was a very good idea. I enjoyed it. So did everyone else.” When that didn't help, he added playfully, “Besides, if you hadn't seen me today, I wouldn't have had the chance to see you fall at my feet. Think how my ego might have suffered."

  She snorted and turned away with her arms crossed, but he could tell she was trying to hide a smile.

  Dinner was fun. When he brought her back to her room a short while later, they found that the table had been prepared with the ingredients for a Chinese hot pot. A steaming wok on a stand with a small flaming lamp underneath graced the center of the table. A platter of raw meats and seafood sat at one side, and a matching one of sliced vegetables was on the other. Crystal condiment servers and a covered glass stand containing sweet confections had been placed on one end of the lace tablecloth, an arrangement of white candles of different shapes decorated the other. Jasmine asked Keilor to light them while she changed into a simple, yet elegant white and silver tunic with loose harem pants. The sleeveless silk top reached almost to her knees, but the split bottom seams made it very comfortable to move in. Even with a chemise underneath it and a wide silver sash hugging her waist it was so weightless that she almost felt naked. Telling herself that she was being silly, she opened the door and stepped out.