Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series (20 page)

“I see,” Max said, and something in his voice gave Pieter pause, provoking him to wonder if Max had intuited something regarding Danbur’s unusual origins. Or perhaps Mickey had coaxed the truth from Danbur. The troop of men Pieter’s villagers had once dubbed Stone Warriors might be ruthless, highly trained fighters, but they were not immune to a woman’s wiles. And Mickey was wilier than most.

Pieter huffed a sigh. It seemed likely that he would have to influence Max and Mickey, too—manipulate their memories as he’d done with Opal, Desiree and Roth. And was forced to
keep
doing with Opal, who for some reason kept sloughing off his influence. Such manipulations were complex procedures at the best of times, and would be even more so because Max and Mickey shared a close bond, and were both strong-willed, highly intelligent individuals. The magic at Pieter’s command was not limitless and he refused to provoke Saiytada’s curiosity with a request that she boost his energy stores. This whole situation had turned into a… a…
cluster-fuck
, to borrow a favorite phrase of Kyan’s New Zealand-born bond-mate, Ruby Roberts.

Kyan and Ruby. He hadn’t thought of them in a while. Theirs had been a difficult pairing to accomplish. He’d finally resorted to manipulating time to achieve his aims, with the result he had almost fatally depleted his well of stored power. But it had been well worth risking Saiytada’s displeasure, as well as the months of recuperation. The couple were doing extremely well. Ruby was finally happy in her skin, no longer concerned what people thought when they saw her with her insanely handsome crystal warrior husband. And their daughter was adorable.

Pieter harbored a great deal of fondness for Ruby—and her unique way with words. Even Saiytada might be impressed by her command of—

“If ya’ve quite finished figuring out what ta tell me and what ta leave out, I’ll take ya to see Danbur.” Max offered his hand to Sera and they headed into the house, leaving Pieter standing on the stoop, his mouth agape. He closed his mouth with a snap that would have been audible had anyone been around to hear it. Goddess save him from too-perceptive men like Max. He strode after them, already dreading what he would find.

Max released Sera’s hand and knocked on a door. “Ya up to some visitors, Danbur?” he called, pressing his ear to the door.

There was no answer. Max shot Pieter a glance that clearly said he didn’t want Sera upset by what he might find when he opened the door.

Worry churned Pieter’s gut. He should have scryed Danbur before setting off on this fool’s mission. He should have told the taxi driver to take them elsewhere—to a mall, where he could have distracted Sera with ice cream and the kinds of stores that little girls admired. He should have done a lot of things—chief among them not being swayed by a child’s demands. He took Sera’s hand and grasped it tightly.

“He’s not in there,” Sera said, tugging on Pieter’s hand. “He’s this way.”

Pieter allowed himself to be towed away—toward the kitchen if he wasn’t mistaken.

He wasn’t. And neither was Sera. “Dan!” She slipped from Pieter’s grasp and raced to the big man.

Danbur turned from the stock pot and Sera skidded to halt, one small bunched fist going to her mouth, her face scrunching with dismay. “What happened to your face? Did you get in a fight?”

Danbur ignored Pieter—and Max, who’d just barreled through the doorway. He squatted on his haunches and held out his arms. “I’ve missed you, Sera,” he said. The little girl threw herself at him, and his arms closed protectively around her as though she were the most precious thing in his world.

It was a sight to see, the heavily muscled, black-skinned warrior who exuded menace as unconsciously as breathing, nose-to-nose with the pale-skinned redheaded child who had palmed his cheeks and was staring intently at him through the thick lenses of her glasses. And damned if Pieter’s eyes didn’t prick with an emotion that he quickly blinked away before Max noticed and cracked some wiseass comment.

Max might not have noticed, but Mickey certainly had, and she had no compunctions about calling him on it. “Now that’s what I call a reunion. Brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it, Peter?” She exited the walk-in larder and sauntered past him to give Max a brisk peck on the cheek.

Pieter decided his best defense was to say nothing. Luckily Sera distracted them all by patting Danbur’s face and loudly demanding to know how he’d gotten those scrapes and bruises.

“’Tis nothing for you to worry about, little one,” Danbur told her. “A misunderstanding, nothing more. The issue has been settled to everyone’s satisfaction. Is that not correct, Mickey?”

“You should see the other guys,” Mickey muttered, rolling her eyes in that classic “Men!” gesture perfected by women the world over.

Pieter mentally swept Mickey’s surface thoughts and plucked details of the incident from her mind.

A newcomer had made a lewd comment. It had been water off a duck’s back and she’d calmly suggested the man mind his manners. He’d not taken the hint. He’d gotten even more personal, provoking two of the regulars who frequented the shelter to teach him a lesson about respect. The resulting melee had proven a challenge for one lone woman to break up, and Mickey had been reaching for the fire extinguisher to spray some sense at them when Danbur strode in… and immediately set about breaking up the fight. Not to mention dressing down the participants, and finishing by putting the fear of God into the man who’d started it all. Efficient as Danbur had been, he’d nevertheless been on the receiving end of a few punches. Which of course he’d refused to allow Mickey to doctor.

But it was more than a blackened eye Mickey was worried about. Danbur’s stomach pains were causing her a great deal of concern.

“I knew you were hurting.” Sera’s voice was squeaky with distress, her small body shaking. “I knew it. That’s why I made Mr. Stone bring me to see you—to make you feel better. You do feel better now I’m here, right?” She peered at him, her pert little nose wrinkled with anxiety.

Danbur chucked her under the chin. “Seeing you always makes me feel better, little one.” He stood, one hand on the child’s head. His gaze fixed on Pieter and although he seemed relaxed enough, his eyes were troubled. “My thanks to you,
Peter Stone
. Though I cannot help but wonder if this encounter will make certain things more… difficult to cope with in the future.”

Pieter nodded, conceding the point. “Perhaps. But I found myself powerless to refuse Sera’s plea to see you again.”

Sera tugged on Danbur’s hand and he scooped her up and settled her in the crook of one arm. “What is it, little one?”

“I wish you weren’t so far away, Dan. If you were staying a bit nearer to us then you wouldn’t feel sick in the tummy all the time.” Her lower lip wobbled. “And we wouldn’t let you get bullied by mean people, neither.”

Mickey’s chin jerked like she’d been slapped. She frowned and Pieter heard the metallic chink as stud piercing her tongue tapped against her teeth. She narrowed her gaze at Sera, obviously working through some sticky idea. She was a smart woman, so sooner or later it was bound to occur to her that Danbur’s pain had noticeably eased in the half-hour before Sera had appeared on the doorstep. And, as soon as Sera departed, that it had worsened again.

Mickey opened her mouth and, out of options, Pieter fired one overwhelming thought into her brain.

“How about some choc-chunk cookies?” she asked. And her frown became more pronounced as she tried to figure how that question had issued from her mouth. “Uh, fresh baked this morning,” she mumbled.

“Yes, please.” Sera clapped her hands. “I’m starving!”

Mickey blinked and momentarily put aside her unease to play hostess to her unexpected guests. Pieter cast his thoughts outward and goosed the three most susceptible minds he encountered. He heard footsteps, and the three men shuffled in, asking to help with the evening’s meal preparations and distracting Mickey further.

Next, Pieter prodded Max, who obligingly announced he had to get to the hardware store before closing. Pieter blessed his luck that he had gotten away with a minimum of intervention. Thanks to Opal’s continued resistance, his energy reserves were nowhere near optimum levels at the moment.

Danbur wolfed down three cookies, ruffled Sera’s hair, and then returned to oversee the contents of the stock pot. Sera tore her worried gaze from the big warrior and fixed it upon Pieter. The decadent chocolate cookie turned to ashes in his mouth. He swallowed, and regretfully placed the remainder of the cookie on his plate.

“I don’t like Dan staying here,” Sera said. “He’s too far away. It hurts him. Can he come stay with us?”

“I don’t think your mother would be very happy with that arrangement.”

“Mommy likes Dan a lot. She just doesn’t want to.”

A very perceptive comment. Pieter tried another tack. “A big man like Danbur eats an awful lot,” he said. “And you and your mommy don’t have a lot of spare money. Having him stay would be a hardship.”

Sera’s hopeful expression died. “I didn’t think of that. I don’t want mommy to have to work more. She works hard enough already.”

Pieter waited, hoping she would drop the subject. But Sera was made of sterner stuff. “Couldn’t he stay with you?” she asked.

Goddess save him.

She sensed his resolve wavering and pressed her advantage. “It
is
all kinda your fault, Mr. Stone. If you’d given Dan’s crystal to Mommy instead of me, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Guilt punched him right between the eyes. The child was right. Best intentions aside, he’d initiated this whole mess. And if he couldn’t convince Saiytada to dissolve the bond and give Danbur another chance, the least he could do is house the man somewhere his close proximity to Sera would minimize his suffering until the crystal took him again.

“Yes,” he said. “Danbur can stay with me.”

Sera’s answering smile was so bright it was a wonder it didn’t blind him. Sweet Mother help him, he was putty in her hands. From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her he hadn’t stood a chance.

~~~

Opal had shooed Annie upstairs to have a super-quick shower and get ready while she finished up in the kitchen. She put away a stack of pans, wiped her hands on the dishtowel, glanced around, and heaved a sigh. Almost done. She transferred the green leaf salad to a pretty serving dish, covered it with cling wrap, and stowed it in the refrigerator. She’d told Annie to put the vinaigrette on the table and let the guests serve themselves, rather than dressing the salad beforehand. Nothing worse than limp, over-dressed salad greens in her opinion.

The raw vegetable platter was good to go, too. The hummus was homemade, as per a recipe Opal had coaxed from one of the models she’d roomed with. It wasn’t a fancy flavored hummus like you got in a store, but the addition of ground cumin made it a just little bit special. The important thing was that Annie had made it from scratch, and it tasted great.

The frozen steaks that had sparked this simple menu idea had been carefully thawed with a little help from the microwave—a task Opal had done herself as she couldn’t risk Annie par-cooking them by accident. They’d been seasoned and now sat at room temperature, ready for pan-searing. This was the most crucial part of Opal’s meal plan. If Annie over-cooked them they could end up tough as old boots, but provided she timed them to five or six minutes per side, and remembered to let them rest before serving, they should be perfect—

So long as neither Conrad nor his guests liked their steaks rare.

Shit. Opal gnawed the inside of her cheek. Now was hardly the time to majorly stress Annie with explanations of how to time a rare steak—or a well-done one for that matter. It was far too late in the game. Medium it would have to be. And hopefully the guests would be too charmed by Annie’s bubbly personality to notice, or too polite to comment if their steak wasn’t cooked exactly to their preference. Besides, pan-frying was the most straightforward method Opal could think up for an inexperienced cook like Annie—well, other than having Conrad slap the steaks on the grill, and Annie had nixed that suggestion.

Opal felt a twinge of envy in her belly when she thought of Conrad’s über-fancy grill. It was gorgeous. What she wouldn’t give to have
that
baby sitting in her backyard. With judicious use of marinades and sauces, even the cheapest cuts of meat could taste heavenly. Not to mention the added bonus that even the most reluctant male chef tended to enjoy tossing meat on a grill….

A daydream rolled over her, sweeping her away. She was in the kitchen—not this kitchen, however. A homey, welcoming kitchen, dominated by a scarred wooden table and chairs, and a refrigerator covered in children’s drawings. The kind of kitchen that was the heart of a home.

She heard the
shoosh
of the ranch slider opening but didn’t glance up from the pile of fresh herbs she was chopping. She knew who it was.

His bare feet slapped the tiled floor. The mouthwatering aroma of grilled meat perfumed the air as he set the serving dish on the table. And she waited, breath hitching with anticipation, for him to wind his arms about her waist and press his lips to the sensitive skin of her throat and set her afire. Her limbs trembled, even though he hadn’t yet touched her, hadn’t yet given her what she wanted—needed. And then his hands were on her hips, warm and heavy and insistent as he turned her to face him.

She twined her arms about his neck and pressed her body flush against his, showing him what she wanted so desperately but couldn’t voice because the things she wanted to say were so raw and honest and real that the words stuck her throat.

He didn’t need her spoken words to know what she wanted, how she wanted it. He kissed her, teased her with lips and tongue and the feather-light strokes of his fingertips until she—

“Danbur!” Opal’s hoarse cry bounced off the walls of Annie’s spacious kitchen, shocking her back to the present.

She heard Annie calling her name, her voice panicked, her footsteps short sharp taps as she rushed into the kitchen as fast as her stilt-like heels could carry her, the hem of her pink silk cocktail dress swirling about her thighs. “Opal? Are you okay? Is something wrong?”