Numbed by it, holding Fate at bay with so little strength left to her, she said steadily, “I won’t be your lover.”
His hands found her shoulders and held them without force. “Siri—”
“I won’t be your lover.”
“Why?” he pressed. “Why are you fighting what I know you feel? Siri, we need each other.”
“I need the Unicorns.” She said it as though it were a talisman to ward off evil.
Hunter began to draw her toward him, intent on showing her just how much they needed one another. But the motion died almost before it was born. Fear leapt at him from her eyes, a terrible fear. And he saw something else in the shimmering darkness of her eyes, something which touched something inside him that had never been touched before and stopped the instinctive male demand to have done with words.
She was taut, a live wire stretched too tightly for safety, and the danger of devastating implosion burned in her eyes. The sharded brightness of a soul in torment shrieked behind the stillness of her face and, somehow—without really understanding—Hunter knew that to push her now would be to irrevocably lose her.
He sighed, a ragged outrush of compelling emotion. Lifting a hand from her shoulder, he cupped her cheek gently, without demand. “I’m not going to give up,” he said quietly. He watched his words sink into her, felt the faint shudder of some rigidly controlled feeling, and wondered in an unfamiliar discouragement how he could ever come to understand the enigma that she was.
Siri stepped back carefully, her cheek burning as if with a brand of possession, and fought to keep her voice steady. “We’d better finish preparing the meal. It’s late and—tomorrow won’t be a good day.”
Hunter frowned down at her for a moment, finally going back to his chair and continuing to prepare the vegetables. He was silent for a while, but curiosity and an instinctive worry got the better of him. “How do you know tomorrow won’t be a good day?” he asked finally.
“Huntmen.”
“How do you know?” he repeated. And wondered, suddenly, if Boran had found this valley. But, no, that was unlikely. If Boran were here, he would certainly make his presence known.
“I told you before. The Keeper must possess the gift of prophecy; the cards told me.” She felt cold, and wondered where the calm voice was coming from. “Danger. And that means Huntmen will violate the valley sometime during the day tomorrow.”
Pondering the word violate, Hunter asked, “What will you do?”
“Kill them,” she said bleakly, “if I can.”
Hunter froze. “You shouldn’t have blood on your hands,” he said in a rough voice.
For the first time since he had laughed at Death, she heard the voice of the warrior. “Why not?”
“Because…” His first word trailed off as he tried to collect the jumble of his thoughts. “Because you should know only love and laughter,” he said finally. “Not blood and violence and brutality.”
“You keep forgetting. I was born to this.”
“No.” He laughed harshly. “I don’t forget. I just can’t understand how any god or gods—or whoever the hell you answer to—could expect you to face such ugliness every Summer of your life!”
She turned to look at him. “No, you don’t understand. No god or gods compel me, Hunter. No one expects anything of me—except me. I could have chosen not to be Keeper; a child born to be Keeper is always given the choice. I made my choice. I’ve never regretted it.” Liar!
“And during the Winter?” he probed. “When the winds howl and the snows come and darkness falls? Is your choice worth the long, cold Winter?”
“The Summer of the Unicorn is worth anything. Anything.” She felt torn in two, and wondered if she would ever be whole again.
He watched her turn back to the fire and sighed unconsciously. She was no fanatic to be ignored, or fence sitter to be coaxed to the “other” side. She was a woman committed to her choice and to her way of life. And Hunter didn’t know how to fight that—or even if he should. Except that her refusal to become his lover was all tied up with her commitment and with the unicorns, and that was something he had to fight.
Searching for words, he said, “Couldn’t you have a life, a family of your own and still take care of the unicorns in the Summer?”
Siri fought a shudder of fear and longing, and didn’t answer for a long moment. “The Keeper of the Unicorns,” she said finally, “is just that…always that…and only that. They are my first loyalty, and must remain so.”
“Then you sublimate everything that you are to them and their needs. Don’t you matter?”
“No.”
Her immediate, quiet answer left Hunter shaken. “But you’re a being in your own right, deserving a life to meet your needs!”
Siri turned to collect the vegetables and drop them into the cooking pot. She didn’t look at him, but she responded. “And suppose that I did have a—a family. Don’t you see that once my loyalties were divided, as they would be with a family, my effectiveness in protecting the Unicorns would be halved? There would be levers to use against me. Hostages to fortune. And one day I’d be forced to make a choice between the Unicorns and the flesh of my flesh.”
“Not necessarily,” Hunter said quickly.
“No?” She leaned back against the rough stones of the fireplace and gazed at him steadily. “Suppose I—I had a child. And suppose that a Huntman learned that, and took my child hostage. Suppose that he held a knife to my child’s throat and told me to tell him where I’d hidden the Unicorns or watch my child die.” Her dark eyes were quiet. “What would I choose, Hunter? The death of my child? Or the death of the last herd of Unicorns?” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t have magic. I can’t stop time, or bewitch a knife from the hand of a Huntman. And I can’t—I won’t—make that choice.”
She turned back to the fire.
Hunter thought of a child, Siri’s and his, realizing only then how much he wanted to see her grow great with their baby. But he forced himself to think through what she had said. And felt cold. For the first time, he began truly to understand not only the depth of Siri’s commitment but also her reasons for refusing to become his lover. And his love for her was new enough and fragile enough to spark the resentment he felt toward the unicorns, yet he was at odds with her beliefs and his own uncertainties. The unicorns deserved to live. Siri deserved to love.
Or was that only his selfish desire speaking?
No. No. Siri deserved to love. It was a basic need to love and be loved by another, and not even the preservation of unicorns…But unicorns were wondrous creatures; only eleven of them existed, with only one more foal due this Summer. No one had the right to destroy them; she had convinced him of that, at least. But…
They chased themselves around in his mind, the arguments, one balanced immovably against another. The unicorns. Siri. His love and the possibility of hers. Save the unicorns or save a child unborn. But need it come to that? Was there not some way of preserving both? Was it written in blood that a Huntman would destroy any child of Siri’s? Was it a fate to be averted only by depriving Siri of the love of her child, the love of a man?
No guarantees. No way to be sure that a child could be protected.
She was right: Divided loyalties would make her less effective in the life she had chosen. But the life she had chosen, barren and lonely for ten years at a time, was brightened only by brief Summers in the company of unicorns. And even in that joyful time, she was forced to kill, to stain her hands with blood and her soul with violence.
In his heart, Hunter couldn’t feel that the result was an acceptable balance. Nor could he condemn the unicorns. He could, in fact, see no way through the dilemma. If he remained, his own desires—and possibly hers—would torment them both. And if he left, his heart would remain forever rooted in this valley.
He couldn’t leave. He would find some way of resolving it. There had to be a way…but he didn’t know what it was.
He hadn’t
realized that his sense of defeat showed in the slump of his shoulders, but when he looked up, he found Siri gazing at him for the first time with eyes as soft as black velvet.
“It isn’t easy, is it?” she asked almost inaudibly.
“What?” he murmured, lost in her eyes.
“To see all sides. To realize that no single action stands alone. Each act causes or affects another. And so we make choices. We choose to act, or not to act. We choose to think of the results of our actions, or not to think. And we stand by our choices.”
“No matter what?”
Siri wished she could heal the agony inside her, wished it with all her heart. She half-closed her eyes, hurting. “No matter what,” she whispered.
“I didn’t choose to love,” he said. “But I do love you. And if I left this valley now, I’d never be whole again. It would be a life worse than none at all. That’s a choice I can’t make, Siri.”
Siri felt the conflict within her rage even more intolerably, until she wanted to cry out. The slump of his broad shoulders, the dark pain in his green eyes, the sudden haggard set of his features told her more than words ever could. And her commitment to her valley and her Unicorns swayed on its foundations. She felt sick with confusion and an aching need, left with nothing but the tatters of what had once been certain knowledge.
She had healed the wounds of his body even while she knew he was her enemy, had allowed him into her life even with the memory of King’s betrayal still fresh in her mind. She had fought to keep anger alive, and bitterness, and certainty.
And it was all sliding away from her now, treacherously unsteady beneath her feet. The valley was no longer enough. The Unicorns were no longer enough. And Winter was so long.
Siri turned back to her cooking, feeling a shiver pass over her. Winter…It was so lonely in the Winter, so cold. Even most of the Huntmen in the city abandoned this world in Winter. And there was a long period in Winter when only the pale moon shed light on the cold, lonely valley.
She would have food and shelter. But no companionship except for the animals. Nothing to brighten the darkness.
Siri felt a hot tear drop onto her hand and stared down at the gleaming moisture. This was her choice. And because she could not alter that choice, she allowed her sudden bitterness to focus on Hunter. Love wasn’t something that had been intended for her, and desire was a fire never meant to be set alight. She was born never to know a man’s touch, never to bear a child, never to leave this valley.
And in that moment she could hate him again. Not because he was a man, but because he was a green-eyed man who had stolen her heart and destroyed the certainty at the center of what she was.
—
Hunter woke in the middle of the night, as he had once before, acutely aware that Siri wasn’t in the cabin. She had insisted that he continue to use the one real bed, saying the shelf was too narrow for him, and they had turned in shortly after their meal, the silence stretching between them in a painful tension.
Now she was gone.
He rose, pulled on his shirt and boots, and left the cabin. The night was a mirror replica of the night the unicorns had danced, white moonlight splashing the valley with brightness and utter stillness filling the air. But the unicorns weren’t dancing; they were grouped near the cabin, some lying and some standing, and watched the man passing through their midst with sleepy, accustomed eyes. Hunter automatically counted heads, realizing that Cloud wasn’t among the rest. He stood for a moment, thinking, then looked for and found the faint path leading through the woods—the path he had seen Siri take so many times.
Following the path as quietly as possible, Hunter was aware of the stillness of the valley and the darkness of the forest; he was finding his way more by instinct than sight. Gradually, though, he began to sense a lightening in the darkness. Then he realized that he was approaching the source of water he had assumed lay in this direction; he could hear the gurgle of water, and there was obviously a clearing ahead.
Unconsciously slowing his steps, Hunter made his way carefully among the trees until he came upon the clearing. It was as bright as the light of the moon would allow, and a crystal pool lay like a glowing gem in its center. Water tumbled over a cluster of tall boulders on the far side of the clearing, dropping in a fall to splash into the pool. Flowers, their brilliant colors oddly visible in the whitewashing light, grew in a profusion all around, and the circling trees loomed overhead like stoic guardians of the night.
The trees weren’t the only guardians, however; Cloud stood near the waterfall, his luminescent purity shining like a beacon. He was still and quiet, his dark eyes fixed on the crystal pool.
And in the pool was Siri.
She stood with her back to Hunter, submerged to her hips and obviously naked. Her long silver hair hung down her back, shimmering in the moonlight as she tilted her face, eyes closed, up to the heavens. Her arms lifted, splashing sparkling water over her face and shoulders. Abruptly, she sank beneath the surface, rising almost immediately with a faint gasp as cold water streamed over golden flesh. Gently defined muscles rippled beneath her skin as she swung her wet hair back, each movement an unconscious illustration of grace perfected.
Hidden in the shadow of the trees, Hunter watched, spellbound. He didn’t breathe, intent only on gazing at a different and even more bewitching moonlight dance than that of the unicorns. His body ached with need, and his heart ached with the beauty of her.
She bent forward in a shallow dive, disappearing briefly beneath churning water until the moonlight found her quicksilver form in the crystal depths. Her unique heritage lent her a breathtaking elegance in this particular habitat, an easy confidence that made each flowing stroke music in motion. She was all rich curves and delicate lines, a nymph to tempt the gods into leaving their lofty realm for enchanting earthly pleasures.
It was not a sight which a purely human and intensely loving man could easily resist, and Hunter was conscious of no godlike restraint. His body was all too human, as was his need for her. But what he was most conscious of was the fragility of the moment. She was beautiful beyond his wildest, deepest dreams of beauty, and vulnerable as he’d never before known her to be. Exquisite in the natural adornment of moonlight and crystal water, she was every bit as ethereal as the glowing myth standing guard over her, and just as elusive.
Hunter wanted to join her, to be a part of the magic, to hold her in his arms and in the certainty of his love. But the myth guarding her was the wall between them, and he had found no way past it.
He watched and, in watching, branded the moment in his mind and heart for all the eternities of what would come. He etched an image of loveliness in moonlight, knowing that, in the end, it could very well be all that he would hold of her. And he was anguished, because it was as though he attempted to hold moonbeams or starlight in cupped hands.
It wasn’t enough, and the emptiness of it was a pain he had never known before. He would have given his life to never have experienced that agonized, hollow emptiness. Yet a part of him was glad that he had known it this once.
Calling on every shred of willpower, Hunter turned away before Siri could sense his presence, aware of leaving some vital part of himself at that pool. He could feel it tearing from him, pulling with every step he took away from her. Blindly he walked back to the cabin.
And fell into bed and into sleep, to dream of Siri.
Naked and laughing in a crystal pool.
Glowing in moonlight.
Holding out her arms to him…
—
Boran watched Hunter move off toward the cabin, then turned his gaze back to the pool. He was concentrating carefully, because he dared not reveal his presence to the mind-adept unicorn; he had tried to reach out to that animal’s mind and had encountered a surprising wall.
So. Where the unicorns were concerned, he could blank his presence, but could not control. He would remember that.
He watched Siri swim in the pool, and felt impatie
nce at her unicorn guard. He wanted to go to her now, wrap her in his mindspell again. Naked, she was vastly tempting, and he toyed with visions of her lying beneath him in a bed of flowers. He had little doubt that she would succumb to his charms while safely enmeshed in his mindspell; he had spent his time with her to good effect, subtly manipulating her growing feelings for Hunter toward himself.
He glanced toward the distant cabin, remembering what he had gleaned from Hunter’s mind. That one, he thought, was near the edge; he had certainly fallen under the sorceress’s spell. And Boran felt in Siri’s mind a tearing confusion, an uncertainty for the first time. Was the woman who had been born never to love a man herself on the edge?
Boran realized his teeth were gritted and forced himself to relax. There was time yet. And he meant to be first. He would charm the sorceress into spreading her legs for him, he decided. And when he was inside her tight passage, the precious maidenhead torn, her body writhing in furious passion beneath his and her power over the unicorns gone forever, then he would allow her to see him as he really was.
He could picture that so vividly in his mind that he was forced to block his thoughts with care; it would not do for the sorceress to sense his presence.
Hardly aware that he was stroking the petrified flesh of his left cheek, Boran absently moved to widen his legs as the ache in his loins intensified. She would be beautiful in surrender, of course. And her virginal body would hold his manhood with the tight heat only a first coupling ever provided.
Boran half-closed his eyes, smiling. He enjoyed seeing pleasure turn to pain, enjoyed watching the primitive, animal passion in a woman’s face turn rigid with fear.
But the sorceress…He would take his time with her.
He could feel, even now, the slender purity of her body in his arms. Her full breasts swollen and rosy with need, the nipples hard buds that would taste of honey.
Boran hardly heard the low rasp of his own breathing, and only the amulet around his neck and an automatic, unconscious control kept his presence a secret from those at the pool. Bracing himself against the tree, he reached down his good hand and adjusted his trousers, allowing the aching flesh freedom from the painful discomfort of straining cloth.