Heartmate (38 page)

“We save pretty fem. Looks soft,” said the second.

“Much fun,” said the third.

“She's Noble!” the protester cried.

“Shut up.” Again the words issued from three mouths.

The triad started prowling forward, light on their feet. “Sport with fem,” the first boy said.

“Then slay,” the second boy said.

“Two pleasures,” finished the third.

Anger bubbled up in T'Ash. He held his control hard, clamping down on the mindless berserker savagery. He could not go berserk before Danith. It would destroy the ever-strengthening connection between them.

He matched the young scruffs' feral smiles. Matched the Downwind words, cadence, arrogant tone. “T'Ash. Baby boys. Run while legs work.”

The leader hesitated, then trod forward. “Time for T'Ash's rep to die like T'Ash.”

Jealousy. Resentment. Fury of the poor for the rich. Delight in destruction. Viciousness. Sadism. All poured from the triad and the band behind them.

T'Ash grabbed his blaser. A small fireball clipped it from his fingers. T'Ash ignored the pain and pulled his broadsword, sending fire down the blade to make it as bright as any fireball. “Come to me, Danith, Zanth.” He'd teleport them from this place in instants.

A flash of white-and-black-fur streaked past him. Jumped.

Long, high screaming from the third boy.

T'Ash had no time to damn his Fam, but whirled in a deadly dance. Broadsword to knife, but two to eight, and a woman who mattered more than his life to protect.

“Teleport, Danith.”

“I can't. I don't know how.”

“Call Holly.”

“I don't know how.”

“Run!” He strode three paces ahead of her. The two left standing of the triad parted before him. A twist and a leap. His sword screamed and flashed. Three boys of the gang fell in their blood.

Pivoting to escape a knife slash. Ducking to avoid pelleting fireballs from the second boy.

No Danith.

“Danith!”

“I'm looking for the blaser.”

“Run.”

Cat yowls, boys' yells.

Only the triad and the bodies stayed.

A cold line of pain across his biceps, slicing down his chest, turned fiery. He wished for a main gauche instead of a sword. The leader was within his reach. The sword was useless. He dropped it. It flared, the youth gasped and jumped back. T'Ash crouched, went in low, wrested the blade from the boy and buried it in him.

His breath gurgled out, his eyes went blank. He died.

The other two screamed, staggered. Both had cat scratches on their faces. They threw back their heads at the twinmoons and keened. They sent evil glances of retribution at T'Ash.

They vanished.

T'Ash let one geyser of pain and rage erupt through him, cleansing his shallow wounds. He thrust the anger that would spark the berserker into the ground.

“Danith!”

“What?”

“Whole?”

“What?”

“All right?”

“I guess so. These boys need help.”

“They're dead.”

She sounded shocky. Blood and death. She probably hadn't seen anything like this before. He hoped he hadn't ruined their courtship.

“Stay away. Don't look. Three dead. Rest gone. Them or us, Danith. Them or us. Zanth?”

T'Ash heard rustling around him. He pressed his arm to his side, slowing the welling of blood. He turned carefully. Danith dug in the bushes, face white.

“Danith?”

“I'm looking for your blaser.”

From her fumbling efforts, he could tell she didn't see anything.

“Blaser.” He held out his hand and the weapon smacked into it. He holstered it.

“Broadsword.” It flew to his palm. He sheathed it.

Danith's dilated eyes turned in his direction. She blinked, rushed to him. Stopped before she touched him.

“Where?” Her eyes scanned him.

He touched his arm and chest with his other hand. His fingers came away bloody.

“Oh, Lady, oh, Lady, oh, Lady,” she chanted.

“Small slices.”

She insinuated herself under his good arm. “Lean on me.”

Hopeless. She staggered from shock even without his weight.

“Zanth, show me the way to the gardenshed,” she ordered, straightening her shoulders. T'Ash felt reason returning to her as her movements became more coordinated, felt the feminine energy coursing through her to help and protect. He set his arm around her shoulders. She sighed.

He should 'port them out of there, to his estate. But Danith had been adamant about not staying at his Residence, as if it were the first step to perdition. She would leave. And he would spend a night in his big bedsponge that felt increasingly empty.

If he teleported them to her home, he would be invading her space again, giving her no place to be alone with her thoughts.

It suddenly became important that she choose him, not only because of the HeartGift or fate, or even because of attraction and emotion, but because she rationally decided she wanted to be with him.

And he knew, now, too, that being alone with her thoughts matched him. He, too, occasionally needed time alone. Plenty of years had passed with only Zanth as company, but when he thought of the many Clovers, even the gregarious Hollys, he wondered if he could live with them.

Living with Danith would be no problem. He'd spoken of the MistrysSuite. She could keep an office, a sitting room, an entertainment room in the suite, but not a bedroom. She'd sleep with him.

If he took them to her little house, he'd be tempted to take her to bed. She'd insist that one of them sleep on the bedroll. He was getting tired of sleeping on bedrolls, even though that awaited him in the gardenshed. A large bedroll with her.

“Zanth?” T'Ash asked.

Me here.
The cat's tail quirked before T'Ash.

“Check the perimeter of the estate. That gang got in. We don't want them or others coming back. Tell me how big the security breach is.”

“Nice,” T'Ash said.

“Nice,” Danith repeated.

They looked at each other. He rolled his eyes. She bit her smiling lip.

Good, a light moment. He brooded too much. She'd help him with that, too. He needed her. He leaned a little more on her.

She caught him closer, and he shut his eyes as sweet revelation burst upon him. She needed to be needed. One of the reasons she must want a large Family, and why she made herself integral to the Clovers. She needed to be needed. And no one could ever need her as much as he.

No one.

He took a deep breath, and another. He dreaded needing anyone so much, but he also gained some odd pleasure from it.

And he could use this in his courtship.

They entered the dark gardenshed together, and she kicked the door shut behind them. The atmosphere spoke of sanctuary and intimacy. He relaxed. The spellshields he placed on this building would hold off an army or four GreatLords, and could be engaged with a Word.

“Word Safe,” T'Ash said.

She lifted puzzled eyes to him.

He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “The Word for my spellshields on this place is
Safe.
”

She frowned. “That's all? I thought you great Flairs used long chants.”

“It depends. Something simple and often used can be activated with a single Word or phrase. Now only you, I, and Zanth can use this place tonight.”

“Oh. Can you stand while I unroll the permamoss bed?”

T'Ash leaned his good shoulder against the wall and watched as she hurried off to unroll the soft evergreen pallet, pull food and a water pitcher from the no-time, and prepare bandages. He missed the warmth and softness of her against his side.

She dusted off crumbles from the surface of the permamoss bed and smoothed it with her hands. T'Ash stared. It never would have occurred to him to do that.

While he was thinking, she ran back to him and placed herself beneath his arm, once again next to his heart. He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. She walked them to the bed, and tried to lower him.

He fell back with a wince.

“Sit up. We need to see how much damage there is.”

We. He liked that.

He grimaced. “Not much, some slashed skin that's painful but not debilitating. If there'd been poison on his blade, I'd be dead already.”

She squeaked, pressed herself against him, then rose and got the water and the medical supply box.

She looked around. “Light,” she commanded, as if the ordinary spell would work.

T'Ash had disabled it long ago.

“Dark windows,” he said. Black-tinted steel shades rolled down over the inside of the windows with little metallic clinks. T'Ash had made and installed them in the shed himself.

“Fireball near right arm,” he commanded.

A bright, steady, white fireball flashed into light next to him.

Danith watched everything with great concentration. “Hmmm.”

“You'll get the hang of it soon. By the end of the month, you'll be using and creating simple spells so often, you won't even think about it.”

She shook her head and knelt beside him. “Is there a Word to make your shirt vanish without hurting you? Or do you want me to dampen it around your wounds, then take it off? Yes, that would be better, the shirt is such fine silkeen.”

T'Ash contemplated having her hands on his body. He wouldn't have said the word to disintegrate the shirt for thirteen EarthSuns.

She soaked a pad in the water and placed it against his arm to loosen the shirt pasted by blood against his skin. He hissed at the sting.

She patted his cheek. “There, there.” He watched her bent head as she concentrated on his cuff tabgroove. She carefully pulled it open. The sleeve was wide, and he'd have no trouble getting his arm out of it.

Then she tugged the shirt from his trous, pushing it up his chest until it reached the area of the wound. Again she wet the whole area and cautiously peeled the shirt upward. She gasped.

“Have you never seen a knife wound before?” he asked.

She shook her head, dabbing the slice with an antiseptic pad and cleanheal. From what he felt it seemed a long but shallow injury.

“How does it look?”

She pressed her lips together. “Like it needs closuretape.” She rooted through the large box of medical supplies. T'Ash knew she'd find a roll. He'd stocked the box with everything he could think of a few years ago. While she found the closuretape roll, opened it, and measured it, he took off his shirt.

She ran a thumbnail across the tape, and it parted from the roll.

T'Ash lay down on his right side, so she could work better, see better, and use her hands more, on his skin and not his shirt.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yes. The arm will need flexiclosure tape over the muscle.”

“Oh. I should have done that first.”

He smiled at her. “You'll learn.”

“Does it hurt much?”

“Yes.”

She bit her lip. “There's all sorts of medicines to drink from restwell and acheaway to comatose healer.”

“I know.”

She flushed a little. “What would you recommend?”

“We'll see, later. Having you in my arms will be as soothing and healing as most.”

She flushed and he congratulated himself at finally giving her a smooth compliment, and the truth. After shooting him a wary glance, she adjusted his hurt arm, then started pinching the skin on his chest and applying the tape so it bound the edges of the wound together. The slowness and thoroughness of her care increased the pain, and any sensual feelings at having her hands on his body died under the fierce need not to cry out or pass out. He wanted her to finish, fast. She didn't.

Finally it was over. He panted in relief, closing his eyes and unclenching his hands.

She used a soft, cool cloth to wipe his chest around the tape, down to his waist, his back, and around his neck under his hair.

He heard a small dribble of water and a fine silkeen handkerchief blotted the sweat from his face. “Thank you.”

She released a heavy breath. “The arm is next, and it's worse. Let me give you some painease.”

“Not maximum.”

She sighed.

“I need to be alert.”

“Can't Zanth—”

“We don't know the status of the estate. This building is secure, but I owe an obligation to the Blackthorns for the use of this gardenshed throughout the years. I'd hate if the Residence burned.”

He couldn't watch another Residence burn, torching lovely landscaped grounds, not ever again.

T'Ash heard her rise to mix medicines.

“You can use a Healing spell on my arm, too.”

“I only know the basic one, for little cuts and scrapes.”

“That will be enough. I know several, though they will work better for you, as a natural Healer, than for me. I can give you energy and instruction. We'll work together.” When he opened his eyes, she was holding a tumbler full of lavender medicine and frowning.

He smiled. “We can do it.”

Fifteen