Heartmate (25 page)

T'Ash overtook Tinne and ran past him. A wild shriek came from his right. Zanth.

“The gang has Danith.”

“Who, Holly?” called T'Ash over his shoulder.

The young man grimaced. “Whitey Hawthorn. He can't ever keep up with me, and T'Hawthorn is envious of T'Holly's influence—”

T'Ash cut him off with a wave. “Purple and white, Zanth. Look for purple and white. Find her. Give me an image, and I'll 'port.”

The Fam sprang forward, lengthening his stride, stretching out his body in full as he ran. His muscular hindquarters bunched with effort. He disappeared in seconds.

T'Ash ran, aware of Tinne behind him, also aware of his fading strength. He had undergone Passage this night, and used most of his reserves of Flair in fashioning a new HeartGift and marriage armbands.

Instead of being able to weld a golden net of protection and send it to cover her, he could only mutter prayers with each pounding stride.

As the minutes stretched out, he fought fear that would spark his berserker nature.

Zanth's triumphant cry!

Sounds of human pain.

A distorted image from Zanth's point of view.

T'Ash stopped, sucked in air, 'ported.

Into the middle of a crowd of young men.

He pulled his blaser, thumbed it on stun and whirled in a circle. The youths screamed and toppled into heaps.

Silkeen gleamed in the nightpole light. Zanth jumped on the teenagers, prodding them.

Scuffling noises from about a block away.

A cry of pain. Swearing.

A slap.

A whimper, female.

“Danith!” Finally able to see the shadowy figures, T'Ash pursued a pack of raggedly dressed young men who threaded through the streets, then took to alleys.

He knew this area, it bordered on Downwind. He knew it all too well. He 'ported to behind the young men, caught them in an alley with a low wall at the end.

When they faced him, his swordblade rippled silver.

“Lord and Lady,” one breathed.

T'Ash's teeth bared in a fighting grin. His sword point made small circles in the air, challenging them.

“Come to me,” he crooned. “Who wants to fight T'Ash?”

“T'Ash!” A large boy let go of a squirming bundle. Then fell as one delicate, bare foot swept his legs from under him.

Another youth jumped to the two.

T'Ash and Zanth snarled together.

“Touch her and you die.”

The teenagers froze. One stepped back and held up his hands. He jerked his gaze to his other two cohorts. “Is T'Ash, recognize voice. Downwinders know Zanth.”

The boy on the ground crawled away from Danith.

The ringleader licked his lips. “Ah, T'Ash. A pretty lady. Took from stupid nobles. Ransom?”

“Don't pay for my lady. Kill for her.”

“I go,” the leader said, hands still high. He glanced at the end of the alley and saw Zanth crouched on the wall. The boy sidled carefully past T'Ash.

“Me, too.”

“Me, too.”

Some boys vaulted the wall, escaping the swipe of Zanth's claws, but the Fam chased after them. Others slid along the walls, trying to blend with the dark shadows, slipping past the shining steel sword. T'Ash pivoted to keep them in sight, then watched as they took to their heels and ran back to their Downwind holes.

Sounds of explosions peppered the night air. Fireworks, both mechanical and magical. Discovery Day celebrations had begun. T'Ash flinched as he saw red flare in the direction they came. The holiday was instants old, and the first fire ate at the city.

Danith sat in the cobblestoned alley, rubbing her bruised feet, wondering what to say to her savior. She should have felt gratitude. Perhaps it was there, under the great relief and the festering resentment. She shivered with cold and reaction, all too aware that she only wore the softfleece trous and shirt, both of which had torn in places. There was a rip in her left sleeve above her elbow, and one near her right knee.

T'Ash sheathed his wicked blade with a rasp and walked over to her. She didn't like him towering over her. Before his hand reached her arm to help her up, she scrambled to her feet.

“My lady.”

She sighed. Hiccuped. Hoped that he wouldn't see the tracks of tears from her fear and anger on her face. “Just Miz,” she reminded in a quiet voice.

“No. My lady. My Danith. You all right?” He reached out as if to run his hands down her body to assure she was unharmed.

She stepped back. The last thing in the world she wanted was his hands on her body. She feared what feelings they would stir in her. Now time had passed, she admitted to herself that she had responded wildly to his mental touch. Lady and Lord knew what would happen if the mental became physical.

And he still wasn't what her sensible mind wanted. She tried to smile and managed to quirk a corner of her mouth. “I'm a bit bruised but otherwise fine. I got caught between two rowdy bunches of boys, is all.” She shivered. “They were surprised to see me. They weren't ready to quit roaming the streets, and I don't think any of them exactly knew what they were going to do with me.”

His eyes narrowed as he examined her slowly up and down. “Sure you don't need a Healer?”

Danith thought of the supercilious man who had treated her before and didn't want a repeat of the experience. “No, thank you.”

“I follow your wish.” His voice was just tender enough to make her weak, make her want to walk into arms she was sure would close strong and hard around her. She glanced at his face, but it didn't seem as if he expected the words of gratitude that she couldn't give him. She adjusted the clothes twisted around her.

“My fault,” he said with self-directed anger. “My fault you're bruised. I will—”

“No.” It was her turn to deny his words. She straightened her spine. “I was the one who 'ported to your home on a wave of anger. I left your Residence without thought of the consequences, again in anger. My mistakes, not yours. I thank you for your help.” There, she'd gotten her tongue around the words.

He met her gaze steadily. “I'll protect you. You trust me for that? To get us home safely?”

Evading the intensity in his eyes and his Downwind shortspeech was impossible for Danith. And she literally felt the emotional waves of his sincerity. He'd said he'd kill for her, and abruptly she knew it was the simple truth. She shivered, then jerked her head in a nod.

He glanced up the alley. The night was alive with noise. Strident yells of roving men—nobles and Downwind bands—small explosions of personal fireworks, the clash of blades in a fight or two, even the sizzle of blasers. Danith shivered again. She'd rarely been in this area during the day, never at night.

She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I'm lost.”

He gave her a dark, brooding gaze. “I'm not.” Once more he looked over her head. This time she turned around, only to see red reflected off of low gray clouds. A line of fire.

He stiffened, and for the first time she noted that he wore form-fitting leather trous and a vest that did not cover his muscular chest. She pushed away the attraction.

“I must ask you to teleport us back.” She hated doing that, being dependant on him. But though she'd teleported instinctively in anger, she didn't
know
the real spell to do it cool-headed.

Now his jaw clenched. “I can't. I've used too much power and Flair this evening. I have no reserves.”

“I see.” She did—the white line around his lips, the underlying pallor of his olive complexion, how he moved with conscious grace instead of the easy predatory suppleness innate to him.

He looked at her again, then the fire again. His mouth compressed. “Don't like fire.”

Danith licked her lips, wanting to comfort him as much as she wanted to hit him for all the emotional ups and downs he'd put her through in the last few days. But he'd also let her realize her innermost desire, she now knew she had Flair. And he saved her from an unknown fate.

Again she thought of account ledgers, and though he was still in the red, his unthreatening manner soothed her. “If you know a way back to my house, we can go the long way around, not near the fire.”

“Yes,” he said softly, and held out one large hand.

She hesitated. She didn't want to take it, but his expression told her that he expected her to reject him, and she couldn't refuse. She placed her hand in his.

His large, calloused fingers closed over hers, gently. With the lightest of pressures he guided her down the alley. She hurried by his side. He shortened his stride and slowed his pace.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

They walked a few moments.

“Where are all the men and women?” Danith asked.

T'Ash studied her. She saw phantoms in his gaze. “The men are at the bonfires between Downwind and uptown, drinking and taking sex. Or lighting other fires. The women and girls are drinking or taking sex behind locked doors and barred windows. This night, at least, only the boys roam.”

He shifted his shoulders as if to rid himself of memories and cleared his throat. “Do you know of HeartMates?”

She flinched.

His hand tightened a little over hers.

“Only what I've heard, or read in tales,” she said.

“My parents were HeartMates.”

That explained why he accepted the whole matter so easily. But she didn't accept it. Perhaps she never would. She tried to bolster some indifference to him. Why did her anger always fade at the slightest show of tenderness from him?

“You believe in HeartMates, then.” She glanced up to see his jaw flex.

“Yes. And you do not. You don't believe in much, do you?”

“Wrong. I believe in what life has taught me, and much of that is good, but you must remember I am simply a commoner. HeartMates and HeartGifts and Flair are all too new to accept unthinkingly. I may hold different beliefs than you, but I'm willing to bet that my outlook is far less cynical than yours.”

His fingers tightened a bit around her hand. “I grew up Downwind.” His chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. He slanted her a look. “The HeartBond brings intimate knowledge. Not only joining the bodies, but the minds and souls. Each knows dreams and hopes—and fears and regrets.”

Wariness crept up her spine. She didn't want this conversation. She was tired of dealing with new concepts that changed her life in a moment. “So?”

“Tonight. Passage,” he reverted again to Downwind speech.

Danith sighed. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Tonight. . . .”

He ducked into a door alcove, and with one smooth pull of his arm, had her against his strong body. She pressed her palms against his chest.

Slowly he lifted his hand and touched her hair, then smoothed it lingeringly back from her face, his fingers tangling in it and following it down to the ends, causing delightful sensations in her scalp.

She watched his eyes darken, but he made no move to kiss her.

“Earlier. I—ah—was caught in a dreamquest.”

She blinked. A dreamquest? Something no one of her acquaintance had experienced.

“I . . . reached. You came. We . . . met. Not done on purpose, not.” He stopped, and when he spoke again, his tone sounded more cultured, as if he mastered his Downwind tongue. “I did not willfully mentally seduce you. We came together because we belong together.”

“I don't want to think of it.”

He laughed shortly. “You never want to think of what I tell you.”

She tapped his chest lightly with a fist, scowling. “Do you realize my entire life has changed in the last few days? Do you know how hard that is—”

“I know.” He pulled her body closer, and she sensed that it was not desire that motivated him, but fear. He didn't want her passion, but her comfort. She looked up. His expression was stark.

“I know. Nobody better. At six my Residence was destroyed in a firebombspell. My Family perished. I escaped, survived, in Downwind. It is difficult when life changes so rapidly, but one survives. I did. You will.”

“Six!” How terrible. Her hands went to his large shoulders and began stroking them in compassion.

Both his arms wrapped around her, and she placed her head against his chest. His heartbeat was fast but steady.

“One survives,” he repeated, whispering. “Downwind, time to adjust and think things through is a deadly luxury. You have to act, and act fast and right. I'm used to that. Holm Holly says I push, but it is difficult for me not to do so.”

They stood there for a moment, silent.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

“Because you know I have Downwind roots. You need to know why. I was born noble, and have reclaimed my status, but I grew up Downwind.”

T'Ash looked down at her lovely face, felt the heat and desire building once again between them, but he needed to focus on her mind, not her body. The night's events and the conversations between him and his lady had been a balancing act. How much to reveal and still hide his deficiencies.

In the short time of contemplation in the HouseHeart after the wringing Passage, he'd understood that to have his magnificent future with his HeartMate, he'd have to share some of his emotions. This wasn't a comfortable notion, and now he tried to limit the disclosures. He wanted to tell her enough to make her sympathetic, to touch that generous heart of hers, but nothing that would make her retreat.