Scent of Danger Page 17

  Nothing in his life had prepared him for the blistering heat of his first time with his wife. Nothing came close. Even his most experienced lover had paled in comparison with his innocent sweetheart. Had he only known…

  Pretty blue eyes, full of slumbering heat, regarded him. She wiggled experimentally on his chest. “More?” Pink stained her cheeks even as she asked the question. How could he refuse?

  “More,” he answered firmly, and rolled her on her back.

  They found Raziel lounging with his back against a tree, within sight of their breakfast camp.

  He dropped his foot to the ground and uncrossed his arms. As they came abreast of him, he took a deep whiff in Andrea’s direction. “I see we can all toss out our nose filters.”

  Andrea gave a mortified laugh. These guys were shameless.

  “Hm,” was all Mathin said.

  “Congratulations, sister.” Raziel kissed her forehead and handed her something.

  It was a holstered gun and a knife.

  “You’ve just married a warlord,” Raziel explained when she looked at him askance. “Believe me, Jasmine came to love hers.”

  “Er, thank you.” Unsure what else to do with it, she buckled it on. The unfamiliar weight dragged at her pants, forcing her to hitch them up. She felt like a fool.

  Mathin grinned fondly at her and stroked her cheek. “You’ll get used to it.”

  She grimaced. “Heaven help me if I ever have to use it. I’d probably get sick all over the victim.”

  “Here.” Raziel handed her a blue velvet pouch with rainbow-hued flowers embroidered on it. “This is from Jasmine.”

  A tug of the silver cord opened it. Andrea reached inside and found a card on top. It read, “Dear Andrea, Congratulations on your marriage—I think (grin)! Seriously, try to resist strangling him. The man can be impossible, but you’ll never find a better one. He loves you.”

  Andrea sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye, angling the card so that Mathin, who was trying to read over her shoulder, couldn’t see it. “I know these things might seem a little odd for a wedding gift, but I know who you’re traveling with. Learn to use them—you never know, they could save your life.”

  Curious now, Andrea left off reading the note and investigated. Inside was a leather belt with several pouches sewn on it, similar to a commando supply belt. The pouches yielded a fire starter, fishhooks, a poncho, and other survival gear. “I’m starting to wonder about all this,” she muttered, tucking the items away.

  There was one more thing in the velvet bag. As her fingers closed over the silky material, she knew she’d better peek before pulling it out. What she could see of the rainbow-hued cloth was sheer. The volume of the garment told her without looking that there wasn’t much to it. She consulted the note, and grinned.

  “What does it say?”

  She smirked, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “She wishes us well.”

  Mathin’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you blushing?”

  Andrea stuffed the note into her shirt. “It’s just girl talk.” Marital advice, more like. Definitely nothing she wanted him to read.

  “It won’t be safe there,” he practically purred, and wrapped his arm around her waist.

  “Behave!” She elbowed him in the ribs. He just drew her closer as Raziel laughed and escorted them into the camp.

  Raziel wasn’t the only one with a gift for them, and she was surprised to discover a feast had been prepared in their absence. Although slightly wary of her, the men were genuinely happy for Mathin and treated her with respect. Although necessarily short, breakfast was merry. Everyone was in a good mood as they prepared to leave.

  Instead of helping her into the wagon with Matilda, Mathin took her hand and led her to an already saddled stag. The beast turned its face to them, sniffed at Andrea, and snorted full in her face.

  “Part of my gift to you.” Mathin suppressed a grin as she wiped her face in disgust. “I know you’d rather have a horse, but you do need to have something to ride.”

  “Tell me something, Mathin,” she asked as the beast turned its hind end in their direction, lifted its barbed tail and very deliberately farted. Andrea backed up a half dozen paces. “You guys have light sabers, laser guns and hover barges. Why don’t you just attach an engine to a barge and get rid of the stags?”

  “We like them. And unlike your people, the Haunt don’t care to spend their lives in factories making parts.”

  The obnoxious stag looked over its scaly shoulder and narrowed its eyes on Andrea.

  Walking was looking better by the moment. “I like cars,” she muttered, but swung up into the saddle anyway. The stag stiffened. She just knew it was going to buck.

  “Be aggressive with him,” Mathin warned.

  “Fine!” she snapped, galvanized by anger, partially directed at Mathin. Why would he stick her on a dangerous beast and then leave her to deal with it? She grabbed the beast by its small ear. “Listen up, buttercup! I’m in no mood to be messed with, so you either knock it off or I’ll rip this thing off and kick it around on the ground. You got that?” She felt guilty for saying it, no matter how deep their mutual dislike went, but the stag settled right down.

  Mathin nodded at her. “Good. As his rider you’re the only one who can win his respect.”

  She scowled at him. “You could have warned me.”

  “Forgive me.” He gave her a quick kiss and swung up on his own mount.

  He didn’t look very sorry. Andrea’s resentment grew as they rode. Hadn’t the intense passion they’d shared this morning meant anything to him? The memory softened her a little. The smiles he kept sending her told her he more than remembered. Anticipation unfurled in her belly.

  The stag she’d dubbed Buttercup shifted suddenly sideways beneath her, attempting to rub her into a tree. Indignation welled up again as she silently and inexpertly battled it with reins and legs. Mathin wasn’t even watching!

  Raziel cut his eyes over to the woman Mathin was pretending not to watch. “She doesn’t seem to be taking well to the Haunt teaching style of benevolent disinterest, Mathin.”

  Determined not to look, Mathin nodded. “I know. But she’s stubborn and understands the rudiments. The only thing I can tell her is what she already knows. No one wants a nanny standing over them.” At least, Haunt warriors resented it. They’d rather master their problems without a lot of interference. Since he’d never taught a woman to ride, he didn’t know if Haunt women felt the same.

  He was concerned, of course, and that was the other reason he didn’t look. He was tempted to interfere, and he didn’t want her to lose face in front of the men. Her pride was important to him. Worry nagged at him, but he shook it off. She’d be fine.

  She was not fine. By the end of the day, Andrea thoroughly hated stags in general and hers in particular. Nor was she feeling kindly toward her new husband.

  “Get off,” she snarled at him as she dismounted, tossing her reins at him. Not once had he paid attention to her today, except to smile like an idiot, and she didn’t need him now. If he could ignore her as her stag tried to decapitate her by running under branches, sat down on the ground and tried to roll over, plodded when she wanted to canter and cantered when she wanted to walk, then he could just keep it up.

  She was coming to appreciate her symbiont. At least it healed her backside and kept her muscles limber. It was a fat lot more than Mathin had done.

  “Andrea…”

  Sick of his poor treatment, she snatched up a stick from the forest floor and pointed it at him, legs braced. “Get lost,” she told him coldly. “I’m going to wash up in that lake over there. Try to follow me and I’ll turn you into a shish kabob, got it?”

  “It’s the way we learn to ride,” he said calmly. “If you’d wanted help, you could’ve asked.”

  She sneered at him. “I shouldn’t have to! But go ahead; enjoy your butt-headed animals. Just don’t expect me to get back on one. From now on, I walk.” She stalked
off.

  The lake was sparkling and beautiful in the light of the lowering sun. With a tired sigh, she sat down and tunneled her hands through her hair. She remembered why she didn’t like the great outdoors; bugs, dirt and unfriendly animals, some of which were human.

  Sort of.

  Weary to her core, she rested her elbows on her bent knees and stared at the sand under her feet. How had this day gone downhill so fast? This morning had been heaven; the afternoon, hell. What had changed?

  Tears pooled in her eyes, and she angrily swiped them away. She was within sight of the camp, and she wasn’t about to let anyone see her cry, especially not him.

  The first man to go down to the lake and casually strip shocked her. Gape mouthed, she stared as he whisked off his belt and blithely discarded his pants. Face burning, she looked away. She’d forgotten what Jasmine had said about the Haunt’s disregard for nudity.

  Unwilling to hang around and watch, she rose and moved into the woods where she couldn’t see. It would have been nice to wash, but she would have felt awkward even with a company of women. No way was she going to wash surrounded by naked men.

  A large redwood provided a good screen between her and the men, and she leaned gratefully against it. Maybe she could get a basin of water and clean up here in the trees.

  The squawk of her baby griffin, which she hadn’t seen all day—he’d been riding in the wagon with her grandmother—alerted her to Mathin’s presence.

  “I thought you might like to see him,” he said quietly.

  She accepted her pet without looking at Mathin. “Hello, Lionheart. Miss me?” She half-heartedly scratched behind his ear.

  “He’s not the only one.”

  “Go away, Mathin.” She turned aside.

  He moved around until he was in front of her. “All men are taught to ride this way. We don’t care to have others watching our mistakes.”

  “Maybe you’d make less of them if you had a little help.”

  Exasperated, he took a deep breath. “Stags are nothing like horses, Andrea. If I interfered, your mount would never respect you. Bloodlight nearly killed two Haunt and tried his best to trample me before he acknowledged me as master. The animal I gave you is as tame as they come. He’s obnoxious, but not bloodthirsty. You aren’t in mortal danger.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want to learn to ride it. I’d rather walk!”

  There was only one cure for her defeatist attitude. “I never thought you were weak.”

  She gasped and rounded on him. “How dare you! It wasn’t my idea to come to your stupid planet in the first place.” She swatted a bug unwise enough to land on her cheek. “Look at this place! It’s barely civilized. I should have run back while I had the chance.”

  In a low, ominous tone, he told her, “We all have regrets.” He turned and walked away.

  She watched him go. Had he meant what she thought he’d meant? Had this morning cured his burning desire for her? Had he found her somehow deficient?

  It was the bugs that finally drove her back to the wagon. Not very hungry, she grabbed a single meat roll and retreated under the wagon canopy with her grandmother.

  “Rough day?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” She took a huge bite of roll to preclude conversation.

  “Shouldn’t you be sleeping with Mathin?”

  “No.”

  Nonplused, Matilda pursed her lips. “That’s not a good idea.”

  Determined not to answer, Andrea just kept stuffing her mouth until she was done. “Goodnight, Grandma.”

  It had to be due to the presence of the Haunt, for miraculously that was all her grandmother had to say on the subject. Determined to shut out the whole miserable day, Andrea closed her eyes and named every kind of pie she’d ever heard of until she fell asleep.

  The next day was worse. It rained all day. Buttercup managed to deliberately slip and slide in the mud, flinging muck up at his rider with his agile front paws. Twice he grazed her back with his spiked tail. Finally she’d had enough.

  Leaping down, she grabbed the reins by Buttercup’s muzzle and brandished her knife in his face. “You see this, you stupid beast?” she shouted over the pounding rain. “You pull one more stunt on me and I’m going to castrate you! You ever hear of rocky mountain oysters? Yours are going to be served up on a platter if you don’t knock this crap off.”

  Ignoring the incredulous stares of her escort, she sheathed the knife and remounted.

  Buttercup behaved like an angel for the rest of the day.

  The rain didn’t let up by the time they camped. Wet and miserably cold in spite of her poncho, Andrea crawled, exhausted, into the wagon with Matilda, who’d spent most of the day knitting.

  “You’ll catch pneumonia at this rate,” her grandmother predicted as she changed behind the closed curtains. “You should go sleep with—”

  “I’m f-fine,” Andrea cut her off, her teeth chattering. “You’re just as good.”

  “A scrawny old woman can’t throw off nearly as much body heat as—”

  “I’ll be fine,” Andrea insisted, trying to talk over her objections.

  “A randy young man,” Matilda finished stubbornly, raising her voice. “You married him. You should be sleeping with him.”

  Barely able to censor her words, she said in a low, dangerous tone, “I love you Grandma, but don’t lecture me. I’m a grown woman, and I’ll do what I want. Just because I had the bad sense to stick around here and be taken in by a smooth talking man…” Emotion choked her for a moment. “The only reason I stayed here is for you. Why is a mystery, but I will not be manipulated by you anymore. You want to preach about sins; think of your own first. Now goodnight.”

  Rolling over, she curled into a fetal position under the covers. Maybe now she’d get some peace.

  The wagon cover was thrown open and Mathin stuck his head in. “My bed isn’t in here, wife.” He knew she wasn’t happy with him, but this distance she forced between them did them no good. He wouldn’t allow her to sleep with her grandmother again. The miserable night he’d spent previously had convinced him of that. All night long he’d tossed, wanting her in his arms. His dreams had tormented him further, arousing his desire to a fever pitch and waking him yet unfulfilled. The loneliness was the worst. He’d missed her.

  She would sleep with him tonight.

  Andrea glared at him in the dark. “That’s right, it’s not.”

  “Come here, Andrea.” The tone he used was low, but powerful for all that.

  Reluctantly, she eased out of the blankets and crawled over to him. Instead of helping her down he took her in his arms and carried her the short distance to his tent. Setting her inside, he sealed the door.

  “Get in bed.”

  Had she not been so cold, she would have put up more of a fight. Instead she flung back the cover and got in, determined to remain on the edge of the bed. The rustle of discarded clothing sounded in the dark.

  Naked, he got into bed and immediately pulled her close. Still disgruntled, though his body felt better than she cared to admit, she tried to hold herself away from the hard length poking her in the backside. “Do you mind?”

  He said nothing, but teased up the edge of her nightgown, tracing a pattern on the thigh beneath.

  Remembering his explanations of the Haunt’s acute hearing, she silently, but forcefully, shoved it off. It returned, and proved impossible to remove. Angry at his persistence, she rolled over, the better to use both hands to dissuade him. Instead, he pinned her to her back and slid his hand to the place that was secretly wet and ready for him, and had been from the moment he’d summoned her.

  Andrea gasped as his fingers slid deep, bringing a delight she was helpless to fight. Her hips bucked, ignoring her now faint desire to deny him. His thumb grazed her most sensitive area, wringing a moan from her parted lips.

  “Little liar,” he whispered, and took her mouth with his.

  Their loving was angry and needy,
tender yet fierce. Time and again she had bury her face in his shoulder to muffle her screams of pleasure. If possible, it was even better than the first time.

  He deliberately made it last for a long, long while.

  When they were finished she was naked, sweaty, unable to move. Limp and exhausted, she lay draped over his chest where he’d put her. Though she couldn’t forget her lingering resentment at him, he’d certainly proved she still wanted him. Still, the original problem remained unresolved.

  Mathin stroked her silken back, temporarily sated, but unhappy. She still hadn’t forgiven him. Inexperienced as he was with long term relationships, he also recognized she might be feeling neglected. Sex wouldn’t solve that. Tomorrow he would see what could be done.

  “We’re moving just ahead of the rains,” Mathin explained the next morning. Andrea was seated in front of him on Bloodlight at his insistence. They traveled in the rear of the column for increased privacy. “We won’t have many more sunny days such as this.”

  Dappled sunlight poured through the mixed conifer and leafy trees, which faded as they climbed into the foothills. “The plains—and our lands—begin on the other side of these mountains. The citadel itself is only four days from here, but our holdings continue to the edge of the swamp.”

  She’d been quiet until now, uncertain whether to be pleased he had come for her last night or not. “You’re very casual about owning what is to me a huge amount of land.”

  “We hold it and protect it for the Haunt who live there,” he explained, tucking a strand of her braided hair behind her ear. “In exchange for this we are given certain rights and privileges. The only land we actually claim as our own is all the land around the citadel, within an hour’s ride in any direction.”

  “What rights?”

  “Not enough for the price you pay,” Raziel said. He’d become increasingly grim as their journey continued. Before she could question him further he kicked his stag into a canter and rode ahead.