Heart Secret (37 page)

The blazer is not set on kill. I can take a shot and a shock and burn
.

Oh, she didn't want that! She eyed the blazer, didn't know enough about them to figure out the settings. Though she
did
understand that even at the lowest setting, a shot could fry nerves, cripple a person beyond Healing.

She began to pray silently, and fastened her gaze on the woman, her enemy. Anger filled Artemisia. If she could act, she would.

And I have a Healer right here,
Garrett added.

She supposed he thought that was amusing. But she caught the trace of his panic before he locked it down. She even smelled it.

Rosa isn't as good a guardswoman as I'd thought. She's talking
.

Artemisia tuned back in.

Rosa was saying, “Yes, I got him and I executed him and I'm proud of it.
I
was the guard to close the most abominable open case.”

Not only had the case affected Milkweed for a long time, but ego had motivated the murder.

Garrett prompted, “You were at the landing port . . .”

“Yes, and I recognized Modoc as he got off the airship.”

“And you followed him . . .”

“Yes.”

Gotta keep her talking,
Garrett said.

Artemisia couldn't think of anything to prompt the woman into more story and less action. The guard had killed before. Would she kill them? How easily did she kill?

“You acted pretty fast, taking care of Eryngo,” Garrett said.

“Yes.” Rosa hissed the word, and for the first time, Artemisia studied the woman's eyes. Unbalanced anger. “I didn't want to lose him, was due at the guardhouse shortly.”

“But why did you implicate Artemisia—the cross-folk?” Garrett asked. His voice was smoother than Artemisia had ever heard, calm. Through their bond, she felt he was hyperalert, watching for any opening so he could pounce.

Rosa shrugged, but her blazer aim didn't waver much. Not enough that Artemisia could tell.

“I recalled that the fligger had used the cross-folk for misdirection and thought I might do the same. I knew the Primary HealingHall chapel was open and not many folk visited. I teleported to the HealingHall and got the altar knife, 'ported back to the landing strip, and followed the fligger.”

“That's a lot of teleporting,” Artemisia said.

She received a contemptuous glance of humor from the guardswoman. “I was wired.”

“Where'd you get the pylor?” Garrett asked.

Rosa snorted. “The HealingHall, of course. Most Healers can put you to sleep with a touch.” She tilted the blazer toward Artemisia. “But they aren't the only ones who work in the HealingHalls. The Halls have all sorts of drugs locked up in cases. Including a vial of pylor.”

“FirstLevel Healer Ura Heather didn't report the loss of a vial of pylor,” Garrett said.

“Who'd tell a bitch like her? Not if it was one little tube and easy to replace?”

“Enough to keep Modoc unconscious,” Artemisia said.

“That's right. That's exactly right,” Rosa said. She bared her teeth and her eyes fired. “Just like he and his filthy Cult did to their victims. He deserved it. He deserved
more
.” Her ugly expression eased a bit . . . and back into triumph. “But I was there when the prophet said his next life would be miserable. It helps to believe that. Not as good as suffering in this one, but maybe good enough.”

“You murdered him,” Garrett said.

“I
executed
him.” Her eyes narrowed. “You plan on taking me in, don't you?”

“You're a murderer.”

She made a disgusted noise. “I'm an executioner. Eryngo was an evil, murdering man.” Her lips tightened. “He'd be dead like all the rest by now. I executed justice.” Her chin lifted, but her blazer hand remained steady. “And I'm proud of what I did.”

“Not proud enough to turn yourself in.”

“You just want some of my glory.”

“No. I want to do this through the law, as I'd have wanted Modoc to suffer through the law.” He jutted his chin. “And look what you're doing now—threatening innocent people.”

Rosa shook her head. “I'm not going to hurt you, or Artemisia, either.”

“You're pointing a blazer at us.”

Artemisia didn't know how Garrett kept talking when his mind was working hard to get them out of this mess, scanning the area, testing his bonds with his ferals, sensing where all his informants were.

And Rosa kept talking. “You won't get hurt, much. Just enough for me to get away.” She grimaced. “Suppose my days as a Druida guard are over.”

Artemisia thought her mouth dropped open. She shivered with shocky cold. How would a blazer shot affect Garrett? Herself?

Garrett rolled his shoulders, ran his left hand along the front of his belt in a gesture that Artemisia had never seen before.

Get ready. Artemisia, hit the ground. Rusby, stay quiet.
Garrett's calm mental voice seethed with underlying tension and excitement. “You keep using the word
executed
,” Garrett said aloud with a hint of a sneer.

“You don't know anything! My very first case as a guard was Tern Sedum's murder by the Black Magic Cultists. I found him. He was so young, my age, and his life was
stolen.
I helped tell his parents that he was dead. I found his poor Fam, near death, Flair sucked from her. Since then I looked for him, watched faces all the time, and I got Eryngo when nobody else did. I did my job when everyone else forgot him. I am the best.” Her lip curled. “That fliggering fligger Eryngo deserved everything he got. He got an
easy
—”

Garrett whipped out a huge, scarlet softleaf. Milkweed stopped, stared, fired at the drifting cloth. Garrett shot her.

Animals yelled battle cries. Artemisia was already lunging up the bank toward the woman. No more blazer sizzles, but the odor of fire and earth; she hit the woman . . . who was screaming and clutching her stomach, which showed the blackness of a blazer singe.

Blood bloomed on Milkweed's ear as Rusby yowled, jumping from her falling shoulder to the ground and shaking himself.

A wave of cats poured around them; scratches appeared on Rosa's cheeks, her scalp.

“That's enough!” Garrett ordered. “Let's finish this up. Rusby to my shoulder!” He hauled the guardswoman up, tumbling a few cats, and grabbed Artemisia, who was holding Randa, who'd jumped into her arms, and they all teleported away to land on the pad of the main Druida guardhouse.

Once Rosa was there, she couldn't stop bragging about how she was better than everyone in recognizing Eryngo and taking care of him. How she was proud that she'd closed the case. Keeping the secret of the execution to herself was good—but not as good as everyone knowing her triumph.

The vial with dregs of pylor was found in Rosa's apartment and her partner, Fol Berberis, just shook a sorrowful head, more that she'd been stupid than the fact she'd killed Eryngo.

And Winterberry followed up on that simple fact that Garrett and he had missed. In the Primary HealingHall cross-folk chapel, T'Blackthorn had stated that he'd seen nothing unusual.

Straif Blackthorn's Flair showed him
everyone
who had been there, and his or her trails. So he would have seen Rosa Milkweed's traces, seen her marks on the altar. So she'd fallen against it when she and Garrett and Artemisia had entered. She'd ensured her traces and tracks were there for any who had the Flair to see them.

Winterberry had scowled, scried his cousin-in-law Straif T'Blackthorn, and confirmed Garrett's deduction.

Then Laev T'Hawthorn showed up as a representative of the FirstFamilies—curious as always—and called in the best mind Healer, D'Sea. Who had taken one look at Rosa Milkweed and sighed. After a private consultation, D'Sea gave her opinion that she thought that with a long period of counseling, Rosa could be rehabilitated. Meanwhile a Flair tracking device would be inserted in her body, and, of course, she was dismissed from the Druida guards.

Anonymous donations had already shown up to care for her for the rest of her life.

The mind Healer firmly advised that Rosa's trial should be as private as possible. Then lawyers had gotten involved.

By that time, Garrett, Artemisia, some of his preening ferals, and the full gaze of raccoons had all been interviewed. A lively Danith D'Ash and her wide-eyed teenaged son had helped interpret for the feral Fams.

To Garrett's surprise, Sleek Black had taken a liking to Fol Berberis, and the feeling was mutual. Garrett figured that the feral wouldn't be hanging with his group in the future. And Garrett's secret about how he got info would soon be revealed. More people would pay attention to the animals around them.

Artemisia was completely calm, even though it came out that she'd been fired from her position at Primary HealingHall. At that, Garrett and Laev had shared a glance and Garrett had sent a mental sentence to his friend.
I will take care of this.
Laev had grinned and dipped his head.

For Garrett, being with Artemisia, even during all the tedious time it took to straighten everything out, was a wonder. She held his hand when they were together. Most often they sat on a wooden bench, waiting for everything to be wrapped up.

Wonderful. And he could tell from the bond that spun between them that her serenity was bone deep and natural, that during the previous time he'd spent with her she'd been off-balance.

I have found my HeartMate,
she'd said simply, mind to mind, lifting their clasped hands to her lips and kissing his big fingers, her eyes meeting his.
Everything else can be finessed.

He had grinned back at her.
We have plenty of options. You could even work with me in a partnership.

She'd shuddered and he'd laughed aloud.

Finally they had been dismissed . . . and somehow the moment he'd known they were free—free and together and
safe
—he'd become unbearably aroused.

He needed her. Now.

So hand in hand, they teleported to the door of BalmHeal estate. Even before she'd melded her visualization of the spot with his, his mind had been clear enough to pinpoint the place. A good sign.

He could barely wait to love her.

Thirty-six

A
rtemisia frowned. “How are we getting through the spellshields?”

The Fams laughed and 'ported in, ran toward the Residence for food.

Garrett was touched at Artemisia's question. We. No doubt she could walk straight through the door, as always. But he'd already thought of a solution. He swung her easily into his arms.

She grinned up at him, locked her arms around his neck, and nibbled along his jawline. He panted with desire. “Let's try it this way. The wall shields know you and they should damn well know me since they got a lick of my blood and flesh.”

Artemisia winced.

He said, “And they might even be able to sense the connection, the vibration, resonance, emotional ties,
whatever
between us. And my Flaired intention that I
will
be an inhabitant.” As he strode the few paces to the door, she tensed, but though he felt stinging along his skin, he could ignore the sensation. “Open the door.”

So she pressed the latch and the door swung open.

He could really feel the shields now, minor burning. He hurried through, released his held breath when he was past the wall, and kicked the door shut with a slam.

“We'll get the spellshields tuned for you,” she promised.

“That would be good, but I think that if we shared a HeartBond, that would take care of the matter.”

He
felt
her blood heat and pick up pace; she grew warmer in his arms and he liked it.

“There's a pretty glade to the left,” she said.

“Good,” he replied, though his own breath came a little faster since she'd opened the front of his shirt and was sliding her hands up and down his torso. His blood headed south to become sweet, edgy, urgent desire. His sex thickened.

He stepped from an arbor tunnel, turned left, followed her directions, and stood at the edge of a glen high with summer grasses and wildflowers.

So beautiful. Such a fitting place to love his Artemisia. He wished he had a blanket and a cooler of food and drink—wine and delicacies for his woman. His HeartMate.

Still, he walked to the center of the glade and slipped her down his body, enjoying the feel of her against his hard sex. Holding her hands, he stepped back to arm's length and said a couplet that had their clothes falling away.

Her gaze focused on his cock and he grew even harder, thicker, needier.

As for her—she was simply the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen—her breasts and hips full curves, her waist small, the tumble of her dark brown, black, deep red hair accenting the cream of her skin and the emerald of her eyes.

His. His. His. It was a chant of the pulsing of his blood, knowledge settling into the marrow of his bone.

“Love with me,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“HeartBond with me,” he said.

She stared at him with serious eyes. “We don't know each other well.”

“Well enough.” He stepped closer until his body touched hers, lifted one of her hands to his lips, then the other. “We will explore each other, and the future together.”

Her smile bloomed bright and shining. “Yes.”

So he took them down into the fragrant summer grass, the summer land, and their hands and mouths and tongues explored, producing sighs and quivers and a longing that only each other could assuage.

And when he couldn't wait anymore, he slid inside her and she tightened around him and they pounded the rhythm of love together. The HeartBond materialized and he threw it to her and she caught it and tied them together, and even as reality fell away, they were bound together forever.

He was whole and complete at last.

When he could, he opened his eyes, lazily noted her own dreamy gaze, the ruddiness of her lips. Beautiful.

Then her eyes cleared and he knew that the mundane would soon envelope them, the everyday. But wonder yet fizzed in his blood, a gentle serenity still stayed near, with him. Artemisia. HeartBonded HeartMate, a comfort even in the quiet moments of the day.

He pulled her close, until she was propped on his chest and he felt the soft weight of her breasts.

She sifted her fingers through his hair. “You're all right with living here with me?”

“Yes, of course. Living here will be great.”

Her breath sighed out. “Good.”

Yes, it was. A lovely place, a secret that he'd keep close. It, too, settled into his soul. But on to the everyday of things. “I'll need an office outside. And I think I can get your job back at Primary HealingHall.”

“I don't know—”

“The newssheets are beginning to relate the results of the experiment. You are a heroine.”

Her brows dipped. “I'm not.”

He kissed her. “Oh, yes, you are. They've already told of your selflessness of staying at the bedside of a man suffering from the Iasc sickness for four days.”

She blinked. “I did nothing out of the ordinary—”

“Not for a dedicated Healer,” he said, lifted her fingers, and kissed them one by one. “But there wouldn't be many who would have done that, and most other Celtans would be scared down to their toenails at the thought. You're a heroine. And a heroine this morning, too. You'll be legendary. More than Ura Heather, who is a FirstFamily Lady who runs things, not acts.” He smiled at her surprise. “And I think that lady will want to keep your fame tied directly to herself and Primary HealingHall.”

“No, she doesn't like me.”

Garrett shrugged. “That won't matter to her as much as the fame.”

“You think?”

“I think. So now that we've got that settled.” He ran a hand down to her lush hip, squeezed.

“We're HeartBound now,” she said and her whole being seemed to glow to him. He'd done that, given her that glow.

And she'd given him peace and love like he'd never known.

HeartMates, HeartBound, they fit, were right for each other. He hadn't realized what that really had meant. “I love you. Marry me.”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “You're supposed to make me work harder for the answer.”

She shook her head. “I don't think so.”

Again he caught her hands, placed them over his heart so she could feel it beating—fast and for her. “The future is ours.”

“Yes. The future is ours.”

“And no more secrets,” he said.

Her lips curved and she kissed him and he wanted more, but she withdrew. Her green gaze matched his. “Only those we keep together.”

*  *  *

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