‘‘Everyone was doing it then,’’ she said, her mouth tight. ‘‘I just wanted you to be happy. You seemed so lonely then. You still do.’’
‘‘I appreciate the thought now as I did then, but rampant sex with anything bearing the appropriate equipment and a libido to match has never been—and alas, never will be—my idea of a path to happiness.’’
‘‘But why didn’t you just tell me that?’’ she implored, slapping her hand down on the bed. ‘‘You should have just told me that you didn’t want me to try to set you up with someone. When I think of all the trouble I went to finding men for you . . . and later women . . . I could just cry, Mayling, I really could.’’
‘‘Cy!’’ I said, spinning around. ‘‘I did tell you. Repeatedly. But every time I brought up the subject, you started screaming and ran away.’’
She blinked at me in stupefied disbelief. ‘‘I did? Mayling, I’ve never once screamed and ran away when you talked to me about men, or the lack of them, in your life.’’
‘‘No, not men,
man.
As in one man. The one man who is the reason why I can’t have casual relationships with anyone, man or woman, not that my tastes are anything but traditional in that line.’’
I knew the moment she understood what I was talking about. Her face turned cold and hard, her eyelids drooped down, shadowing her eyes as she turned her head from me. ‘‘I don’t want to talk about it.’’
I was silent for a few moments, sharing in her pain. ‘‘It doesn’t matter,’’ I said finally, moving toward the door.
‘‘Mayling, wait . . .’’
I turned. Her eyes were bright with tears now, her face flushed.
‘‘It
does
matter. And you’re right, I have avoided . . . that subject . . . but what happened to me has nothing to do with you.’’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘‘I’m here. I think it has something to do with me.’’
‘‘No,’’ she said sharply, her color deepening as she bit her lower lip. ‘‘You’re right, you always are, and I see now that I’m partially responsible for you feeling you couldn’t be open with me. But that’s all over. We can talk about it.’’
I raised my hand and let it fall with a sense of futility. ‘‘I don’t see that any good will come of talking about what’s past. What’s done is done, and there’s nothing we can do to change it.’’
‘‘But, Mayling, you don’t see,’’ she said, scooting out of the bed, taking my hand and giving it a little squeeze. ‘‘Just because I was . . . I had . . . because Magoth . . .’’
‘‘You were enthralled, about to be made consort,’’ I said, finishing the sentence she was so clearly unable to say for herself.
‘‘Yes. And because of that, you were created, not that I’ve regretted that at all. You’re like the sister I never had.’’
I couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes I wondered what she would have been like if she hadn’t given up her common sense.
Her expression turned dark, her gaze dropping as she added in a lower tone, ‘‘And . . . people died.’’
‘‘It’s over, Cy.’’
‘‘No,’’ she said stubbornly, shaking her head. ‘‘I have to say it. Because Magoth enthralled me . . . because I had given in to him, he made me kill my lover.’’
I watched as she wrapped her arms around herself, sinking onto the edge of the bed. I hated for her to indulge in emotional flagellation, but she needed to understand once and for all just what sort of situation I was in.
‘‘But that doesn’t have anything to do with you,’’ she said after a few moments of silent weeping.
I handed her a box of tissues from the nightstand.
‘‘My downfall, my sins, are not reflected on you, you know that. And just because you work for Magoth doesn’t mean he’ll try—’’
‘‘He already has,’’ I interrupted.
Her eyes grew large as she looked up to me in horror.
‘‘No, he hasn’t succeeded yet; I’ve managed to keep my wits about me despite his seductions. But it’s been a very close thing the last couple of times, Cy, and to be perfectly frank, I don’t know that I’ll be able to withstand the next one.’’
Her mouth formed a perfect O.
I nodded. ‘‘So you see why it is that I can’t get involved with any man. The minute Magoth pulls me into his thrall, he’ll use me to destroy a challenger to his domination . . . and that means any lover, any boyfriend, any husband, would be doomed.’’
‘‘Oh, my poor Mayling, my poor, innocent Mayling.’’ Huge tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘‘But . . . this evening . . . the wyvern . . .’’
‘‘Picked the wrong woman to have a future with,’’ I said, my face placid despite the fact that my soul was weeping tears of the purest sorrow.
Chapter Nine
‘‘It’s not fair,’’ I said, closing the door to my room, intent on venting my spleen the only way I could—to an empty room.
‘‘Life, you mean? No, it isn’t, although we do the best we can to compensate for that fact,’’ a male voice answered, causing me to utter a little shriek, shadow, and spin around to face the bathroom from which the voice emerged.
I had a horrible feeling my mouth dropped open a little bit at the sight of the man who stood there. The room was lit by candles on every available surface, casting a lovely warm glow that seemed to caress his body as he leaned against the door frame. He wore a calf-length black silk robe, matching sleeping pants . . . and nothing else but a smile. My eyes flitted from his beautiful eyes to his delectable lips, now curved in a sensual smile, to a bared chest that so fit my idea of male beauty, it left my mouth dry. ‘‘What are you doing here?’’ I finally managed to ask, my voice a hoarse croak.
Gabriel’s dimples deepened as he held up a familiar dusty bottle. ‘‘I brought a little libation.’’
I managed by an intense output of will to drag my eyes off him, adopting what I hoped was a sophisticated expression of nonchalance. ‘‘How is it you can see me when I’m shadowed? The room is dark enough that you shouldn’t be able to see me unless I’m right next to you.’’
‘‘You are my mate,’’ he said, strolling across the room to where a couple of wineglasses sat on a tiny table. ‘‘You cannot remain hidden from my eyes.’’ He lifted his head for a moment as if he was scenting the air. ‘‘Nor from my nose.’’
I let the shadow drop, frowning. ‘‘I apologize if I offend your delicate senses.’’
‘‘On the contrary,’’ he said in that deep, velvet voice that made me shiver, ‘‘your scent is quite intoxicating.’’
Intrigued despite myself, I took a couple of steps into the room. ‘‘Intoxicating how?’’
He poured the dragon’s blood wine into two glasses, offering me one. I shook my head.
‘‘You smell of . . .’’ He paused for a moment, closing his eyes as he breathed deeply. ‘‘You smell of the woodlands, but not of the bubbling golden stream as your twin does. You smell as if you were born in the dark, hidden glens, cool and mysterious, but infinitely deep. You smell of smoke and shadows, just like a little glossy-headed bird who flits between the darkness and light. Your essence is an intricate tapestry woven from the scents of the earth itself.’’
He moved toward me slowly as he spoke, his words wrapping themselves around me in a silken cord of sudden need and desire, forbidden to me, but no longer denied.
‘‘You smell like a woman,
my
woman, and I will be grateful to the end of my time that you have chosen me to be your mate.’’
Who could resist such alluring words? I swayed against him, my body coming to life in a way that I never knew it could. Deep, hidden parts of me that had only been utilized in a most mundane fashion suddenly began to tingle at his nearness. When his breath brushed against me, I didn’t back away, as I knew I should. I lifted my chin to meet his mouth, allowing my lips to caress his, the skin of my arms burning where they touched the bare flesh of his chest.
The sane part of me, the part that knew who I was and what would happen should I forget it, screamed dire warnings, but I seemed to be unable to do anything but focus on the sensations Gabriel brought to life deep within me. ‘‘This isn’t right,’’ I murmured against his mouth.
‘‘It was meant to be,’’ he answered, his hands at his sides as I let more of my body lean against him. I had a feeling he was deliberately holding himself back, allowing me time to get comfortable with him. How he knew I was nervous about my lack of experience with sexual intimacy escaped me, since I had tried to present a mien that, while not worldly, was not one of utter stupefaction where things sexual were concerned.
Nerves be damned, I thought to myself as I let my lips wander along his jawline. Although he had a mustache and goatee, both trimmed short, the rest of his face was clean shaven, leaving a long jawline to nibble along. And nibble I did, enjoying both his scent (deliciously woodsy) and taste (hot and fiery, leaving me wanting more). But headiest still were the soft little groans of pleasure he made, and the way his breath hitched as I bit gently down on his earlobe.
‘‘Mayling, I don’t think I will be able to keep from possessing you if you do that again,’’ he murmured, his chest and arms twitching beneath my questing hands.
My stomach tightened at his use of ‘‘Mayling.’’ Cyrene had called me by the nickname ever since I’d been created, but never had the word stirred such a warm glow of happiness as when Gabriel said it. Perhaps it was as he said—we were meant to be. Who was I to turn my back on fate? Would it be so wrong to give in to temptation just once . . . ?
‘‘Mayling, my sweet one. I have prayed to the gods that one day I would find you. . . .’’
A little chill touched my spine as the air-conditioning found my suddenly bared skin, but it wasn’t that which froze me. Magoth’s image rose in my mind, impossibly handsome, coolly calculating.
‘‘No,’’ I said, almost sobbing as I pushed back from where Gabriel was peeling my clothing off. He’d gotten both the leather bodice and my shirt off without me being aware of it. I snatched up the shirt and hurriedly buttoned it, backing away from him as I did so.
‘‘What is it, sweet May—’’ he started to say.
‘‘Stop,’’ I interrupted. ‘‘Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that. He uses that word. It makes me feel . . . sick.’’
Gabriel watched me for a moment with eyes that seemed to see too much. I turned away, feeling soiled by the association with Magoth. What was I doing giving in to my base urges when I knew the outcome could only end in tragedy?
‘‘Which word is it that upsets you? Sweet?’’
I nodded, telling myself to stop being such a coward and face him. Slowly I turned back around, dreading the expression I knew would greet me.
To my surprise, he wasn’t even looking at me. Instead he frowned at the bottle of wine, wiping off dust with a hand towel from the bathroom. ‘‘Do you object to me calling you by your pet name?’’ he finally asked, glancing up at me with nothing in his face or eyes but interest in the question.
‘‘No, I don’t mind. Cyrene has called me Mayling for as long as I can remember.’’
He nodded. ‘‘Then I will do so as well. Will you sit and have some wine? I will move to the balcony if you do not wish for me to be near you.’’
Oh, gods, how had things come to this? I sagged down onto the edge of the bed and let myself slump into a ball of unhappiness. ‘‘I think we both know that I have no aversion to being near you. I nibbled all over you, if nothing else.’’
‘‘No,’’ he said, sitting beside me, close, but not so close that he touched me. I straightened up and looked at him. He was smiling a bit ruefully. ‘‘You did not nibble all over me, only my face. Which I enjoyed greatly, you understand. But as for all over?’’
He glanced downward. I followed the movement, swallowing hard at the sight of his delicious chest so close to me. He didn’t have a lot of chest hair, whether due to his mixed heritage or just by chance, but what there was looked as soft as silk. An intriguing little trail started below his belly button, leading down into the waistband of the pants, leaving me wanting to follow the trail with both my hands and mouth.
‘‘I have scared you. I apologize for that. I know that this must all seem overwhelming to you, and I will endeavor to move at a pace which will ensure your happiness.’’
My cheeks burned as I realized he had seen me ogling his belly and below. ‘‘Do you mean sex?’’ I asked with bluntness. ‘‘If so, you’re wrong. Oh, it’s true what Cyrene said, not that I am in any way pleased that she felt it necessary to share that fact with everyone. I haven’t had sex with a man before. But I’m not a shy, innocent virgin, either. I’ve seen movies. I’ve read books. I even attended a series of Our Bodies, Ourselves seminars during the 1970s. I’m not a prude or a stranger to sex; I’ve just never engaged in it with another person.’’
‘‘I see.’’ His eyes twinkled at me in a way that made me want to melt into a puddle of goo. He leaned over slightly and nudged me with his shoulder. ‘‘Do you like flavored massage oils? There is a passion fruit oil that I would very much like to try on you.’’
A vision rose in my head of Gabriel doing just that, which made it difficult to swallow. ‘‘The issue I have is not one of sex,’’ I repeated. ‘‘It’s sex with men.’’
‘‘You are not going to try to convince me that you prefer women, are you? Perhaps you enjoy both sexes? I do not share that ability, myself, but I will not condemn you for it. However, I will not share my mate with any other, woman or man . . .’’
‘‘No,’’ I interrupted, inadvertently putting my hand out. It touched his chest. Little flames broke out at the ends of my fingertips where they rested against his flesh.
He looked down. ‘‘You have already gained a control of my fire. That is very good. Aisling could not control Drake’s fire for months. It still gets away from her every now and again. It pleases me greatly that already you are so in tune to me that you can master my fire.’’
I jerked my hand back, jumping up from the bed, pacing to the door and back again before stopping in front of him. ‘‘Please just let me talk. I have something important to explain, and it’s not in any sense of the word going to be easy.’’