Rejar

  It was a name his wife would not speak.

  As if echoing his perception, she said, “I will never call you by that name, Nickolai.”

  He did not take the news well.

  His blue/gold eyes became slits of ice and fire.

  In a dreadful decision to lighten his darkening mood, Lilac smiled tremulously. “But you may try to convince me how ‘gifted’ you are.”

  “Do not play with me, Lilac, lest you are ready to deal with the consequences.”

  It came over Lilac then. A heretofore undisclosed mulish streak. She hadn’t even known she possessed one this strong. The fact that it was horribly ill-timed escaped her.

  She reached up to run her fingers through his luxuriant hair, for she knew he particularly liked it. “If you play with me, then I shall play with you…Nickolai.”

  He did not react as she would have hoped.

  Her playful action combined with the blatant use of the name Nickolai seemed only to make him madder. Too late, she realized her mistake. Eyes widening, she vainly tried to scoot out from beneath him.

  His full weight came down on her.

  She felt rather like a squashed bug. “Nickolai, get up!”

  He raised up on his elbows, taking some, but not all, of his weight off her. “Think you we will not resolve this tonight? What manner of man do you believe me?”

  After what she had seen, she really couldn’t say.

  “I ask you now to acknowledge the truth. What is my name?” He was barely controlling the fire in his blood. A fire that had its roots in the restlessness which was somehow, in some way, connected to all of this.

  Defiance rose up in her. Her chin notched up in the air. “It is Nickolai. Nickolai! Nickolai! Nickolai!”

  With his first thrust he set the tone for what was to come.

  It was powerful, raw, untamed.

  With every one following, he went deeper, surer, stronger.

  Poignantly, he stared down at her as he moved inside. Their eyes met and held. Then his rhythmic movements began building. And somehow Lilac knew he was just starting.

  His hands released hers to cup her face, and he brought her mouth up to meet his own.

  “Say it.”

  This stubborn side would not back down. “No, I will not!” she gasped defiantly against his mouth.

  His eyes flashed; the cords of his neck stood out.

  It was a nonverbal roar.

  Lilac’s eyes widened. Now she had done it! For the first time since Nickolai had come into the room, Lilac was starting to have second thoughts about inflaming him. It appeared she had awakened a sleeping lion!

  Nickolai is lost to reason! Lilac had the moment’s lucid realization before she was swept away by the sensual storm invading her.

  Beyond cogent thought, Rejar fiercely covered that stubborn mouth with his own.

  And enhanced.

  She felt…something…

  It sizzled through her from the place where they joined, radiating outward to every point of her body. A burning vibration of raw, sexual energy. Awakening the tiniest of sensory nerve endings.

  Each and every part of her body seemed to become instantly erogenous as the effects of this alien augmentation magnified the sexual sensations she was experiencing.

  In the midst of this overpowering skill, Rejar’s provocative mating scent, like an exotic spice, covered them both.

  Lilac writhed beneath him, scattering kisses all over his face—his eyes, his lips, his nose, his jaw.

  Reputation withstanding, the Familiar had made her wild.

  With Lilac’s fervid response, he growled something indecipherable. Then he bit her shoulder.

  Without realizing it, Rejar began the rhythm of the Nine Hundred Strokes to Love.

  It was the sacred ceremony of Familiar incarnation.

  His thrusts followed an ancient incremental pattern: eight shallow, one deep. The compelling movements were not actually counted but were measured against a mnemonic device Gian Ren had taught him when he entered his maturity.

  With each measured stroke, Rejar’s breathing and concentration increased, his love-thrusts emulating the fire building inside him. It was a fire Lilac was not prepared for and a fire which he should not be experiencing for years.

  Lilac begged him to stop even while urging him to continue between breathless moans and pleas.

  He was beyond hearing her.

  Rejar was in the throes of a highly explicit mating—ritualistic and savage. He had turned completely feral.

  Lilac lost track of time, of herself, of where she was. Only his endless thrusts had any meaning to her. In what way, she was not sure.

  She only knew that she hugged him tightly to her and cried out his name over and over.

  It was not the name he wanted to hear.

  He glided the edge of his hand along the seam of her mouth. Nudging her lips apart with the side of his wrist, he snarled, “Bite!”

  Lilac searched his glazed eyes. He wanted her to…?

  She sunk her teeth into the spot he indicated on the back edge of his wrist.

  Rejar groaned aloud. It was an old Familiar trick to increase sexual stamina in the male. The secret spot was a pressure point in direct connection to his erotic senses.

  It brought him to another level.

  He reared back on his haunches. Clasping her waist, he brought her halfway up his thighs.

  He grasped her right ankle. Tormenting her with his innate ability, he scraped his nails along her responsive instep before lifting the leg over his shoulder. Carefully, he bent forward to support the back of her neck with his left hand.

  The creative position allowed him to thrust very deep.

  Lilac shattered.

  Before her convulsions had even stopped, he withdrew from her.

  She had not even regained her breath when her left leg joined her right over his opposite shoulder. Nickolai had situated her so he could replace his manhood with his mouth.

  With her legs dangling over his back and Nickolai intent between them, Lilac came again.

  “What is my name?” he murmured, his mouth hot against the delicate inner folds of her femininity.

  “N-Nick-Nickolai,” she stuttered, barely able to speak.

  “Wrong answer.” He scraped his teeth over her, making her cry out at the exquisite torture. Then he rolled across the floor with her in his arms, entering her anew.

  The tempo continued.

  And so it went to the small hours of the night until Rejar finally came to his senses and ended it. By that time, Lilac had screamed her releases so many times that she simply fainted dead away.

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her over to the bed.

  Depositing her beneath the covers, he angrily seized his pants from the floor and yanked them on.

  Barefoot and bare-chested, hair flying about him, he stormed downstairs to the study.

  The dark room was lit only by the fire in the fireplace. Rejar strode over to the liquor cabinet, slammed down a glass, and poured himself a brandy. With a shaking hand, he lifted the glass to his mouth and downed the contents in one swallow.

  He had brought his wife to the first tier of the incarnation ceremony. He had meant only to enhance!

  Enhancing was an accountable trait for a man to possess and for this reason Familiars used it very cautiously. There were many reasons for it to remain shrouded in myth and cloaked in secrecy. The mating rhythm, however, was something he should not have felt the need to attempt for years. What had happened to him?

  Disgusted, he threw the empty glass against the fireplace.

  It shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Like his heart.

  A voice came from behind the high-backed chair in the darkened corner of the room. “What troubles you so, Rejar?”

  Traed.

  Drained, Rejar sunk into the chair near the fireplace. He heard Traed approach.

  This newfound brother stood before him, his back silhoue
tted by the firelight. The odd thought, Why does he have his back to the fire? filtered through Rejar’s mind. Traed needs to face the light…

  Rejar shook off the unsettling insight.

  With the patience he was famous for, Traed waited for his brother to speak.

  When Rejar finally looked up, there was intense sadness in his blue and gold eyes. “I have mated with a woman who does not love me, Traed.”

  “What foolishness is this? Lilac—”

  “No.”

  “Why do you speak thus?”

  Rejar uttered words the meaning of which he never thought would matter in his life. Words, the essence of which, in his carefree youth, would have been more than enough for him from any woman. Prophetic words that came back to haunt him.

  “Lilac does not love me; she only wants me.”

  “Surely not!” Traed was not certain what to make of this development. It did not make sense to him; the two of them were mates, therefore…

  Rejar must have perceived the situation wrong.

  “It is so, my brother.” The enormity of his recent feral act confronted him. “What have I done?” Overcome, Rejar bent forward in the chair, covering his face with his hands.

  Compassionately, the elder man placed his hand on Rejar’s shoulder. The fraternal gesture was new and alien to Traed. “Tell me.”

  “I cannot speak of it.”

  “Cannot or will not?” Traed asked this with some alarm. What had the Familiar done?

  Rejar looked up at him, eyes shining with moisture. “I cannot, Traed. It is something Familiars do not speak of—to anyone.”

  “I understand.” Traed crouched down before him, meeting him at eye level. For the first time in many, many years, Traed was acting the older brother. “I am not of your kind…but I have had some experience with women.”

  This bizarre disclosure was almost enough to snap Rejar out of his mood. He peered at Traed curiously. “You have?”

  Traed gave him a look. “Yes.”

  A tiny line of perplexed disbelief appeared between Rejar’s brows. Like most Familiars he was born inquisitive. “What kind of experience?”

  Irked, Traed waved his hand. “That is not important! What is important is that I might be able to guide you from a non-Familiar viewpoint.”

  “What good would that do me?”

  Traed took a deep breath. Guiding this younger brother was not an easy task! When he got back to Aviara he would have to commend Lorgin on his superb tolerance all these years. “You are looking at this situation through the eyes of a Familiar.” He choose his words carefully. “Perhaps you need to give Lilac some time to realize—”

  “I have given her plenty of time. It does not seem to do much good.” Rejar leaned back in the chair, wearily closing his eyes.

  “I do not mean that.”

  Rejar opened his gold eye. “Then what do you mean?”

  Traed stood, placing himself before the fire. “I mean you should allow her to know you without…” He let the sentence drift off meaningfully.

  Rejar was completely perplexed. “Without what?”

  “Without krnacking, you fool!” Traed bit out through clenched teeth.

  Rejar leaped out of his chair. “You expect me to sleep next to my mate and not touch her? I am a Familiar!” He slashed his hand through the air in a gesture Traed had seen Lorgin do many times. “I cannot.”

  “You are also Aviaran. Lodarres’ blood runs through your veins. Both our veins.”

  It was the first time Rejar had heard Traed readily acknowledge his Lodarres bloodline. It also reminded him that he was obligated to give credence to the advice of an elder blood relative. Not that he was bound to follow it. Still…

  “Why do you believe I should do this?”

  Finally. Rejar was listening to him. “My father made a terrible mistake with my mother. I do not want to see you do the same with Lilac. Your mate is young and inexperienced; she knows nothing of our ways or the ways of men.”

  Rejar rubbed his jaw. “This is true.”

  “I do not know what transpired between you, but I can surmise it was something physical. Did you hurt her?”

  “No.”

  Traed raised an eyebrow. “There was a lot of noise, Rejar.”

  “I am a Familiar.” As if that explained a woman gasping and screaming and sighing for hours.

  Well, come to think of it, it did. “Hmm. Very well; then mayhap you have frightened her with your…zeal.”

  Rejar exhaled heavily. “I am sure of it.”

  Traed nodded. “Let her become comfortable with you again before you touch her. Let her discover how she misses you.”

  “You believe this?”

  “I know it.”

  Rejar sat wearily back in the chair. “Even so, she might come to accept me again but she still will not love me.”

  “We shall see.” His assessment of the situation was quite different from his brother’s. Traed had noted the way Lilac watched her husband when he was unaware of it. But Rejar had more than this on his mind. Traed patiently warmed his hands in front of the fire and waited.

  {Traed?}

  “Yes?” He did not turn around.

  {There is something else.}

  He stared into the flames. “What is it, Rejar?”

  {I have a restlessness I cannot name. It seems to call me and I have no peace.}

  Traed watched the fire greedily consume the wood with its embrace. A prickle went up his spine. No expression showed on his chiseled face.

  {What could it be?}

  Traed closed his eyes. He was beginning to suspect that Yaniff had not told him the entire story when he named him Rejar’s Chi’ in t’se Leau.

  Now he was positive of it.

  There was more here than Yaniff let on.

  Lilac brought her clenched hand to her mouth.

  She was weak and could hardly move—so she lay where he had put her in the bed. She watched the shadows of the firelight flicker against the wall. What does he expect from me?

  She had given him what he demanded and when he demanded more, she had given him more. She had given him all that she had. Yet, it did not seem to be enough.

  Maybe it was not enough… Maybe she was not enough.

  The disturbing notion made her feel inexplicably ill. Was she doing something wrong? Nickolai had always been pleased before tonight.

  Something had happened between them. He seemed to savor her and yet he did not appear satisfied.

  What if I am not enough for Nickolai?

  Would he seek out other women? He told her he would not, but…

  Why should she care if he did?

  He would leave her alone then. He would stop waking her all night long with his erotic demands. Stop his constant caresses and tender kisses. Stop calling her “my heart” in the dark of night while he held her tightly to him. Stop giving her little laps under her ear in his sleep when he wanted to settle her down and stay cozy.

  Lilac sniffed.

  She didn’t care! She didn’t care at all!

  I’m losing him.

  She didn’t know why she began to cry. The tears just started trailing down her cheeks of their own accord. Soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. Rolling over onto her stomach, she clutched her pillow and cried into it, the intense emotions of the entire evening a jumbled brew.

  She was not aware of the door opening and softly closing.

  Rejar stood beside the bed, gazing down at his sobbing wife. Drawing all the wrong conclusions. What have I done?

  He reached out his hand to touch her shoulder to offer comfort. His hand hovered in the air above her; he could not bring himself to do it. After what he had put her through, he fully expected Lilac to shrink away from his touch in horror.

  Such a thing he could not bear to see.

  Walking around to the other side of the bed, he quickly shed his clothes and got under the covers. Remembering Traed’s advice, he was careful not to touch her in any way,
moving close to his edge of the mattress.

  Lilac felt the bed dip and raised her tear-streaked face from the pillow. Nickolai’s naked back was to her. Solid. Hard. And indifferent. He had never slept that way before. Always, he took her in his arms, wrapping himself around her warmly.

  She buried her head in the pillow and wept anew.

  Rejar stared at the wall facing him and tried to block out the sound of her tears. He could not. Each one was a blade in his heart.

  Summoning up his Aviaran willpower, he did not soothe her.

  He prayed he could endure the night.

  “Psst! Sir, might I’ave a word wit’ you?”

  Traed felt someone tugging on his sleeve. Drowsily, he opened one eye. Jackie was leaning over him, a concerned expression on his comical face. “What is it, Jackie?”

  “Ya been ta bed yet, sir?”

  Traed yawned. “Hmm?” He glanced at the windows in the study. Daylight streamed in. “Is it the morrow?”

  Jackie chuckled. “That ’tis, sir. Seems like y’fell asleep in this ’ere chair.”

  “So I have.”

  Jackie cocked his head, watching him knowingly. “Do that a lot?”

  Traed glanced swiftly up at the man. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, seem ta me y’ be one that don’t be sleepin’ so easy. I seen yer lamp in the wee hours of the morn. Got the insomnia, do ya?”

  The green eyes narrowed slightly. “Some.”

  “Aye.” Jackie stroked his chin, his accent suddenly becoming Irish. “I got a cure fer that! Me father learned it from ’is father who learned it from a leprechaun.”

  Traed was puzzled. “A what?”

  “A leprechaun, laddie. Y’know, one of the little people.” He gestured expansively with his pipe as if to indicate they were everywhere.

  Traed jumped out of his seat; his hand going to the belt at his waist for a weapon.

  “Now there’s no need fer that. It’s not like y’got a leprechaun askin’ ta do ya a favor, lad. Besides, it wouldn’t do ya any good—what y’need is a big club about yea big—”

  “Jackie…what did you seek me out for?”

  The odd man went serious in an instant. If one could call lowering shaggy brows and bulging out one’s eyes serious. “There’s word about that Rotewick is planning on calling out yer brother. I warned y’ about ’im, I did.”