The Guardian (14 page)

He fought a longing to pull her close and feel the power of that grin against his own lips.

When she remained pensively silent, he asked, “Where am I?”

“My grandmother's house. This is my old bedroom.” She forced him to swallow more of the horrible brew. “Kinda crazy, huh?”

“Beats the bedroom—” He caught himself before he said
we.
Then he continued, “I had as a kid.”

“Bad?”

“Try
Bleak House
with all the Dickens gloom thrown in.”

“Oh, that bad.”

“Yeah, for some reason my uncle liked to turn the heat off in my bedroom when I broke his rules. I learned quickly that clothes work great as a blanket. Hanging them back up in the morning before he found them was a bitch, though.”

“I'm sorry.” Her eyes softened with compassion.

Stephen had never told anyone about his dark hell. He couldn't believe he'd just confided something so intimate.

At his silence, she said, “I should be thanking you for saving my life.”

“Does this mean you're in my debt?” He touched her hand and felt it trembling. He ran his thumb along her palm.

A tiny shiver went up her arm.

He knew he could easily have her again. “If so,” he said, “I can think of some ways—”

“I'll be sure to save your life one day,” she blurted, jerking her hand back. She quickly changed the subject. “Now that you've done your duty, I want you to leave. It's not safe being around me. And I have Meikoda and the elders. I don't need you now.”

But he needed
her
to rescue his brothers, so he said, “I can't leave you until you gain your powers, Fala.”

“Please, you almost died because of me.”

“I'd do it again, too.” He wasn't just telling her what
she wanted to hear. He meant every word. If he could find some other way out of this, he would. Rather than take her life, he'd gladly give his own. He'd walk through fire to save her. But there was no way out of this. He hated that he'd have to betray her in the worst and most perfidious way. The sensation of a battalion of feet trudged on him, crushed his chest. He grasped her hand again and felt a shiver quake through her.

Her bottom lip trembled the slightest bit, and he saw her chewing on the inside of her cheek to hold back tears. She cared for him. He could see that and it touched him, and he hated the feeling.

“I'm not leaving you, Fala. Not until you have your full powers.”

“How can I convince you?”

“You can't.”

“Then I can't be held responsible for your life.” The anguish cut through her words and she pulled her hand away.

He felt the loss of its warmth and said, “It's my life, my job and my decision.”

She brooded for a full five minutes, countless expressions flitting across her face: anger, fear, irritation, concern, resignation and something he couldn't identify, but it made her eyes turn boundless-sky blue.

Finally she said, “I hope you're feeling better?”

“That depends on you.”

“Don't put that on me, too.” She avoided his gaze, her expression withdrawn.

Her reluctance made him want to force a response from her. He pulled his arms free of the quilts, grabbed the empty cup and tossed it on the bedside stand, then
he reached for her. He pulled her close, not caring about the pain in his side. All his thoughts were on kissing her and bending her to his will.

“I shouldn't. I can't…” She gave a soft gasp of protest and remained half in the rocker and half in his arms. But she didn't pull away.

The moment her lips met his, Stephen moaned from the pure pleasure of the contact. Toothpaste and the sugary, cinnamony flavor of a sweet roll lingered on her lips. God, she tasted good.

She sighed and relaxed into the kiss, opening for him and allowing him to explore her mouth. She grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled his face closer, deepening the kiss.

Stephen groaned, his own need for her a sickness that he didn't know how to cure. He gave into it and pulled her toward the bed.

They both heard echoing footsteps pounding down the hall.

Fala jerked away.

Stephen felt the loss of her mouth and warmth as he watched her spine stiffen in the rocker, striking an innocent pose, though her lips were swollen from his kiss.

Takala appeared in the doorway. If Norse goddesses hadn't left the earth a long time ago, she'd still be a prime example of one. Her face was shaped like Fala's, but that was where the similarity ended. Takala was fairer and definitely six feet tall or taller. She wore jeans, a green sweater that brought out the dual colors of her eyes, and a suede vest with beaded fringe. Silver and turquoise bracelets crawled up her wrists almost to her elbows and
looked like manacles. And her eyes spat at him, loaded for trouble.

“Oh, I see he's finally awake,” Takala said, not pleased at all at the outcome.

Fala leaped up, stepping in between him and Takala. She put her hands on her hips and faced her sister. “I need to talk to you in the kitchen.” She gestured at the door. “Let's go.”

“Not until I speak to lover boy here.”

Animosity crackled in the air between the two women and they looked ready to spring on each other.

Stephen spoke in a hurry. “It's okay, Fala.”

“See, he wants to talk to me.”

Fala eyed her sister with hesitancy a few moments longer, then said, “Okay, but keep it short. He's still not well.”

“Oh, I won't hurt him,” Takala purred. She grinned at him, showing all her teeth.

“See that you don't.”

She prowled around Fala and stepped up to the bed, towering over Stephen. She was almost as pretty as Fala on the outside, but on the inside they were like night and day. Boundless compassion and love mixed with warrior to form a perfect triad in Fala. Takala, he sensed, was a feline hurricane on the inside: helter-skelter, ravenous, a tempest just waiting to crush anyone who stood in her way.

“I've just got one thing to say to you.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “As soon as you're well enough to travel, you're out of here.”

Stephen knew arguing with Fala's sister would be unproductive. He'd stay, even if he had to fake weakness.
He couldn't leave. So he just nodded and said, “Very well.”

“And stay away from Fala. She's getting married, and neither you nor anyone else will stop it this time. I'll see to that.” Takala turned and flounced out of the room.

Fala lost the last hold on her patience and called at her sister's back, “The kitchen, Takala! Now!”

“Meet you there, sis, if you can leave him that long.”

“Ooooooh! I'll be back.” Fala stomped after her sister.

Stephen was almost glad he'd been wounded. He didn't want to be anywhere near those two when the fireworks started.

Marriage.
Takala's word tolled in his mind now. A prick of jealousy made him frown. He didn't want her with Akando. He didn't want her with any man, but…

No. He wouldn't let the
me
word enter his head. It was a dangerous weakness. But, damn it, it was true! He wanted her for himself.

It dawned on him if he saved his brothers, no one would have her. The abrasion the medallion had left over his heart smarted. He rubbed the raw spot and winced.

F
ala reached the kitchen half a second after Takala. Nina stood near the coffeepot, pouring the hot brew into a cup while nibbling on a sweet roll. The pandas on her flannel pajamas danced and swayed as she moved. Meikoda stood at the counter, making bread, flour painting her arms all the way to her elbows. The white powder dotted the A-line blue jean skirt hanging around her sturdy hips and denim shirt. Fuzzy pink slippers covered her feet. They both turned when Fala stomped toward Takala.

“How dare you!” Fala said.

“What did I do?”

“For one thing, you've bullied me for the last time.”

“I'm just—”

“Oh, you're
just
looking out for Akando. We all know that. You accuse me of falling for Stephen—”

“Stephen.”
Takala rolled her eyes as if the name appalled her.

“That's right. Stephen. He saved my life; naturally I feel grateful. I'm willing to admit it. But you—you're desperately in love with Akando—”

“Am not.”

“Then why did you call him and tell him about Stephen, and that I was here last night?”

“He had a right to know.”

“Where is your loyalty, Takala? What are you, his spy now? You told him I cared for Stephen. How could you?”

“It's the truth, isn't it?”

Angry tears burned Fala's eyes. For a moment she battled Takala's gaze. She couldn't admit to herself how she felt about Stephen, not now. Maybe after she was married for a few years, she might. But not now. So she said, “I know a lot of truths about you, Takala, but I'd never betray you that way.”

Takala faltered, her lower lip trembled. She gave all the appearance of brash confidence at times, but Fala knew Takala was one of the most insecure people she'd ever met, and it showed at the moment.

Takala caught her lack of confidence and tamped it back down, lashing out again. “But you'd betray Akando by allowing yourself to care for someone else.”

“I know what I have to do,” Fala ground out. She knew she'd never love Akando; he was too overconfident and vain and just plain bossy. She'd marry him because he was her chosen mate, but that didn't mean she had to like it. If she didn't marry him he would die within twenty-four hours of her receiving her powers. She knew
her duty. She wished Takala would stop punishing her by throwing it in her face. “Don't keep pushing it,” she said. “You're making it that much harder for me. Search your own heart. Tell Akando how you feel. Maybe you can get over it and get off my back.”

Takala trembled, fists clenching and unclenching, seething, holding back rage, insecurity, and most of all anger with herself. Finally she said, “Fine, fine, fine. I won't talk to Akando anymore. And if you don't marry him, it's not my problem.”

“It never was your problem. It's
my
problem.”

“Fine! Keep it! I'm going to work.”

“You're not going to Richmond alone.” Meikoda turned an imposing eye on Takala. “Not after Tumseneha attacked Fala. And don't think for one moment I don't know you two went to see your sister.” She waved an oaken hand at Nina, whose shoulders shrunk around her coffee cup. If it had been big enough she would have crawled in and hidden inside.

“We only went to see if she needed our help.”

“You cannot solve everyone's problems, Takala, while putting your own life in danger and that of your sister. It is commendable wanting to help Fala, but did you do it for Fala or for Akando?”

Takala's chest puffed up with indignation. “I did it for Fala.”

Meikoda shook her head. “You forget to whom you are speaking, Granddaughter.” She raised the wrinkles around her eyes and the striking blue in them shot piercing rays directly at Takala.

Takala caved beneath the harsh gaze and looked down at the table.

“Your heart grasps at something it cannot have, Takala. Come to terms with it, then purge it. Go to the sweat cave. You'll find solace there.”

Takala wanted to argue. Denial and rebellion flared her nostrils, turned her pupils to pinpoints, tightened every muscle in her body. But she knew better than to disobey Meikoda.

“Fine.” Takala marched past the table, almost hitting a chair, then down the hall to her room. The door slammed, rattling the windowpanes throughout the house.

Takala and Nina still lived at home, mostly to take care of Meikoda in her advanced years. But Fala had a feeling Meikoda was doing most of the caretaking.

Meikoda glared at the space Takala had just left. “That girl. She'll pay for my door if she broke it.”

Nina said, “I think this is going to destroy her.”

Meikoda brushed her hands together, knocking off the flour. “It will take more than love to harm Takala. Her heart is strong.” Meikoda raised a critical eye at Fala and said, “She is a survivor.”

Nina shook her head as if gathering her patience and her endless capacity to forgive and forget. “I'll go talk to her.” She turned to her grandmother. “May I go with her to the sweat cave?”

“Yes, but let her fight her own demons.”

Nina nodded that she understood, then gave Fala a sympathetic blink of her eyes as she left the kitchen.

Meikoda turned back to her bread dough. Her knotted hands dipped into an old wooden bowl and swished the ingredients with years of adept proficiency. In seconds a dough formed. “So our visitor is awake?” Meikoda asked. “The herbs have done him some good.”

“Yes,” Fala said, still smarting from Meikoda's insinuation that she had a weak heart.

Meikoda surprised Fala by saying, “He should have a good breakfast. Poach him an egg on toast and make strong black coffee. It will do him good.”

Was this her way of saying she was forgiving Fala for not obeying her, for the attack and for putting another innocent's life in danger? They both knew it all could have been avoided if Fala hadn't rebelled and made a life for herself away from the reservation. Meikoda would never have come right out and said
I told you so,
but she had clever little ways of letting you know she was older and wiser and knew what was best for all concerned. Was she finally letting up? Fala hoped so.

Meikoda slapped a damp dish towel over the bowl and said, “We should invite Akando over for dinner tonight. Heal the wounds Takala inflicted.”

Fala read the subtext: not Takala's wounds but the ones Fala had inflicted. The small hope Fala held went the way of the wind. She forced herself to say, “Yes, Elisi, you're right.”

But her heart wasn't in the words, it wasn't anywhere near Akando. It was back in her bedroom, back with that kiss she'd just shared with Stephen. Her body trembled just from her remembering it. It should never have happened. She groaned inwardly.

 

Stephen lay in bed and noticed it was five o'clock. Already darkness crept past the one window in the room, turning the yellow curtains to drab gold.

He could hear the clank of pans and dishes in the kitchen, and the feminine chatter of Fala and Nina
and the old Whitemag. Memories of the coven and the women and men sharing in the kitchen chores haunted him. As a boy, he took comfort in the sound, listening to his mother and father joining in the preparation. All children old enough helped, including Stephen and his brothers. He liked most when they all sat at a huge table for meals. But after his parents' death, his uncle took over the island coven, and it all changed. Meals became a punishment because his uncle forced Stephen to eat next to him. Stephen could hardly swallow and hide his hatred for his warlock guardian. And he could never tell the other coven members of his uncle's abuse, because his uncle had brainwashed them. And if they did help Stephen, he feared his uncle would kill them.

Stephen closed his eyes to shut the memory out. Fala instantly appeared in his mind. He could see her in the kitchen peeling potatoes, pushing back the dark hair that had escaped her ponytail with her elbow. Her gorgeous face was so drawn and sad he wanted to kiss her again and see her smile at him as she had after they'd made love. He wanted to watch her glow again.

She'd been avoiding him. She hadn't come in to see him in hours. Her manner had turned so cold and distant after he'd kissed her and Takala had barged in on them. Fala had even sent Nina in to hand him a towel and toothbrush and ask if he needed help taking a bath. He liked Nina better than Takala, though he had felt her powers trying to enter his mind, which was blocked by the binding spell. He had sensed the goodness in her heart that allowed her to be easily manipulated. Too bad Takala and Fala weren't as malleable. If Fala had offered to help him bathe, he would have accepted in a heartbeat.
But he had managed to hobble to the shower with Nina's help. He might have teleported but for the wound in his side. For that, he needed his body healed and whole. The bathroom chore wore him out. He'd gone back to bed and napped. And the same nightmare of his brothers and Fala drowning kept waking him. He still hadn't been able to decide whom he'd save.

His brows furrowed at the thought and he could see the kitchen again. The old woman was making iced tea, while Nina set the table, her small, delicate hands adjusting the silverware. Thankfully Takala wasn't there.

He didn't much care for Takala after their first face-to-face. He knew the feeling was mutual. A few hours ago, she had left the house in search of some place called the sweat cave. He had a vague recollection of being there, but it was fuzzy, the memory clouded by agonizing pain, chanting voices and a sensation as if his soul were under siege and the spell protecting him was pulling him apart. Thankfully it had stayed intact under the white-magic onslaught. He hoped Takala didn't return home. He didn't need an added complication in the mix.

Even without Takala around, Fala was doing a damn good job of ignoring him. He couldn't lose what little ground he gained with her. No, he wasn't about to stay stuck in this shoe-box-size bedroom and let her forget what had happened between them. He couldn't afford to waste one minute.

He grimaced as he shoved back the covers. The pain in his side throbbed, but he'd felt worse at his uncle's hand. He pulled on his jeans and a clean, oversize pink T-shirt Nina had left for him to wear after his bath. The words
“Animals have feelings, too” were silk-screened across the chest. A collage of every kind of animal imaginable, sharing a group hug, filled the front of the shirt. Too girly-girl for him, but he didn't have a choice. His shirt had been shredded. He pulled a quilt off the bed just so he could appear more ill than he felt, then he shuffle-limped down the hall, the hardwood floor cold against his bare feet.

When he reached the kitchen, his gaze found Fala instantly. She had her back to him. The shirttail of a brown flannel shirt just touched her bottom. A pair of brown corduroy hip-huggers displayed the luscious rounded curves of her buttocks. An ache for her went straight to his chest and made him realize just how much he'd missed her in the few short hours she had been ignoring him. And he couldn't forget that last kiss they'd shared. It had aroused every sexual nerve in his body.

His gaze dropped to the pant cuffs that she'd rolled over her tennis shoes, and he knew she must be wearing Takala's pants. He wondered what Fala would look like in the rest of her sister's clothes.

Something about being in the kitchen and watching Fala cooking with her grandmother and sister made him feel at ease, more at ease than he'd felt in a long while, and he relaxed back against the wall, enjoying the domestic scene.

All three women felt his presence at once and turned their gazes on him. A blast of blue came at him full force, mostly from the old woman's eyes.

Fala didn't look at all pleased to see him. She shook a potato and a peeler at him as she demanded, “What are you doing out of bed?”

He thought fast and said, “I was thirsty.”

Fala turned to Nina. “Didn't you leave him a pitcher of ice water?”

“Yes, and the apple cider, too.” Nina pursed her lips at Stephen for getting her in trouble.

“Not a big cider fan.” He gave his best impression of a contrite look, then shifted his gaze back to Fala.

Her distant, cold sapphire gleam made him want to throw her over his shoulder, carry her back to bed with him, and ravish her until she bestowed that sensual satisfied smile on him again.

Instead, he pulled out a table chair. The movement shot a twinge up his side and he grimaced as he said, “Thank you, I think I will sit.”

Fala said, “Now you're in pain. That was a stupid thing to do, walking all the way in here for a soda. Why didn't you just call out?”

“I didn't want to burden anyone.”

The old Whitemag harrumphed under her breath and a wry smile twitched one side of her pruned mouth.

“Go back to bed at once.” Fala slammed the peeler on the counter and wiped her hands down an apron.

He found himself dreaming about her naked with only the apron on as he said, “I came to see how you liked my fashion sense.” He opened the quilt and displayed Nina's T-shirt.

Nina burst out laughing.

The old lady actually grinned.

Fala's lips stretched as she held back a smile. “You know you look ridiculous.” She studied him, her expression growing thoughtful, as if she couldn't figure out why his manner had changed so drastically.

“I don't know. I kinda like getting in touch with my feminine side.”

Nina giggled again and said, “You have to admit, Fala, it looks better on him than it did on me.”

This teased a smile from Fala that touched her eyes and made her face glow with beauty. “I don't know. I think it suits him. Pink is your color.”

Stephen saw Fala's eyes warm and just having her grace him with a smile sent a warm current through his body.

“You don't mind if I hang around, do you?” he asked. “It was lonely back there in the bedroom.”