Teasing Danger Page 5

  She’d have to sleep on it.

  “Of course it would work,” Jasmine insisted. Gravel crunched under her new boots as she followed the path to the stables. This pair was made of a tough black fabric with panels that breathed, and were much better suited to the warm, humid climate than her leather hiking boots. Her brown ponytail swished across the back of her neck and her black T-shirt while she checked out the area, taking mental notes.

  They were speaking in Pig Latin again to ensure their privacy. Acting on a suspicion, Jasmine had subtly tested her Haunt guard’s hearing and found it amazingly acute. She didn’t dare risk whispering as they had yesterday.

  A groom led a haltered riding beast past them, and she saw Wiley raise a bare arm to shade her vision as she eyed the stocky creature with trepidation. The lucky girl had the good fortune to end up in the Haunt world with a tank top. The beast turned too intelligent eyes back at them and stared evilly, snorting in contempt for good measure. It had the body of a horse, but it sported more muscles than a weight lifter. More disturbing, its gray hide was covered with scales, and it had the clubbed tail of a stegosaurus. Rhinoceros-like horns sprouted from its nose.

  She nudged Wiley. “The Arnold Swartznegger of horses.” Wiley’s snort of laughter made her smile as well, and she felt her shoulders relax a bit. They could do this.

  Jayems hadn’t seemed to mind their request for riding lessons. In fact, he’d volunteered himself and Keilor as instructors. Keilor had seemed about to object until he’d noticed Jasmine’s obvious displeasure, at which point he’d graciously agreed.

  The man did love to torment her.

  Jasmine spied a row of tightly capped bottles full of a milky liquid sitting in the sun and hefted one thoughtfully. With a naughty smile she spun it by its neck and launched into the routine from the bar scene of Cocktail.

  Wiley put one hand on her denim covered hip and chuckled as she watched her friend’s antics. “You’re going to break that.”

  She grinned back, passing the bottle behind her back and up over her shoulder. “Never.”

  Wiley snorted and flipped the end of her French braid back over her shoulder. “That’s what you said the time you dropped the shampoo bottle and broke it open all over the kitchen floor. We were skidding across the tile every day for the next three months.”

  “Shoddy craftsmanship,” she retorted, but caught the bottle deftly and studied the cloudy liquid. “What is this stuff, anyway?” She looked up and saw their instructors approaching. Both were dressed for action in the black uniform and laced leather vests of the Haunt guard, but with the addition of red embroidered patches on their left breasts, possibly an indication of rank. The patches looked like Celtic knot work. Jayems also wore a torque around his neck. Of course the tanned skin with a light sprinkling of hair in place of the pelts of the Haunt made an enormous difference in how she saw the package. Jayems’ muscles flexed naturally as he walked, and for a moment Jasmine found herself envying her friend. She looked up and caught Jayems surreptitiously admiring Wiley’s backside. He noticed her noticing and raised a regal brow. What of it?

  She refused to look at Keilor.

  It was Keilor who answered her question. He took the bottle from her hands and considered it thoughtfully. “Partly digested Feeder beetle and browse.” He smiled faintly when Jasmine leaned back in disgust. “For the orphaned young stags.” He nodded his head towards the nearby pen holding three of the young creatures and replaced the bottle with the others.

  “Stags are omnivores,” Jayems explained. Jasmine noticed that he stood just close enough to Wiley to make her friend fidget, but not close enough to excuse her from seeming rude if she moved away. The fact that Wiley was fidgeting and not freezing made her frown. She almost acted as if....

  “They nurse at birth, but as they grow, they need more nourishment than milk provides. Gradually their mothers wean them onto regurgitated browse and prey...” Jasmine gagged, and even Wiley made a sound of disgust, “until they are old enough to find and digest their own food,” he finished wryly.

  Jasmine, always the one with the weak stomach, looked at the stags with something close to horror and spoke before she thought. “And we have to ride these things?” She grunted when Wiley jabbed her hard in the ribs with her elbow.

  “You need the exercise.” Wiley told her, giving her a significant look. “You wouldn’t want to lose the little muscle that you’ve got, would you?”

  Jasmine bristled. “Just because I can’t run triathalons doesn’t mean I’m not in shape. I work out.”

  Wiley snorted. “Sweating to the Oldies doesn’t count,” she said contemptuously. She regularly won triathalons, and she could be a bit of a prig about physical fitness. Unfortunately, she’d also decided to make keeping Jasmine in shape her life’s work, in spite of Jasmine’s exertional asthma and the fact that Jasmine could care less about clogged arteries or decaying bone density. It made for some frustrating moments.

  “I never—” Jasmine protested hotly, but Jayems cleared his throat, cutting her off.

  “Ladies,” he interjected, looping his arm through Wiley’s with smooth finesse, much to her consternation. He made a sweeping gesture with the other. “Adventure awaits.”

  Keilor reflected wryly that he was hanging himself with his own rope. Proximity to the Sylph was what he needed to avoid, yet where was she? Nestled between his thighs and teasing him with her sweet little body and her luscious scent.

  Not that she’d wanted to be there. It had taken some well chosen baiting on Rihlia’s part and a flat refusal on Jayems’ to ride with anyone other than Rihlia to get her into the double saddle at all.

  He poked her. “Stop slouching and straighten your back. The stag won’t respect a spineless rider.” She obeyed him, but persisted in leaning forward to avoid body contact. He sighed in frustration and pulled her back flush to his chest with a small jerk, holding her shoulders to keep her there. “Unless you’re racing, you must sit straight in the saddle. You’ll never have a proper seat otherwise, and the ride will be uncomfortable.” He released her, and she silently did as he instructed. If her muscles got any stiffer, though, he’d be able to take her off the stag and use her for a poker. With that in mind, he began to massage her shoulders. She hunched them, trying to discourage him, but he persisted, and slowly she relaxed. “Better,” he told her. “A relaxed body will obey you better and help to keep your mount calm.”

  As they continued down the deserted sunny road in the opposite direction from the gate site, her continued silence began to annoy him, and at last he asked, “Are you sulking because we’re nowhere near the hot spot or because you can’t shove me off this stag and trample me?”

  Her answer, when it came, was not what he’d been expecting.

  Jasmine turned her head to look at him. “Why do you make her stay here?” she asked quietly. “I don’t understand.” They both looked to where Jayems and Rihlia rode, several lengths ahead.

  Keilor had seen Jasmine display many emotions, but this aching quiet stirred an answering sympathy in him. But more, he felt the need to comfort, and he hadn’t felt such tender emotion in a long time. It was something to ponder at another time, but for now... “Do you know anything of your family?” he asked gently, aware that the subject was likely painful for her.

  She shrugged, but her voice was harsh. “Sure. My mother was an exotic dancer and my father was some Joe Blow off the street. A married guy with three kids she’d met at a party. He owned a used car dealership. What about it?”

  He paused a moment, taken aback by her revelation. “You met them?” he asked tentatively, almost dreading her answer.

  “My mother,” she paused and then admitted with great reluctance, "When she was drunk, before she died, she used to rant on about how I’d ruined her life.” She was silent a moment. “It was a lot more pleasant when she was stoned. Then she just ignored me.” At his questioning look, her cynical smile slipped back into place. “That means ‘
drugged’, for you.”

  What could he say to such a revelation? Would she even accept comfort from him? He cleared his throat. “It wasn’t like that for Rihlia. She was the baby of the family, and very spoiled. Jayems and I adored her from the moment we saw her. She was terribly charming, and very bossy.”

  Jasmine shook her head and said in faint amusement, “I’m sure.”

  He shifted in the saddle, getting more comfortable, and went on. “The day she disappeared, we were all frantic. Jayems would not sleep for two days. In spite of the best efforts of the Haunt elite, we could find no trace of her. I didn’t see a smile cross Jayems’ face for months afterward.”

  Jasmine’s voice was heavy. “That little girl grew up, Keilor. She’s not the same person.”

  He stopped the stag. Splaying his fingers against her jaw, he gently turned her head to look up at him, leaning to the side so she could see him clearly. He held her eyes, letting her see how he felt. “She deserves the chance to find out for herself exactly what she is, don’t you think?” He could sense her weakening, so he pushed harder. “Her family loves her and wants her, Jasmine. Give her the opportunity to learn that. Jayems will never let her go while she still thinks we threw her away.” He released her and set the stag in motion, giving her a chance to think, glad that he’d been able to explain to her how they felt.

  He’d deliberately misled her a bit. Jayems would never let Rihlia go, regardless, but he knew if he’d said as much he might have closed her mind to everything he’d been trying to tell her. At least this way they had the chance of winning her as a powerful ally in the battle for Rihlia’s heart. If she chose, Jasmine could single-handedly win half the war, and he wasn’t going to be squeamish about using her to do so.

  He looked again at Jayems and Rihlia. More than one heart hung in the balance.

  Jasmine couldn’t sleep for a long time that night. She kept analyzing every nuance of her conversation with Keilor that afternoon. Everything kept coming back to his eyes, and the way he’d looked when he’d said that Wiley’s family wanted her. Earnest. Sincere. But what was best for Wiley? Was she running away because she thought they’d abandoned her?

  With an annoyed grunt, she tossed off the covers and got dressed. She really shouldn’t have taken that nap earlier in the afternoon, but there was no help for it now.

  She opened her door and immediately the two Haunt turned to look at her. She gave them both a rather sick smile. She still wasn’t used to having werewolves guarding her door. “Can’t sleep,” she explained apologetically. Dang, but she must be crazy to want to wander around in the dark with these two. “Um, is there any reason I can’t take a walk out here?” When they glanced at each other but made no move to stop her, she eased out of her room and shut the door.

  To the left were Wiley and Jayems’ rooms. To the right, the great unknown. She chose the right. In no particular hurry, she meandered at a thoughtful pace down the well lit stone hall, aimlessly watching the patterns on the parquet flooring. Her guard trailed behind, allowing her privacy. There was something to be said for silence, she decided.

  She’d only been walking along for a couple of minutes when she was startled into looking up. Another silent Haunt with the same insignia she’d noticed on Keilor and Jayems earlier blocked her path, and he seemed to have business with her. Uneasy, she looked to her own guard, only to see him salute the newcomer with a fist over his heart and a slight bow. He gave her a slight nod as well and then returned the way he’d come. Bewildered, she considered the Haunt in front of her. A replacement?

  Deciding to test her theory, she took a step forward as if she intended to go around him and he fell into step with her. Relieved, she continued with her walk, gradually relaxing as he did nothing but accompany her. As she relaxed, her steps slowed down and she settled back into an aimless meander.

  The hallway opened up unto the head of a broad staircase leading to an inner courtyard, and she stared in awe at the view of the triple moons and scattered stars. Slowly she sank down to absorb the scent studded night while her guard settled himself unobtrusively against the wall. After a time, curiosity got to her.

  “You guys don’t talk much, do you?” she joked softly, loathe to break the serenity of the night. To her surprise, the Haunt answered her in the sign language she’d seen the guards use. When she continued to watch him curiously, he repeated himself slowly, fingers to chest, an inclination of his head and then fingers to lips.

  “You do talk?” she guessed, intrigued. Hm. This could be fun. Maybe these guys weren’t too bad after all. She eyed him warily, deciding to accord him a healthy respect, just in case. She gestured to the stair just above her, but he didn’t move. Frowning, she chewed the inside of her bottom lip. “You’re on duty?” He inclined his head again and she relaxed, leaning back against the wall and hugging her knees. Touching the spot over her heart, she asked, “The patch, is it an indication of rank?” One nod. “Are you higher ranking than the last guy?” Yes.

  Well now, this wasn’t so bad. As long as she asked yes or no questions, they’d get along just fine. Scratching her jaw, she stifled a yawn. “Are there Haunt women? I guess there are, but all I’ve seen are guards. Not that I’ve seen a lot of this place. Are you married?” He started slightly, but slowly shook his head. “Me neither. It’s got its advantages, though. There’s something to be said for only answering to myself. Though sometimes...” she trailed off. Her bones started to grate through the padding of her muscles against the hard step and she shifted.

  The Haunt was an indistinct outline even in the moon flooded night, and she squinted, trying to see him better. “You see better than I do at night, don’t you? And hear better?” He affirmed it, and she considered the matter further. “And your sense of smell...is it much better than mine?” Yes. “As good as a dog’s?” This time, when he agreed with her, she shivered, reminded of their differences. What else might be alien between them? Her toes curled. “Are you stronger than humans, faster? Is that why all the Haunt are guards?” He stared at her, and in the moonlight his eyes reflected red.

  She shut up, and it was a long time before she got up the nerve to move.

  Jasmine slapped a deck of homemade cards on the table and a gold-chased crystal decanter of butterscotch cream liquor. “Prepare to lose, Wiley. I’m feeling lucky tonight.”

  “Ha!” Wiley plunked down a drawstring bag full of little snail shells and a platter of raw vegetables arranged around a hollowed red pepper filled with creamy dip. “You, my friend, are going down.”

  Jasmine made a face at the platter and got up to rummage in the pantry of the suite Wiley shared with Jayems. Emerging triumphant with a jar of olives and a jar of chocolate candies, she packed them to the dining table and then went back to search the cold pantry for some cold cuts or sausage. Already she missed cheese.

  “What are you doing?” Jayems asked as he entered the kitchen with Keilor and Knightin in tow. For some reason, Wiley colored.

  “Poker,” Jasmine supplied, clamping a bottle of fiery mustard under one arm and returning to the table, a large sausage and a plate and knife filling her hands. She set those down and went back to reconnoiter the kitchen cupboards.

  “What are you doing, Jas, preparing to feed an army?” Wiley asked, leaning one hand on the table and resting the other on her hip. “Keep this up and there won’t be room to play.”

  “Nag, nag, nag,” Jasmine muttered, her voice muffled in the depths of the cupboard, blissfully unaware of the two sets of interested male eyes wandering over her black clad derriere. Twin fires sparked in Knightin and Keilor’s eyes as she bumped her head on something and wriggled.

  Knightin came to his senses first and jerked his eyes away in annoyance. “On second thought, Jayems, I’ll pass on that drink. I just remembered that I have some things to deal with before morning. Good evening.” Keilor barely spared him a glance before returning to savor the view. Lust fogged his vision as he inhaled her scent. Assaulted
from two directions, it was all he could do not to act on the fantasy playing out in his head.

  In his mind, they were alone, and he knelt behind her, reaching around to unfasten her pants while he licked his way down her lower spine, which was left bare by the high cut scarlet overnji. After the first shock of surprise, she welcomed his touch, sighing approvingly as he slowly lowered the fabric, baring that luscious behind and kissing—

  Fingers snapped in front of his face and he blinked at the unwelcome intrusion.

  “Your eyes were glazed, my friend,” Jayems told him dryly.

  Jasmine emerged with a package of savory rye chips, which she poured into a pieced wooden bowl. Munching on a handful, she took the bowl with her and settled into a chair. “Your deal,” she told Wiley, leaning back in her chair. Glancing at the watching men she said briskly, “This is not a spectator sport, gentlemen. Play or get lost.”

  Jayems frowned with annoyance, but before he could remind her that she was in his kitchen, not hers, Wiley said, “Quit trying to rob them, Jas. You know they’d end up without a penny to their names.” She poured a splash of liquor into two glasses, adding an extra splash in one of them.

  Leering, Jasmine reminded her, “They use gold and silver here, remember?” She eyed the men calculatingly. “I think we ought to let them play, if they provide their own ante.”

  “Ante?” Keilor asked, drifting closer and snagging a chip.

  “Money, honey,” Jasmine supplied, taking the glass with the least amount of liquor. “You’ll also have to supply your own booze. I don’t think there’s enough here to put us all under the table.”

  “There isn’t enough there to put one of me ‘under the table’.” Keilor said with disdain, and went in search of something stronger.

  “We wager with real money while you use snails?” Jayems asked with a scowl, pulling out a chair.