Heart Secret (35 page)

“Oh.” It was a soft exclamation. “I know where that is, one of the enclosed gardens with a minor Healing pool. It's rectangular. We like the curved ones better, and the major pool is a series of curves.”

“This garden and pool is on the estate?” If it wasn't often visited by the Mugwort Family, that was all to the good.

“Yes.” She laughed quietly. “But it won't be the amber color of the sun. Not tonight.”

“No.” A thought occurred. “What of the sacred grove that was included in the mural on TQ's wall that I liked so much?”

She dipped her head. “Yes. We have several groves here, the main Healing Grove, of course, close to the primary Healing pools, and, um, three groves we use for rituals. The most sacred grove is the farthest from the House, near the southwest corner of the estate and the southern door.”

He gave up the idea of making love with her there. Too damn far. He could barely think and talk and walk at the same time and was holding on to the threads of his control.

“What about the garden in my dreams? How, uh, close is it?” Again he thought of the vision, yeah, there was groomed grass there, good enough for nice loving. If the damn vision was true. He had no doubt he and Artemisia would make this place their own. He hurried the pace a little, hoping they were going in the right direction. They'd been walking diagonally from the House, southeast.

She tugged on his arm and he followed her turn to the north. “That hidden garden is between the House and the herbal stillroom building.”

“Close?” He slowed his steps so he could bend his head to hers, brush his lips against her temple, breathe in the fragrance of her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Artemisia knew what would happen, that she and her HeartMate were heading toward sex. Quivers slipped along her nerves, her nipples tightened, her palms dampened, and so did her core.

He wanted her, probably as much as she wanted him. His need was a fire along their bond, a red orange ravaging hot passion.

She liked it and enjoyed knowing that the desire was for her and matched her own. She could see the faint sheen of perspiration on his cheek, on his neck, and his chest revealed by the V of his loose tunic-robe. He smelled good, the best male smell that she'd ever experienced.

She withdrew her arm from where he had it clamped against his side and took his hand. As she did she thought she heard a catch of his breath and maybe a small groan, which had her wetting her lips in anticipation.

Yes, she wanted this and wanted him.

He'd hurt his body to find her and come to her.

He'd bared his emotions earlier in the day to show his most inner self to her, reveal all his doubts and fears and faults.

She had plenty of those herself, but it was time to set the emotional aside and let the physical rule.

They paused at the gates of the garden, rusted open as he'd seen in his dream, and she squeezed his hand as she led him through, wondering why it was this place that he'd seen instead of anywhere else on the estate.

The pool gleamed in the twinmoonslight. She'd no sooner stepped on the thick turf than he dropped her hand and turned to her.

His face was taut with desire, his gaze intense, with dilated eyes. They stood looking at each other, then he touched the tabs at the top of her shoulders and her robe fell in silver waves at her feet. He stared at her, and his eyes fired, his chest rose and fell with ragged breathing. All combined to spin lust thick enough in the air to envelope them.

“I'm finally here,” he said. “With you. And you are so beautiful.”

Thirty-four

H
e reached out and touched her above her heart, and the brush of his
fingers on her breast had her nipples aching. She couldn't bear it, needed more of his hands on her, and her hands on him.

She stepped toward him, swayed closer as his wide and callused palm pressed against her breast, slid her fingers down the front overlap of his tunic, and opened it. More of his scent came to her, musky, tempting. She swallowed and tasted sweet desire.

Her hands flattened on the hard musculature of his chest, his hair teasing her sensitive palms. “I'm not the only beautiful one here,” she said and heard her voice low and panting. She touched the waistband of his trous and they fell away, too, revealing his thick sex hard and ready. Her core clenched, and this time she whimpered. “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

And he stepped from his trous, lifted her easily, and she was spun and placed supine on the dense grass, and the fragrance of crushed herbs imbued the night.

He knelt beside her and she focused on the strong, angular lines of his face. Lifting a hand he stroked her cheek and his wide mouth smiled. “Artemisia.” Her name sounded soft and lyrical, she'd never forget that, and no one else would say it as well as he. Her heart pounded.

Then his face came close and his mouth pressed against hers, his tongue feathered along her lips, and she opened her mouth to him. Opened all of herself to him, the bond between them wide, wide and nothing but need.

Her fingers went to his face, traced the angle of his jaw. Such a dear face, she hadn't known how much she'd wanted to touch it and kept her hands there.

His hands curved over her shoulders, then stroked down her, caressing her breasts, rubbing lightly over her muscles until all of her ached and strained. And his tongue plunged into her mouth, probed, tangled with hers until the taste of him dizzied her with yearning.

He spread his fingers around her hips, swept his thumbs up and down on her stomach, and again a whimper broke from her. She arched into his touch, pulled her mouth away to beg, “Please. Please.”

Nodding seriously, he brushed her swollen lips with his thumb. “I will please you. You and myself.”

His breath trembled out of him and she was glad to see that. Her body clenched as he moved his fingers to cup her butt and squeezed.

Thinking sieved away, replaced by sensation. She let her hands slide down his strong neck, along the utterly male broadness of his shoulders.

And he was moving over her and between her legs and was a dark shadow against the bright sky as if he were a black nebula himself, full of awesome power.

His hips moved as he found her entrance and steadily surged in. She gasped at the luscious friction, the feeling of fullness, of completion.
Yes!

Her hands went to his back, her fingertips pressing into the deep ridge along his spine. So big. So muscled. Just wonderful. She wrapped her legs around his hips, moaned at the fabulous sensation. Heated sexuality bound them tight, their hearts beating fast together, their lungs pumping hard.

She strove for the orgasm, but it was just beyond her reach without one . . . more . . . movement. Her gaze went to his and locked.

The world fell away. There was only him and her, only the savoring of the keen edge of passion. Loving that would slice deep but bind them together, not cleave them apart.

He reached out with shaking fingers and slipped them into her hair. “Soft. All of you. Silky.” He closed his eyes and his jaw clenched and his hips rocked and it was good enough for her to moan again, beg again, “Please.”

His chest expanded and she heard his breath. She
needed.
She would
get.
His back was damp as her hands massaged up it. His nostrils pinched. She touched his nape and was rewarded with another stroking, another stoking of her lust. Almost, almost.

She moved her fingers to the front of his shoulders, and trailed her nails down the front of him, scraping at his nipples.

He yelled and his hips pistoned and she grabbed on for the ride, the heat, the spiraling pleasure surging, surging, bursting until she exploded like a sun herself.

He moaned long and low, breath rattling, and they rolled and him inside her was fabulous. She saw the curled golden bond, the HeartBond, stopped herself from reaching for it, from trying to tie them together forever. Her deepest self needed for him to offer the bond. She would not.

And he stopped groaning and his arms fell away from her and she rested on his chest, on his body, such a man's body that she'd never had before. Incredible, the strength of him.

She heard the rustle of sound as he reached for something, then felt the exquisite glide of silkeen on her skin as he draped her robe over her. He kissed her head. “Sleep.” He sighed.

So she did.

*  *  *

S
omething tugged his hair, and he opened his eyes to see two masked
raccoons snuffling at him. A feeling of doom engulfed him. Only the fact that sharp wild animal teeth were near his face. Only that. Not another foreshadowing. He didn't want another forewarning.

He sat up and the larger raccoon squeaked and retreated under a bush. In the lightening sky of dawn, her bright eyes gleamed as she watched him.

The other, smaller one scampered around him to the far side of Artemisia. He and his lover—his lover! his HeartMate—had been sleeping side-by-side.

I AM RANDA MUGWORT AND I AM THE FAMRACCOON TO MY FAMWOMAN, ARTEMISIA!
she shouted mentally as if he were mind deaf. She sat back, her long forepaws clasped together.

“I hear you fine.” His own voice rasped. He rubbed the back of his neck where the feeling of dread had lodged, ready to slither down his spine.

My FamWoman said my dam and I had to talk to you.
Randa's glance darted to the larger one under the bush.
About the big red anger who killed the man and hurt me.
Randa trembled with fear.

Garrett wanted to stroke her but knew that wouldn't be allowed.

We are here. Also, my dam found a piece of the bad thing and hid it.

“The knife sheath?” He formed the image in his mind and projected it to both raccoons. The elder one yipped.

Artemisia snuffled beside him, rose to an elbow, and the movement attracted his gaze to her full breasts. His mouth watered and he suppressed the stirring of his body. Not right now. Dammit, he had to deal with skittish raccoons and murder right now, not sweet loving.

“Artemisia!” called Quina Mugwort.

Expression confused, Artemisia sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. “Wha'?”

“Artemisia! Primary HealingHall has scried and needs you there to start a shift ASAP!”

“Hell,” she grumbled. She turned to Garrett, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a satisfying kiss that included sweeps of her tongue and a good squeeze. “Later.” She stood, bent, and picked up her robe. “I'm 'porting to my room,” she called to her mother, then disappeared.

The rustling march of footsteps kept coming in his direction. “Hell,” he muttered himself, hopped to his feet. The older raccoon shrieked and shot through the gate. Didn't want to be trapped. Garrett ran to the pool and dove in to clean off sex. It was cold. Colder than any Healing pool had a right to be. More like a damn cold plunge pool. He'd never liked those. But he didn't have a problem with arousal anymore.

Artemisia's mother strode through the rusted gate and looked at him in the pool, the heap of his clothes. She was carrying folded cloth. “Artemisia isn't here,” she said.

Pretty obvious, and, crap, he wasn't staying in the damn pool, shriveling his balls. The grass and herbal groundcover might show loving, but he wouldn't smell of it anymore.

“No, she teleported to her room when you yelled about the shift at Primary HealingHall.” He swam to the rounded steps in the corner and slogged up and out.

A triumphant smile lurked at the corners of the Healer's eyes. She held out her arms with the bundle, saying, “Here are your trous and a good, sturdy shirt.”

She hadn't bothered to bring a towel. Good thing it was high summer. He took the clothes from her and pulled them on. “Thanks.” He grabbed his liners and boots and put them on, too.

“You're welcome.”

She didn't really mean that.

Randa loped up and pawed at his boots, leaving scratches; he was glad he didn't mind that sort of thing, either.

“Oh.” Quina stepped back. “I didn't see you, Randa.”

Garrett picked the raccoon up; her fur was thicker, seemed more layered than a cat's, and not as soft. He cradled her in the elbow of his arm.

FamMan needs to talk to me about the big red anger,
Randa said, then hid her pointed nose and muzzle between his arm and side.

“She seems to trust you,” Quina said thoughtfully.

“I'm a trustworthy guy.”

“Hmm.” Now she looked him up and down again. “Maybe.” But her mouth pinched under lines.

My mother is running, running, running. We need to catch up!
Randa said.

“I'll leave you to your business.” He gave a half bow.

“You really are my Artemisia's HeartMate?”

“I really am.”

Quina Mugwort swallowed. “She does not have a HeartGift to give you. Due to the extremities of our scandal, that was taken from her, her Passages were rushed.” The woman looked at him, eyes tearful. “She should have been a FirstLevel Healer, but rushed Passages constrain that.”

“What!”

Tears slid down Quina's face. She didn't wipe them away but gestured as if wiping the past away. “It's done and can't be undone, best not to brood on it.”

As he had brooded on the past, and Artemisia hadn't. Ire lit within him. What had her parents been doing that they couldn't give Artemisia a good environment to experience her Passages? He'd find out.

He petted Randa. “I need to go now.” Courtesy was pulled from him to this woman much like his HeartMate. “Merry meet.”

“And merry part.”

“And merry meet again.” He walked from the hidden garden.
Is your dam still on the estate?
he asked Randa.

Yes, she doesn't want to go back out into the world.

The world was a fascinating place. He'd go mad if he stayed within these walls as the elder Mugworts had done.

Tell your dam to find a place she feels safe to talk.
That was how he always proceeded when recruiting Fam ferals.

As he strode the path to the main Healing pool, the sun rose and a multilayered chorus of birdcall sounded. Night-blooming flowers closed as he walked, and others opened.

Sometimes paths twisted and turned into overgrowth or animal trails, sometimes they were well-worn. Occasionally he'd find himself on a rise with a panorama before him—the city walls, a glimpse of the large curvy pool set in rich moss and grass framed by trellises and arbors.

His body moved well, each strand of muscle, each tendon, felt healthy. A weight had lifted from his emotions. He'd accepted that he had a HeartMate, had joined with her, and was on the way to truly loving her for just who she was. Serene, strong, generous, courageous.

Then the simple fact about the murder that he'd missed slid into his mind on an arc of brilliance and he knew who the killer was . . . could even guess why.

He'd need proof: whatever he could glean from the raccoons, and the knife sheath.

Soon he sat on a bench under a tree, addressing the raccoon above him.

“I must know more about the person who killed the human in Apollopa Park where you denned, if you saw the murderer, or were there at the time.”

Yess,
came a mental hiss.
I was there. Watched prey killed, watched human dance, saw cat watch. We all did.

“All your family?”

Yes. He I mated with has forgot. I remember.

“I'm sorry, but I do need you to tell me every detail.” He stretched, loosening muscles that had tightened into near battle readiness.

Randa sat next to him on a wooden bench, warm in the sun. He stroked her, picked her up, and held her so she was level with his eyes. She had no fear of him.

“You saw, too?”

She bobbed her head, gave a little shudder in his hands.
Yes.

Glancing up at the raccoon, he said, “Part of my Flair is being able to merge my mind with a Fam's.” Not that he did it often. He much preferred speaking telepathically; often that was challenge enough.

“I am asking Randa to let me see and experience what she did when the murder took place.”

Randa shuddered and he rumbled a soothing noise. “I will help her remember. Then I would like to try the same with you.”

The mother raccoon stared at Garrett.
Will you hold me, too?

He didn't know if she wanted or feared that. “It's best if I have a physical connection. I could hold you, or one of your paws, or you could put your paw on the back of my hand. You can run if you need to, I promise, and my word is good.”