Fallen Star (14 page)

“Unless he was from the other planet. How
does Rodyte magic work?” Needing something to do with her hands,
she slipped them into her back pockets. His gaze started to descend
and she realized the position thrust her breasts forward. She
immediately crossed her arms instead.

“The vast majority of Rodytes can’t control
magic,” he reminded as his gaze settled again on her face.

“That’s right. They’re at war because of
it.” She raised her fingertips to her temples and rubbed in tight,
slow circles, hoping to head off the pressure building there. The
day had just begun. The last thing she needed was a migraine. “Then
what made you think my father could be Rodymian or Rodyte or
whatever the hell they’re called.”

“Rodyte, and if magic were the only factor,
I’d say your father was Bilarrian. However, it’s far more likely
that a Rodyte would be in league with reprobates like the Dirty
Dozen than a Bilarrian.”

“Wow. That’s a sweeping generalization. You
basically said all Bilarrians are good and all Rodytes are
evil.”

“That’s not what I said.” He pushed to his
feet and sidestepped the ottoman. “Rodytes, like Sevrin Keire, are
trying to find a technological way of attaining magical abilities.
Most Bilarrians don’t need such technology because they can already
manipulate magic.”

“That aligns them with the Shadow Assassins
not the Dirty Dozen.” She wasn’t intentionally provoking him, but
she was annoyed by his narrow-minded views. “You’re not even sure
those two are related.”

“I might not have empirical evidence proving
the connection, but I am more than sure it’s there.”

“Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say
you’re right.”

“You’ll only allow me to be right for the
sake of argument?” He laughed as something dark and dangerous
shadowed his gaze. No blue rings yet, so she hadn’t totally pissed
him off, but she was definitely headed in that direction.

“Isn’t it just as possible that this Sevrin
person found out about the Dirty Dozen and decided to capitalize on
a coincidental opportunity?”

“I don’t believe in coincidence.”

It was her turn to laugh and hers was as
humorless as his had been. “And that makes it a fact?”

He stalked toward her. She held her ground.
“I’m glad you’re feeling stronger, but I know the situation better
than you do. I have extensive history and context for my opinions.
I’m not the bigot you’re trying to paint me.”

She softened her tone without looking away
from his penetrating stare. “I never said you were a bigot. I was
just asking you to consider other options.”

“I’ve considered every option imaginable.
For the past thirty years, options and possibilities have haunted
my dreams and complicated my thinking.” He grabbed her upper arms
and yanked her toward him. “Don’t you get it? I’m responsible for
their suffering. If I’d been a better leader, if my team had
performed to their potential, far fewer lives would have been
shattered.”

“How can it be your fault? They came here as
part of a program sponsored by both the Ontarian and US
governments.”

“The program might have created the
opportunity, but no one could have anticipated such dishonorable
behavior.”

“I agree.” She moved even closer and raised
her hands to his chest. “They were sexual predators. Unless the
people running the program had warning signs they ignored, no one
is to blame but the men themselves.”

“That would be true
if
I’d done my
job. I was my first off-world mission as Team Leader and I failed
utterly. I was so arrogant, so inflexible that I compromised the
objective.” His forehead creased and regret ignited the blue rings
in his eyes.

She slipped her arms around his neck and
pressed against his body. “You keep saying that, but I don’t
understand
why
you think it’s true.”

“Their behavior escalated once they realized
they were being pursued. They dared us, provoked us at every turn.
And each of their ‘lessons’ was taught at the expense of human
females. It dragged on for three years.”

As if his gaze wasn’t tragic enough,
emotions trickled across their link. Guilt, shame and sorrow heaved
and twisted, blending into one indistinguishable pain. She knew he
was blocking the emotions, so the intensity of each must have been
one hundred times stronger than what she was feeling.

“I don’t know about the other women, but my
mother’s life wasn’t ‘shattered’ by my birth. Yes, it made her
bitter and shifted her priorities, but she loved me, still loves
me. And for the most part her life has been happy.” Her words were
as much a reminder to herself as a statement to him. Her mother was
more than her mistrust of men and Jillian sometime forgot all the
good. Her mother had built a satisfying, if a bit unconventional
life for herself and she had provided well for her daughter. “If
your mission had gone as planned, I might never have existed.”

The blue faded from his gaze and he released
a weary sigh. “It’s hard to argue with that.”

“Then don’t.” She rolled to the balls of her
feet and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. “Besides, I think you’re
forgetting one uncomfortable fact. Even thirty years ago, women had
options. If the pregnancies had been completely unwanted, many
would have terminated.”

“I am well aware.” He shuddered and shook
his head. “Each termination created another victim of my—”

“Don’t.” She pressed her fingers to his
lips. “I’m not going to debate the morality of abortion with you.
No more blame. The present is screwed up enough. We don’t need to
borrow problems from the past.”

He nipped her finger then sighed. “You’re
right. Each life is a celebration regardless of the circumstances
of their birth. I won’t allow myself to forget again.”

“As an official representative of your past
mistakes, thank you.” She lowered her arms and stepped back. Their
desire for each other was a continual temptation, but they really
did have things to do.

As if to echo her thought, he asked, “How
does your leg feel this morning? Do I need to relax your muscles
before we begin?”

“I’m a little tight, but I think I can
stretch it out on my own. I’m still amazed. There’s no real
pain.”

“Excellent.” He pushed the coffee table
toward the wall, clearing more space in the center of the room.
“How about your head? I saw you rubbing your temples.”

She waved away his concern. “A minor
annoyance. If it gets worse, I’ll let you know.”

“All right. Then we’ll start with some
simple concentration exercises and see how quickly you progress.”
He motioned her toward him until they stood about three feet apart.
It didn’t give them a lot of room to maneuver, but it was their
only option. Unless they went outside and his insistence that she
stay inside told her the entire property wasn’t shielded. “You’re a
dancer, so I presume you understand the concept of muscle
memory.”

“Of course. Repetition allowed me to perform
common motions without having to think about them.”

“This works along the same lines, but the
exercises are mental.”

“Other than blowing my hair dry, what use is
being able to manipulate Air?”

“There are many ways to approach most tasks.
If I wanted that remote in my hand.” He pointed to the television
remote perched on the lampstand across the room. “I would
dematerialize the object and reform it in my hand. Someone who was
telekinetic would simply command it to move. You can lift it on a
current of Air and sail it across the room into your hand. Each
accomplishes the same thing, but each requires a different skill
set.”

Curious, yet skeptical, she stared at the
remote, waiting for it to move.

“Think about the gust of wind you created
earlier. Remember how it felt and push the sensation toward the
remote.”

He made it sound so simple, so possible. But
she had created a gust of wind. Could she do this too? She kept her
eyes open yet focused inward, searching for the sensation, the
outward rush. It built gradually, rising from deep inside her. At
first she thought she was only remembering what had happened
before, but then her skin tingled and the hair around her face
rippled. The tension continued to build, so she pictured a straw
stretching between her and the lampstand. When the sensation became
uncomfortable, she pushed the energy through the imaginary straw
and the remote slid off the far side of the table.

“Very good.” He clasped his hands behind his
back. “Now put it back.”

She shot him a sidelong look, but he was
watching the remote, apparently waiting for her to comply. “Just
like that?”

“Just like that.”

Before she had time to think about all the
reasons the task was impossible, she pictured a miniature tornado,
swirling around the remote, lifting and spinning it from the floor
to the lampstand. The remote rotated clumsily several times then
flew into the air, completely missing the desired landing pad.

“Again.” He remained calm and assured. “Slow
it down so you can control the trajectory.”

His confidence made it easier for her to
believe that she could actually do it. Her second effort was
smoother, but she still missed her target. The third try, however,
returned the remote to its original location. “I can’t believe I
just did that.” Relief pushed a soft laugh from her throat.

He finally looked at her and smiled. “You’re
a natural. Air is the hardest element to control, but it offers the
widest range of abilities. At some point I should have a guild
master assess your potential, so we can focus on the areas for
which you have the strongest aptitude.”

“What sort of guild master?” Would they have
to go to Bilarri for the screening? Unlike Tori, she wasn’t sure
she wanted to go hustling across the cosmos. There were plenty of
things to terrify her right here on Earth.

“Bilarri is separated into four regions.
Each region honors one of the four elements. You need to be
assessed by one of the masters from Guild Air.”

“What guild was Cizarro from?” Not that she
wanted Odintar’s old lover to assess her!

His lazy smiled warned her that he knew
jealousy played a part in her curiosity. “I didn’t know which
region my mother’s people came from, so Tal asked for a mentor who
moved in multiple elements. Cizarro was strongest in Fire, but
she’d also trained with members of Guilds Air and Water. My natural
element turned out to be Water, but her parting gift was a
Bilarrian sigil.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s an image or symbol empowered with the
giver’s abilities. Mine is in the shape of a dragon.”

“Really?” She felt her eyes round and
smoothed her expression. “Do you have it with you? I love
dragons.”

He chuckled. “It’s a little hard to leave
behind.” He raised his T-shirt, bunching the material around his
neck as he turned around. Even the spectacular expanse of his naked
back couldn’t distract from the intricate dragon emblazoned on his
skin. The wings spread from shoulder to shoulder and the long,
muscular body undulated down along his spine. Primarily black and
gray, the image was unlike any tattoo Jillian had seen before. It
was three dimensional, raised and etched as if it had been
carved—or burned—into his flesh.

“How did she… Is it a brand?”

He righted his shirt as he faced her again.
“In a way. Cizarro possesses the same artistic flare as the best
tattoo artists. Only she works with fire rather than needles and
ink.”

“She burned that into your back.” She
shuddered and shook her head. “How did you deal with the pain?”

“It was a rite of passage, a ceremony in
honor of my achievements. Like birth, pain was a natural part of
the celebration.”

If she dwelled on the process, she’d
probably throw up, so she switched to the other element of the
gift. “You said it was empowered. What does it allow you to
do?”

“I can catch things on fire or absorb the
heat of something that’s already on fire. But it only works once,
then she has to recharge it.”

“Have you ever used it?”

“Twice. It’s unpredictable, so I have to be
really careful. Luckily my Water affinity allows me to minimize the
damage if things get out of control.”

“It’s beautiful, but I still can’t imagine
allowing someone to burn my back for hours and hours.”

He ran his index finger down the side of her
face and smiled. “It’s not a tattoo, sweetheart. It only took a few
minutes and then we both got good and drunk.”

It was too easy to imagine where that led,
so she asked, “What should we do now?”

“More of the same, I’m afraid. You can feel
the Air within you, which is an important first step, but you must
learn to channel the power without stifling it.”

For the next three days they worked
continually, stopping only long enough to eat and sleep. At least
Jillian presumed Odintar slept. He was always awake when she
emerged from her bedroom in the morning and awake when she tumbled
into bed exhausted each night. She suspected part of the reason he
worked her so hard was to keep them from acting on their
attraction. But each time they touched, each lingering look, kept
the heat simmering.

Day one focused on moving objects. She
repeated the simple exercise with progressively heavier items until
the action became effortless. Then she experimented with using Air
to increase her strength and speed. More than once she ended up
sprawled on the floor as her feet failed to keep up with the
Air-infused pace. Still, by the end of the second day, she felt
comfortable with her invisible assistant.

After lunch on the third day, Odintar taught
her how to create resistance. Each time he advanced, she blew him
back with a powerful gust of Air. She even managed to create a
spinning current that prevented him from moving at all.