“I’m sorry.” For the first time since she’d met him, his voice sounded discordant and harsh. He drew her upright. “It’s late. I couldn’t find you, and I got worried.”
“All right.” It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world for her to turn in his arms and lean against him. Some of the day had been good, but the bad bits had been downright rotten, and maybe if she had thought it through, she wouldn’t have chosen to do what she did. But she didn’t think; she never thought things through the way she should. She just put an arm around his long, lean waist and buried her face against the wide, steady support of his chest.
Mmm. He seemed bigger in the dark.
He stood quietly, holding her, one massive hand cupping the back of her neck. Something rested on the top of her head. His cheek.
“I sense blood,” he said. His voice had turned dangerous. “You are injured?”
She shook her head, her mind racing. “It’s just a shallow cut on my arm.”
“What happened?”
What should she tell him? She couldn’t think straight. She hadn’t had time to process Freaky Bitch’s visit for herself, let alone consider how he might react. She said, “Later. I’m cold and tired, and I really want to get out of here.”
His reply was to swing her into his arms and stride up the tunnel. His energy still remained edged and unsettled, but always with that addictive undercurrent that was powerfully male, uniquely him.
A small part of her couldn’t help but notice his long, smooth effortless stride. She could usually control that part, but it was harder to do when she grew tired and emotionally out of balance. She wished she could flip a switch and turn it off, because it was small-minded and whiny. It didn’t care that he was inhuman and there could be no meaningful comparison between the two of them and their abilities. It only took note of how strongly and evenly he moved and whispered poisonously to her, I could do that once.
She turned truculent. “I didn’t mean for you to carry me.”
“There is no reason for you to struggle when I can transport you with ease,” he said shortly.
“Whether I struggle or not is beside the point,” she said, just as shortly. She kept stiff in his arms. “The fact that I can and will do it is the point.”
“Do not be stupidly prideful,” he told her. “We both know you can do it. There is no reason for you to wreck yourself proving it.”
Was that what she was doing? She fought with her conflicting instincts. He must have moved more quickly than she had thought, for suddenly he strode out the tunnel doorway into the warm night.
The warmth was a welcome relief from the cavern. The western part of the sky was still tinged with color, although the sun had set. After sunset, the land got very dark without streetlamps or neighboring houses to illuminate the night. In another half hour or so, it would be too dark to walk without a flashlight. Khalil’s ivory face looked edged in the shadows.
“Stop,” she said. Then, more sharply as he ignored her, “Khalil, stop!”
He shot her a sparkling look, his jaw tight, but he stopped. “What do you require?”
“I have to put this away,” she said, indicating the mask in its wrapping. “And shut and lock the door.”
After hesitating a moment, he carried her back to the cavern entrance and eased her to her feet. He waited with his arms crossed as she tucked the mask back into a Rubbermaid cabinet, locked the door and put the key in its usual place in the coffee can on the lintel.
When she turned around, he reached to pick her up. She slapped a hand onto his chest and stiffened her arm. He grabbed her wrist, so inhumanly fast, she jumped. But he did not pull her hand away. He just held her forearm in a gentle, unbreakable hold. She felt his Power probe along her skin.
“Where are you bleeding?” he asked.
His face was tight. Staring up at him, she held out her other arm. He stroked his fingers lightly along the cut. She felt a slight flare in his Power, and the trickle of blood stopped. The annoying nag of pain vanished too. She tilted her arm up, squinting in the last of the light. It looked like the cut had scabbed over. “Thank you.”
“I’m not a healer,” he said. “That’s the extent of what I know to do.”
“What you did is great.”
“Sorry,” he had said. And “worried.” She would never have imagined a week ago that he would admit to such things, let alone that he would say them to her. The wild agitation in his energy was calming down. She stroked his hand that still held her other wrist. His hold loosened, and as she turned to walk back to the house, he fell into step beside her.
The scene was so like, and yet unlike, her dream. The night was full of shadows, and the wind caused the trees to whisper secretively. She looked up. There was still the barest sliver of the waning moon. The Oracle’s moon must be to-morrow. It was an especially Powerful time to prophesy, if anyone knew to ask for it.
Khalil might be in his human form, but his immense body still moved with impossible, fluid grace. He watched her with that same diamond gaze as piercing as the emerging stars, but instead of jarring her, she found it comforting.
She thought of how Petra and Niko would face each other, no matter how hard the conversation became. She couldn’t pretend nothing had happened either. She said, “I have some-thing difficult I need to tell you.”
Khalil gave her a frowning glance. “Difficult for whom, you or me?”
“Probably both,” she said, sighing.
“Very well.”
Feeling trapped, she fumbled for words. How could she say it? What would make it better? She was no good at this kind of shit. She stopped walking and said bluntly, “Phaedra came to see me.”
His response was electrifying. After a moment of standing frozen, he whirled and grabbed her by the shoulders. His face was savage, and his eyes blazed. He snarled, “You should have called me.”
She stammered, “I-I’m sorry. I know how badly you want to see her, I just—”
“Did I not warn you pariahs are dangerous?” he hissed. He actually shook her. “What did she do?”
She stared, too shocked to protest his manhandling. He was angry because Phaedra was dangerous? “We talked. She was unpleasant.”
He stopped shaking her. She tried to read his expression. There was ferocity and loss and something else. Something vulnerable. “What did she want?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think she knew. She sort of…” Grace’s voice trailed away. Struggling to understand one Djinn well enough in order to explain her to another was wreaking havoc on her communication skills. “She’s angry at you,” she said finally. “She’s really angry that it took you so long to come after her. She said it took you five hundred years.”
His chest moved, as if he took a deep breath, even though he had no real need to breathe. He dragged his long fingers through his hair, dislodging the plain tie that held it back. It fell about his pale hard face.
“I couldn’t go after Lethe alone,” he said harshly. “She would have destroyed me, and then there would have been no one to go after Phaedra. By the time I gathered enough allies, Lethe and Phaedra had disappeared. I spent most of that time searching for them. I didn’t rest. I didn’t stop. Not until I found them.”
Moved to compassion, Grace reached up to touch his cheek. “She doesn’t understand that. She couches it in a lot of sneering and anger, but I think at the bottom of all that, she’s hurt.”
He covered her hand with his. “What else did she say? How did she know to come here?”
“I asked her that. She said your attention to us and this place has been noted and remarked upon, and that she has ‘sources,’ whatever that means.” She shook her head. “I think—Khalil, you should weigh what I say carefully, because I’m no kind of expert on Djinn behavior, but I think she’s not only hurt, but she might be jealous of the time you’ve started to spend here.”
“She doesn’t want anything to do with me,” he said bitterly. “How can sh
e be jealous?”
“That’s a rational question,” Grace told him. “She doesn’t want anything to do with you, but then she keeps tabs on what you’re doing? I don’t think ‘rational’ applies here. And she might be damaged and refuse to build associations with others, but I’m not sure she’s a pariah, exactly. At least not the way I understand pariahs from how you described them. I asked if she came to consult the Oracle, and she said she wouldn’t be beholden to me for a favor. From what you’ve said, I don’t think pariahs would care. They would take the consultation and just not fulfill their part of the bargain.”
He frowned. He hadn’t calmed. His energy was still volcanic under her fingertips, but he had become better controlled. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps not.”
She asked hesitantly, “What’s wrong with her? I mean, I can see and feel how very different she is from you and the other Djinn I’ve met. She feels jagged and sharp. I just don’t understand what that means.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s hard to explain. We each have an innate understanding of our own identity, the patterns and energy signature that makes us who we are, and we carry that with us no matter what form we assume.”
“I think I understand,” she said. “I always know who you are, no matter what you look like.”
He glanced at her. “When we sustain an injury, we heal ourselves by remembering who and what we are, and we…realign ourselves to that identity. Sometimes it’s exhausting. The deeper the injury, the harder it is to align, and we sometimes have to rest for a long time afterward. And sometimes Djinn are damaged so badly, they don’t have the strength to realign, or they can’t remember how they were before they were damaged so they can’t heal themselves. We have no healers for these kinds of injuries.”
“That’s terrible,” she said quietly. “All the time you people have to get over shit. Except when you can’t get over shit.” Remorse twisted inside. “Isn’t there anything to be done for damaged Djinn?”
“Not that we know of.” He looked grim. “And terrible or not, Phaedra’s still dangerous. You still haven’t told me why you didn’t call me.”
Grace’s shoulders sagged. “She seemed undecided and volatile. I was afraid if you showed up, it might make her worse. I didn’t want you to have to fight her, because if older Djinn are more Powerful, I thought you would be stronger than she is and you would win. But she might push you hard enough that you would have to kill her to do so.”
He cocked his head. From what she could see of his shadowed face, he was looking at her with a curious expression. “You were protecting me?”
She gave him a twisted smile. “I was trying to, anyway. How’d I do?”
“You did foolishly,” he snapped.
Her smile disappeared. Her fuse was short enough at the best of times. As strained as her day had been, it flashed hot and bright again.
“Oh, yeah? Fuck you too.” She turned and headed toward the house again. “I’m so done with the bad bits of today. I’ve changed my mind about that date. It’s the most goddamn ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. Go away.”
“Gracie,” he said between his teeth.
For crying out loud, he didn’t just call her that. That was her nickname, the one that her family called her. Chloe was the only one who ever called her that anymore. She pivoted on the heel of her strong leg back to him and gritted, “What?”
Suddenly he was right in front of her. He tilted up her face with both hands. When she felt his fingers shaking, the bottom seemed to drop out of her stomach. His gaze was a stern, furious blaze. “You could die. You could be gone. All it might take is one blow, one fall, one stab to the heart. One accident.” He stopped and tilted his face up at the waning moon. For one moment his regal features looked desperate and searching. When his gaze came down to hers again, it was like watching stars fall. He said, with a naive surprise, “You scared me.”
Damn him. Damn him.
Khalil stroked her cheeks as he told her, “I figured out what to wear on the date.”
Her mouth opened and closed. No words came out. She didn’t know what to say. She jerked away and headed toward the house again. “It’s got to be late,” she said over her shoulder. “After nine at least.”
He said nothing. He didn’t have to. She could feel him, full of scorching intent, prowling at her back.
She snapped, “I’m tired and filthy. I haven’t had any supper. Forget that, I didn’t get any lunch. I haven’t eaten all day, and I haven’t even showered yet.”
“I have a present for you,” he purred.
She stopped abruptly. He didn’t run into her back but reformed in front of her. His long black hair fell about his face like a velvet curtain. He was smiling. She bit her lips and tried to stop herself from asking, but then the question came out anyway. “What is it?”
“You will shower first,” he said. “Then I will tell you that you are beautiful.”
“You’ll what?” She stared, astonished all over again.
“Then we will go somewhere for supper and a drink and a walk on the beach, but I refuse to stand on my head, and I forget all the rest,” he said. “But you won’t get your present until we go out.”
“There aren’t any beaches nearby,” she said, dumbly. Stand on his head? Where the hell had he gotten his information on dating?
With one hand, Khalil made a gesture grand enough for the most accomplished of stage magicians. “That is a minor inconvenience only, since I can transport us anywhere we may wish to go.”
With that, he opened up a whole different vista in front of her. The possibilities were staggering.
This whole Damascus business had turned into quite a trip. If only she had realized, she would have packed some bags.
“We’ll go somewhere local,” she said, almost dreamily. No witches’ haunts, not with the kind of chilly reception she had been getting all day. “There’s a pub in town that caters to a wide clientele from the Elder Races. I’ll eat something and maybe have a drink.” Maybe she would have a stiff scotch. “A quick, quiet date. No drama, no fuss, bed by midnight. And you’ll give me my present.”
He gave her that slow, mischievous smile of his, the one that oozed sin and sensuality. “Absolutely.”
“Okay, then,” she said. She looked around. If she was giving in, she might as well chuck away her whole stance. “You can transport us anywhere?”
His smile turned into a grin. “Why, where did you want to go?”
Was it bad for her to ask? Or was that the Darrin in her talking? She said, “The bathroom on the second story of the house.”
Before she could change her mind, Khalil snatched her up and a whirlwind embraced her. She lost touch with the ground or with anything solid or familiar other than the strong, confident hold of his arms and his lean, hard chest. She threw her arms around him, shrieking as though she plummeted from the top of a cliff.
Then the world reformed around them. Squinting up, she saw his long hair whipping around his starred eyes and elegant face. He was smiling. They were standing in the deep shadows on the second-floor landing of the house, just outside of the bathroom.
“Think I’m going to take a bath,” she croaked. The main reason was she didn’t think she could stand upright.
“Please yourself,” Khalil said. “I’ll change and be waiting for you downstairs.”
He dematerialized. She couldn’t blink as she watched him go. It was a spectacular sight, no matter how many times she saw him do it.
What was he going to change into?
And what was her present?
She sighed and let the rest of the day fall away. Then she headed to the bathroom. Bubble bath. It might be a quick one, but it would still be freaking awesome.
She didn’t care what she put in the bath, as long as it foamed. After starting the water, she grabbed the first bottle that came to hand. It was Sesame Street Wet Wild Watermelon Bubble Bath. It sounded divine. She dumped some under the water and
went to her bedroom to grab something to wear.
She didn’t have time to dither. She wouldn’t let herself have time to dither. The red glowing numbers in the clock upstairs read nine thirty-five. Ready by ten o’clock, home by midnight. This was the only way she would date from here on out. She would put herself on a ruthless schedule and stick to it. Not that she would get all that many opportunities.
But it was good to have rules.
Climbing into the bathtub was bliss. No matter how she might wash everything at the kitchen sink, it just didn’t feel the same as total submersion in water. She scrubbed everything, lathered her hair twice, rinsed and dried and dressed in the skirt she had put on so briefly the other day. It was bright and patterned with deep, rich orange, pink and purple flowers, interspersed with green leaves.
The colors should have clashed. Instead, the shades had been cleverly chosen, and they complemented each other. She paired the skirt with a light green tank top. The bright outfit brought out her own colors, the peach of her skin, the different flecks of color in her hazel eyes, and the red-gold hues of her strawberry blonde hair. She could wear her knee brace and nobody would notice. She slipped on flat, pretty leather sandals.
There was hardly any time for makeup, which was an-other good thing. A swish of blush, a swipe of gloss, and a few brush strokes of eye shadow, and badda-bing, badda-boom, she was ready to go by nine fifty-seven, and feeling calm and virtuous to boot.
All of that was a good thing, because the date really was the most goddamn ridiculous thing she’d ever heard of. The sooner she went on it, the sooner she could collect her present and come home and go to bed and get on with the business of living the rest of her real life.
Because she needed every scrap of her strength and attention on meeting each challenge as it arose. There wasn’t any room in her real life for dating or her growing obsession with a haughty, child-loving, mischievous, kick-in-the-head-sexy prince of the Djinn.
She told herself she was all right with that.
And listened to the silence.
Grace descended the stairs carefully, holding on to the banister. Her wretched knee decided it didn’t like the strain of carrying her weight while bending in the downward motion, so she had to go down lopsided, the same way she had climbed the tunnel. Khalil had turned on a few downstairs lights. Her pulse was racing too much as she opened the gate at the bottom of the stairs and rounded the corner to the living room.