“I have many sisters. Ten, actually.”
“Ten!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “How blessed your mother is. Are any of them Chosen?”
“Uh …” Lasher glanced up at Kith briefly, but then thought better of it. Since Kith wished his sister and the rest of the Chosen Ones to go off-world, he was about to quickly learn how it would affect his innocent sibling. “No. We don’t have Chosen Ones where we come from.”
“That is unfortunate,” she said, actually reaching to pat his hand in sympathy. “But it is common. Only, imagine all those girls! Are you the only boy?” she asked curiously.
Lasher smiled, trying to remember the last time he had been referred to as a boy. “I am one of three brothers.”
“My. A magnificent family!” The soldier didn’t miss the wistfulness in her tone as she sighed gustily and smiled with a delight that must have made her cheek muscles ache.
“Umm … is there anything I can help you with here?” Lasher hinted, gesturing to Bronse hopefully.
Ophelia held her index finger out to him.
“Masin?”
“Yes?”
She then cocked a questioning brow and pointed to herself, a small smile tugging at her lips. Lasher almost fell over in the dirt. She had gotten him once again, the sly little minx! Had he thought her shy?
“Healer,” he responded obediently, feeling she deserved her full victory. He did burst out laughing, feeling far easier than he had the entire day. “My apologies. You will let me know though?” She nodded with a smile. “How old are you?” he asked, realizing that she was no child, but a young woman at least, for all she looked like a child with that fine bone structure.
“I am sixteen years.”
Yes. Kith had said as much. Lasher frowned, worrying suddenly about other things Kith had said about what would happen to this girl if they were left unprotected in the temple.
He was silenced by that grim thought for several minutes, but roused himself when Ophelia finally moved from her delicate kneeling pose. She leaned forward and sniffed daintily over Bronse. She nodded, seeming satisfied, just as a low sound roused out of the commander. Lasher watched carefully as the blond girl reached out to gently brush her hand over Bronse’s face, a soothing gesture that made him stir all the more.
“Ravenna …” Bronse said with a harsh rasp.
“She is safe,” Ophelia said softly, beating Lasher to the punch. Ophelia’s hand drifted down to her patient’s chest. She looked with consternation at the device assisting the commander’s breathing, and then tried to pull it off. Lasher’s hand shot out to grab her wrist, stopping her. The action elicited a simultaneous forward movement from the young males, but Masin ignored them. He did gentle his touch, though, realizing that he had scared her.
“Don’t. It’s helping him breathe. You can’t take it off that way.”
“Remove it for me then,” she said, using a haughty tone to cover her disquiet. It was a poor attempt because he felt her shaking right through her delicate little wrist.
Lasher wanted to argue the wisdom, but, as she had tried to pound into his head rather gently on two occasions now, she was the healer here. Besides, the device could be replaced if she found herself in over her head. He turned off the assist and it popped easily into his hand.
Bronse immediately began to labor for breath.
The pixie was calm as she moved her wrist back, only to lay her palm along the length of Bronse’s breastbone. Slowly she moved her hand over his skin, sliding it to the left, seeking slowly. Then, just at the curve around to his back, she stopped.
She took a breath and closed her eyes.
Lasher didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t the sudden flare of blue light erupting from the small hand. “What the hell?” he exclaimed, hearing the sentiment echoed by Ender, who hurried over to see and possibly protect their commander. She ignored their reactions and kept her eyes closed.
Ophelia turned all of her thoughts toward the injury she had sensed inside this man. There were many injuries, but this was by far the worst. She let the light of her soul escape her body through her palm, and it entered the severe wound. It was, she acknowledged, a wound he had sustained while rescuing her beloved sister and brother. This meant the world to her, and she allowed her gratitude to flow out of her heart so it could add to the energy of her power. An umbilical formed between herself and her patient, a link between spiritual selves. Bronse stopped struggling for breath, stopped feeling pain, and no longer thrashed with worry for Ravenna and his men. The men were, she recognized, his most serious responsibility. Their safety meant everything to him. He was a very foreign being, she realized as they shared spiritual space, but in this regard they were similar.
She had not known many men, and certainly not men like this. She had been brought to the temple at a very young age. She had hardly known her father. Kith, Domino, and Fallon were the only males whom she knew with any form of intimacy. The men who came for healing … well, it was a brief visitation, and their souls all seemed very much the same.
She liked Bronse’s spirit. He was strong and sure. He had a sense of responsibility and determination that reminded her of Ravenna’s. He had a large appetite for things that were wild and exciting, and had heavy expectations of those around him. He was not one to settle for less. He was kinder and gentler than he realized, and he was not afraid to feel fear. He embraced it, learned from it, and felt that it made him grow. There was so much richness to his personality and being that Ophelia wished she could lose herself within him. But that, she knew, was not her place.
It was, she thought with pleasant surprise, Ravenna’s place.
Or at least it had a great potential to be. This soldier felt very strongly for her elder sister, though he was not yet reconciled to the feelings. Since he was inherently a good man, Ophelia approved heartily. He was quite compatible with Ravenna in essentials.
His violent lifestyle would be an issue, however.
Lasher watched with awe as the magical little creature sighed so deeply that he felt the warmth of her breath even across Bronse’s prone body. He had followed the progress of the electric blue light that had spread out from the contact point of Ophelia’s hand until it had encompassed every inch of Bronse’s skin. Now that blue light was retracting back, rolling up Bronse’s body like a reeled-in fishing line, until only her hand glowed once more. Then a smaller sigh, and she let go of him.
“Just give him a—”
She broke off, and only Lasher’s quick reflexes kept her from taking a header across Bronse’s body. He grabbed her up by both forearms as she weaved and wobbled on her knees. She was shaking like a Kanji puff-junkie.
“—minute,” she finished breathlessly.
Lasher’s eyes darted up to the three men who knew her, the beginnings of irritation settling along the ridge of his spine for some reason, and he wished he could figure out why.
“That happens to her when someone is hurting really bad. He’ll be up real soon now, though,” Fallon said, giving a shrug of careless explanation.
Yes, Lasher thought, that’s all well and good, but what about Ophelia? They didn’t seem to care that she was falling over like a drunkard. None had even twitched to help her. It made no sense. They didn’t like it when he touched her, flaring up protectively, but they were willing to let her drop exhausted to the ground?
“You should take away Rave’s drugs,” Ophelia informed him, sounding tired and exceedingly weak.
“Maybe you ought to rest for a little while,” he argued, swinging himself over Bronse so he was on her side of him, leaning her against his chest.
“No. I only need the time it will take for the drugs to wear off.”
And just like that a puzzle piece clicked into place. Ophelia couldn’t heal someone who was drugged. Was it because she would be affected by the drugs, he wondered. It was hard to tell, but it was very clear that she had to avoid the “pollution” of narcotics in order to perfo
rm her magic.
And magic it was, he realized a minute later.
Bronse Chapel flew awake and sat up at full alert.
And, it seemed, full health.
Almost.
“You must be easy,” Ophelia warned. “Your healed tissues are still young and therefore vulnerable. It will take time to fully strengthen them. You will also experience a little weakness for the next two days.”
Bronse looked at the small woman who sat practically in his second’s lap. He was feeling perplexed and disoriented. The last thing he remembered was a devastating impact, and that was the end of it. Looking down at his clothes and the bloody bandages still covering him, it looked like he should be grateful for that lack of memory. Then the young girl in Lasher’s care reached over and gently took away the bandages that were apparently no longer needed. As noted, the skin that had filled in the wounds was sensitive pink tissue. Long furrows of newly healed claw marks glared back at him through his torn pants and over his bare shoulders and chest. He shucked off what remained of his Skintex shirt and then turned to lean over Ravenna when he noticed that she was lying by his side.
She quickly began to stir after her narc patch was removed, but Lasher left her to Bronse. He resisted letting Ophelia go to her right away. Lasher explained that it would take a few minutes for the drugs to be fully purged, and she was better off resting. Ophelia seemed satisfied with that and laid her head against his shoulder, her cheek against his heart. She was so small, so light, Lasher marveled, that he wondered if she was even really there.
When Ravenna opened her eyes, it was to see Bronse leaning over her with an off-kilter smile and a broadly bare chest that was as darkly tanned as she was. The sight was enough to keep her pain at bay, a narcotic all its own. She smiled at him, allowing her eyes to roam over him slowly. He had the lightest dusting of dark curls on his chest in a soft swath between two dark nipples, the curls drawing to a faint point by the time they reached his solar plexus. After that a light line led to his navel. Below that the hairs curled a little darker and thicker as they guided her eyes down to the waistband of his pants, a mysterious tease to points beyond.
He also had quite a few scars, she realized as she backtracked to the strange array of white markings that stood out from his tan. Then she recognized the familiar pink of newly healed flesh as only Ophelia could manage it, and she gasped when it registered that the markings came together to make deep gouges that were clearly claw marks. She sat up into his arms, her hands flying to his shoulders and chest, covering the wounds in the exact position they had been received.
Even though her contact was a stroke of dismay, her touch sparked instant awareness. Bronse was getting used to it happening, but he would never overcome the sheer power of it. No matter how simple, the brush of her hands had the capacity to floor him. The sleeves of his shirt were so big on her that they had shimmied down to her elbows, baring her forearms. As her hands and forearms lay against his bare skin, he could feel her heat and softness.
“Bronse,” she whispered with shock, the narcotics in her system making her voice low and husky. “What happened?”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you. An accident that is over now.”
“But …” She looked him over more closely, warm topaz eyes drifting down his body with what felt like unending thoroughness before she cried out with horrified dismay. “Great gods, your legs!” Her hands fell to the rents in the fabric of his pants, her warm fingers unerringly slipping into them to touch the newly healed gouges. Her fingers slid against his new and sensitive skin with the smoothness of silk on silk. Bronse felt every nerve in his body suddenly firing to attention, the fine hairs on his legs prickling with greed, yearning to be the next to bask beneath her touch. The sensation shivered up his legs and settled hot and low in his tightening groin. Just like that, like magic, he’d woken to confusion and a blur of memory, only to be plunged into a clarity of consciousness reserved only for her, and his reaction to her.
Bronse turned his head to the right, away from the audience watching them, as he bore her unwittingly intimate caresses. She searched his skin with concern so thoroughly that he thought he would crush her elbows where he’d caught them in his hands. She certainly didn’t act as though she felt the increasing pressure of his squeezing. Then again, she was only half roused from sleep herself, drugs still swimming within her. Great Being, if he had any sense, any decency, he would remind himself of that fact and a thousand other reasons why he should stop acting like a hormonal teenager around her.
But oh, to be eighteen years again, if this fast and ferocious firing of the nerves and speeding of the heart were part and parcel of it. However, he remembered eighteen, and as wild a ride as it had been, he had never experienced anything like this. Of that much he was entirely certain. If it had all felt like this, he’d never have done a single useful thing in his whole damn life. Heaven knows he hadn’t taken a clear step since the first time he’d come into contact with the breathtaking Ravenna.
Finally, Bronse turned his head to brush a kiss against her near cheek, and then let his lips brush her ear.
“Ravenna, sweet, I am well. But …” He exhaled harshly, his breath hot against her ear. “Ravenna, your touch, as innocently meant as it is, is driving me crazy,” he confessed.
Ravenna’s fingers stilled suddenly, and he had to smile when he felt her cheek flare with heat against his.
“I—I’m so sorry,” she stammered, a tremble traveling the length of her arms to her fingers and into his skin. He bit back a groan as her fingers curled up and slid slowly away. She self-consciously tucked her clasped hands between her knees, which she clutched together with equal tightness.
“Don’t apologize. It’s simply neither the time nor the place for me to enjoy what you do to me. It will be different when we’re safe and alone, okay?”
He heard her breath catch, then release with an excited shudder. She nodded eagerly, and he closed his eyes as he realized that she’d just admitted to being as aware of him as he was of her. He’d suspected as much. He had felt it in that dream. But reality … oh, it was so different. So much better. Reality made his heart pound with the thrill of anticipation, made his arms and legs flush with life and heat, and made him throb with a deep sexual pulse that spoke of cravings for surcease in a hot, wet haven that would draw him in tight and sweet.
Ravenna released a gasping breath as her weakened barriers and dizzying heartbeat opened her up to a sudden premonition. Instead of fading gently into the images as usual, she was sucked in, slammed against them. She was thrown down, her rich hair flying loose back over sheets and pillows, hair still damp from a recent washing because she could smell the scent of her shampoo.
Hands. Roughly calloused but sliding gently over her skin in spite of their need. Her naked skin. She was begging. Pleading with tears of agonizing need.
Hold on to me, sweetheart, and then let go.
She heard wanton cries and recognized them as her own. Felt her hands gliding over steely muscle, hardened flesh. The taste of salt and musk swept over her tongue.
Ravenna came back to Bronse’s arms and the forest around them with a shuddering breath, her topaz eyes disappearing under the black dilation of her pupils even as she met his gaze and realized that she had never actually left his arms. Those calloused hands held her even now, his muscled body resting like unyielding steel against her. She was breathing so fast that she was panting, and she felt and heard a soft, wild sound vibrating out of him as he shook her.
“Stop!” he hissed hotly. “Stop looking at me like that or I swear to the Great Being I will forget everything and answer the pleas I see in those bewitching eyes of yours!”
“I …”
“And don’t you apologize to me again, damn it!”
“No. I wasn’t. I saw … a vision.”
Bronse sighed raggedly. “I don’t think I can handle any more doom and gloom right now, Ravenna.”
“No. It was not
… it was not a bad vision,” she said breathlessly, her fingers scrabbling up absently to grasp his shoulders. “It was about us. It was you … and me. You were touching me. Bronse …”
“Sweet holy heaven,” Bronse uttered achingly when he suddenly realized what she was saying to him.
A vision. The future.
About us, she had said.
Farther off, Domino snorted in disgust.
“What?” Kith asked.
“You don’t want to know,” Domino countered.
“I asked, didn’t I?”
Domino gave Kith an appraising look. Kith was five years Domino’s junior, and it made all the difference in the world, in his opinion. Who could suspect that five years made the difference between a young male and an adult man. He suspected that Kith would react all wrong if he told him what he wanted to know.
Domino shrugged. It wasn’t his problem, he supposed.
“That one … the one whispering to Rave?” Domino indicated.
“Chapel,” Kith said with clear derision. “Yeah?”
“He wants her, you know. So badly he can barely think straight. Right now, all he can think about is getting her alone so he can explore their chemistry.”
“Is that true?” Kith demanded of Fallon, turning sharply to the younger man.
“How should I know? I don’t read people’s minds all the time and stick my nose in their business,” Fallon said pointedly, giving Domino a disdainful look.
“I didn’t nose in. He’s so hot for her right now, he’s projecting. I can feel his lust without even trying. And hers, too, I might add,” he said, trying not to grin as he waited for Kith’s explosion.
Kith whipped to face Domino, a low sound much like a growl rumbling out of him with the buildup of his rage. “How dare you talk about her like that!”
“Relax, Kith,” Domino said dryly, sighing as if he was bored. “Your sister is a grown woman. If she wants to have sex with all of these guys, who are we to say anything about it?”
“I’m her brother!” he roared.