The Shimmering Page 4
“Don’t look him in the eye or he’ll slice you in half.” Fexel clutched her arm, her obvious fear giving strength to her trembling grasp. “It’s time. Be brave. Maglek, your dear father, would want that.”
Sandra didn’t know how to interpret the things she’d heard. If whoever was coming was a murderer, why wasn’t he locked up? And why did she need to be brave? Couldn’t Maglek protect her? Or was Maglek dead? From Fexel’s icy demeanor, she’d concluded the woman wouldn’t help her. Sandra’s throat closed, and her heart pounded in time to the staccato beat of the drums.
Soon, she would meet—him.
FEXEL DREW HER along a tiled hall through an arched doorway. The orange sun was setting in a dun-colored sky. Already two of the planet’s three moons rose to her left. A wall of fierce thunderclouds scudded away in the distance, the previous rainstorm leaving behind an electric excitement in the air. But it was the procession down the dirt street lined with glass buildings and milling crowds that drew Sandra’s gaze.
Kangaroo-like animals, gangras, about the size and color of elephants, hopped in giant leaps down the street and shook the ground in thunderous waves. Dust swirled. The hind limbs of the gangras were greatly enlarged, and the crowd gave the lethal tails extra room. The first gangra in the herd carried a midnight blue banner that hung limp in the still air. When the animal bounded closer, she could see an odd harness with reins leading downward without any sign of a rider or a saddle on its sloping back. Could the him everyone so feared be this giant kangaroo demanding human sacrifice? Was this creature the reason Lira had fled her body?
Sandra reached for her shoulder bag and recorder to take notes, then remembered her strange journey. She wasn’t on assignment, and she couldn’t leap to conclusions. Studying the animal’s wild brown eyes, she couldn’t discern any hint of intelligence and that alarmed her more than the gangra’s bared teeth, or its alert ears, which pivoted back and forth in response to the jeering shouts of the crowd.
The drum roll increased in tempo and volume. Fexel squeezed Sandra’s arm tight, but whether to hold her up, encourage her, or prevent her from running, Sandra didn’t know.
Once the group stopped before the gangras, Fexel fell back, leaving Sandra to face Lira’s fate alone. One of the gangras fed on some giant leafy trees. Sandra took small comfort in confirming that the big animals were vegetarian. At least she wasn’t their supper.
When rope ladders unfurled from the animals’ pouches, and two men of military bearing climbed down, Sandra fought against dropping her lower jaw in surprise. Relief washed through her that she had to deal with only the men—not a beast.
Pulling back to give the newcomers a wide berth, the crowd hushed and many dropped to their knees and touched their foreheads, lips, and chests with their hands, their faces rigid with terror. Sandra’s gaze darted to one of the military men, then to the other, and suddenly she had no doubt who he was. His name traveled through the masses like a dirge.
“Daveck.”
The crowd’s whispers escalated to an angry cacophony that clashed with the ominous beat of the drums, vibrated the glass houses along the street, and blared Daveck’s name across the village. Fear hung in the air as thick as the cloying dust, and Sandra was no more immune to the threat he emanated than were the others.
Overhead a green bird cawed, circled, and swooped down to hide in a kaydon tree. At the same time the sun plummeted below the horizon and the drums ceased, leaving the town in eerie, heart-thudding silence. Mouth dry, hands shaking, Sandra waited.
Where minutes before the sky had been clear, now violet lightning sizzled as if to announce Daveck’s presence. Thick sapphire storm clouds scudded overhead, and the wind bellowed like a huge, injured beast. Her clothes caught in the gusts and Sandra swallowed hard, wondering what this man wanted from her.
She had no doubt he’d demand something. She recognized his aura of power from history books more than personal experience. He reminded her of Churchill, Roosevelt, Patton. He carried himself with an Alexander the Great attitude that suggested he expected immediate obedience. And while she realized it would be foolish to challenge him before she’d taken his measure and learned why they were all here, she was determined to set the tone that Lira was no pushover, either.
Recalling that she wanted to help Lira, Sandra lifted her chin, squared her shoulders. And willed her knees not to shake as she spied the wicked sword sheathed at his side.
Daveck strode toward her in clothes of deep midnight blue so dark he might have worn black. He didn’t look left or right, nor did he wait for his men. He advanced alone, seemingly unconcerned by the crowd’s fear or hostility. A hood hid his face and a long cape cloaked his powerful physique. However, clothing could not disguise his height or the way his crackling vitality transfixed the crowd.
Waiting for Daveck to near, Sandra wondered if Lira had ever met this man. Although she had no idea if he was enemy, friend, or brother, he was a man—and she tried to take courage from the idea it would be better to deal with him than one of those gigantic gangra beasts.
Daveck stopped before her, and despite the fact that she stood on a dais on the sidewalk, he was still an inch or two taller than her. Like everyone else on this world, his clothes were immaculate and fit him as if custom made to his powerful frame. There was an intense quality to his stillness, wary, coiled, intractable, that imparted a message of strength and power.
Ignoring Fexel, who dropped to her knees and made that sign of abasement, Sandra peered into the shadows of his hood but could not make out the man’s features. “Welcome.”
“You do not fear me, my lady?” Daveck’s velvety soft tone was strangely cutting.
“Should I?” she hedged and stood straighter, all too aware of the low-cut V-neckline of her outfit and, for the moment, unwilling to give him a more revealing view than necessary.
In one smooth and deliberate motion, he swept back his hood. A baby cried. A beast howled. Around her, people gasped. From the reactions in the crowd, she’d almost expected him to reveal a deformity, but that was not the case at all.
She stared, shocked that she recognized him—this Daveck was the man she’d dreamed about back on Earth. It was impossible. Yet when his cape fluttered in a gust of wind, revealing the two-headed symbol on his bicep, she couldn’t deny it was him, right down to the familiar sexual tug that rocked her.
He had a face she’d never forget. And she had to grit her teeth to prevent her lower jaw from dropping as she compared the man before her with the one she recalled so vividly from her lusty dreams. His cheekbones were noticeably sharp and clearly drawn in a tanned complexion. Heavy brows arched to accentuate the bridge of his slightly aquiline nose. He wore his black hair long, tied back with a strip of leather.
But it was his wide-set eyes that seized her attention. His frosty blue-black eyes bore into her with hypnotic intensity, mercilessly, as if penetrating her very being. Hoping to hide her nervousness, she held his stare and refused to squirm under his steady gaze. He kept his demeanor calm and poised, but she sensed a dynamic nature behind the façade.
Before their locked stares became a contest of wills, she darted a glance at the crowd before once again meeting his gaze. Not even a telltale blink of satisfaction cracked his cool composure. She suspected Daveck would never betray his feelings unless it suited his purpose, and she envied such mastery of emotion.
“Will you keep me standing in the street, dear lady?” Should she ask him in? For all her hysterics and fears, Lira still may have invited him here. Sandra had no way of knowing, but a private discussion would be better than making a public spectacle, especially since the first drops of icy rain had just cascaded out of the night sky.
“Fexel, fetch refreshments for our guest.” As the woman nodded, Sandra’s gaze shifted to one of the glassy-eyed servants trying to shrink into the shadows. While Dave
ck watched warily, Sandra stood straighter, prouder, and issued orders with a confidence she didn’t feel. “See that everyone is fed and given quarters, and have the men care for their mounts.”
Spinning on her heel, Sandra walked back into the building, Fexel following close behind. Although her words had sounded suitably authoritative, she felt as if she’d stepped into a movie where everyone else knew their lines but no one had given her a script.
Sandra turned the opposite way from the bedroom and hoped the long hallway led into a formal or living area and not a laundry closet. Daveck followed, his boots padding silently on the tile floor. From the corner of her eye, she tried to take the man’s measure, but he didn’t give much away. There was that stillness about him, and yet she sensed a cauldron of emotions bubbling and seething beneath the surface.
The hall widened into an airy conservatory. Blossoming flowers in a variety of spectacular orange and gold hues permeated the air with their pungent bouquet. Glowing pink crystal lamps placed at intervals along the walls gave the room an intimate ambiance. Overhead a trellis supported a multitude of purplish-green vines. If this had been her house, she would have confiscated this room for her office. But she was no longer a reporter and had to keep her mind firmly on the fact that she must act like Lira. This was her house, her people, her world.
Sandra led her guest over to a thatched gazebo with several lounge chairs conveniently placed next to a gurgling waterfall. Daveck refused to sit, but stood and studied her with his back to the water, his arms crossed over his wide chest.
“My lady, how is it that I dreamed of your face last night?” he asked.
“Did you?” Stunned that apparently they’d dreamed of one another, Sandra lowered her eyes to fuss with her skirt and to hide her thoughts. She’d dreamed of him and he of her. Had an outside force dragged her across the galaxy to meet him?
“If you think to use sorcery on me—”
“Sorcery?” She laughed. “Surely you don’t believe in—”
“My beliefs are not your concern.”
Had she insulted him? His tone remained so stiff and polite, his demeanor so formal, she had no sense of his true feelings.
Interrupting the awkward silence, Fexel carried in a tray filled with tempting appetizers, one hexagonal glass, and a carafe of amber liquid. Sandra didn’t know whether bringing only one glass was an oversight or custom but she could use a drink to cool her parched throat. “Please bring another glass. I’ll join my guest in a refreshment.”
Fexel looked as if she wanted to protest but didn’t dare. Instead she glanced at Daveck who stood motionless, his expression hooded. When he didn’t contradict Sandra’s order, Fexel scuttled away, wariness and fear tightening her features.
Why were Fexel and her people so panic-stricken around this man? Daveck might be physically intimidating, but his stillness did nothing to warrant such reactions—until she recalled someone in the crowd calling him a murderer. But that could be gossip. It was more likely these people sensed the same dangerous and forbidding undercurrents churning beneath his cool exterior that she did.
Daveck’s low voice mocked her. “Is that where you find the courage to face me? In a decanter?”
“Why would I need courage to face you?” Sandra answered his question with a question, a reporter’s trick.
At her response, surprise and a touch of admiration glinted in his eyes. “I’d been told to expect a hysterical woman.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” Her words might be flippant but she managed to keep the sarcasm from her tone. Was she leery of him and his world? Yes. Worried? Definitely. But it would take more than a Viking-sized warrior with a sword in her living room to drive her into hysterics.
“Would you like a sweet cake?” she offered.
“No.” His eyes narrowed as if she might have poisoned the food, and then he finally added a grudging, “No, thank you.”
To prove his suspicion wrong, she popped a pastry into her mouth and savored the mouth-watering sweet. After licking her bottom lip and watching his eyes focus on her mouth, she poured him a glass of wine and offered it to him, wondering again if his dreams had been as erotic as hers.
He accepted the glass and sipped in silence. Since Daveck didn’t seem inclined to start a conversation, she searched for a neutral topic. Lightning streaked across the sky and brought the glass room into stark relief. Thunder boomed almost immediately, indicating the storm’s closeness.
“Do you think the storm will last long?”
A foil to the tempest outside, his face reflected glacial calm. “The increasingly severe weather pattern is the primary reason I’m here.”
“Really?” She didn’t dare say more and risk revealing she had no idea of Farii’s normal climate. She reminded herself to express the proper concern, pretend this world and its people were hers. But, the stormy weather didn’t worry her as much as the controlled power of this man or her immediate attraction to him. Yikes. What was going on here? Was it simple sexual chemistry?
It had been too long since she’d had a fling. But was it coincidence this guy mirrored her dream man? She thought not. And yet she couldn’t think how any of this made a lick of sense.
However, one thing she knew for certain. She no longer had a job. At least she didn’t on this planet. And that gave her a certain freedom to maneuver. She certainly didn’t have to play fair with this dude. If she got caught up with him in a relationship and then disappeared, she couldn’t be blamed for playing with his emotions.
So what if he looked tough? He was damn attractive. And although she planned to be careful, she didn’t have her normal rules to hold her back.
While his rigid command of his facial features and his stillness displayed muscles coiled tight as a cougar about to spring, she wasn’t yet certain if she wanted to acknowledge or explore the instinctive chemistry that drew her taut and kept her on edge.
“These severe climatic changes are ruining Farii crops and causing severe rains that carry away the fertile topsoil, leaving future generations to starve. Glaciers in both hemispheres are melting, and the polar caps have shrunk, creating flooding along the coast.”
He cared about his people, a good thing. She could read his concerns in his eyes, hear it in his tone.
During his explanation, Sandra had allowed her shoulders to relax and the front of her gown gaped slightly, exposing the curve of her breasts and drawing Daveck’s gaze. Hmm. She could use this body to her advantage. However, she was fairly certain Lira wouldn’t have employed such a brazenly feminine tactic and she put the idea on hold since she didn’t want to explain that she wasn’t Lira. Sandra straightened and resisted the urge to allow the neckline to gape. Still, once again she couldn’t help wondering if his dream about her had been as erotic as hers about him.
Sandra might be half way across the galaxy in a different body, but her proximity to the delicious warrior had caused the heat from her dream to return—along with an edge she’d never satisfied. Heat curled in her core and she decided there was no reason not to at least test the chemistry between them to find out what he wanted from her. While Lira might have been reluctant to get close to this man, Sandra found him engaging, exciting. In fact, she very much wanted to discover if he was as good a lover in person as he’d been in her dreams.
Too bad she didn’t know the customs here. For all she knew, lovemaking was a crime. Or might commit her to him for life. However, a little flirting couldn’t do any harm. Or could it?
She reminded herself that Lira had been in tears, desperate to avoid Daveck—so she couldn’t exactly come on to him . . . at least not overtly. However, a woman could send signals. Relaxing her shoulders, she allowed her vest to part a bit—giving him an eyeful. And when Daveck’s gaze dropped again, she couldn’t quite restrain a grin of satisfaction.
Chapter Four
He hadn’t missed either her subtlety in tapping him for information, or the delightful flush coloring her creamy cheeks. Was she really as opposed to him as his spies had reported, or was she now faking her interest? Perhaps her traitorous father had told her to manage Daveck with feminine wiles.
Several shouts and a loud thud sounded in the hallway. Unannounced, the old woman dashed into the room, the extra requested wineglass clutched in her hand. Sliding to a halt in front of her mistress, she spoke in outrage. “His men are ransacking your house!”
Lira calmly took the glass, poured herself a small amount, and sipped. Then the intelligent gaze of Maglek’s daughter narrowed on Daveck. To her credit, Lira didn’t raise her voice. “What are you doing? What are you looking for?”
At Lira’s direct questions, the maid dropped to her knees and bowed. Her mistress stood defiant, green eyes flashing as if unaware that questioning him in such a manner was not only rude, but dangerous: men had lost their lives for lesser slights.
And yet, despite her defiance, Daveck admired Lira’s courage and intelligence, though not her judgment in confronting him. Odd how a woman without any knowledge of military discipline had correctly concluded his men would not have entered her home without his direct order, and again how she’d deduced they’d come not to steal, but to search. It was unfortunate he had to resort to ransacking her home, but too many people’s lives were at stake for him to cater to her sensibilities. Perhaps it was foolish, but he still hoped to find the Zorash before he was forced to make their contract permanent. Surely she’d be better off in a gutted house than in a forced alliance with him, or maybe dead, which is what would happen to her if he didn’t find what he sought.