Chapter 8

Anissa gazed in horror at the man in the bed. This couldn't be happening. Not now, not when she'd sensed her rescuer so close for so long. This burly, shaggy, bearded creature lounging idly abed bore no resemblance to the hero of her dreams. But she was bound to him, bound by the geas of the box. She forced out the ritual words.

"Your humble servant is here to grant the three wishes of your choosing, oh, master. You may command me with the words, Slave, it is my wish."

"Un-fucking believable!"

Wide blue eyes stared back at Anissa from under the bushy red-brown brows. Well, he wasn't particularly articulate but the eyes weren't half bad. She could almost see the clockwork mechanism turning in his head as he tried to comprehend his good fortune. She knew that magic had become increasingly rare in the world during the time of her captivity. Doubtless, he was in shock.

"Anissa?"

His voice was a deep bass rumble that sent a sensual tingle running down her spine. It almost sounded like the voice of her hero in the visions she'd been having so frequently of late. In other circumstances, she might not mind his ownership so much but she had to hurry him through his wishes so that her hero could take possession of the box. Then she realized he'd spoken her name. Not her real name, the name she gave her masters but the one only one person on Earth could possibly know.

"You know me?"

He shook his head, his shoulder-length russet curls tumbling. With his overlong hair and unkempt beard, he reminded her of the fierce Scots clansmen she'd once met, except that there was no odor of filth clinging to him. She knelt only a few feet away and could smell naught but clean, healthy male.

"Then how do you know my name?" she asked again. That had never happened before. Perhaps he was a mage after all. A small tendril of hope twined around her heart.

He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again like a fish. Clearly, there was something he didn't want to tell her. He reached to a funny red table beside the bed and picked up a brown glass bottle, then took a long drink. Aha - she smelled yeast and hops. Apparently beer was still in favor in whatever place and year she'd found herself in this time.

"Are you a mage?" She wished he would speak.

He sputtered, clapping a hand over his mouth to avoid spitting his drink at her. Well, perhaps the savage had some manners, after all. She managed what she hoped was an encouraging smile but he shook his head. "No. Definitely not a mage." Yes, the voice was as deep and husky as before and she felt herself moisten with desire. Her dream hero had primed her well, she'd felt desire in those visions the likes of which she'd never known in the flesh.

"A warrior then?" She heard her own voice deepen.

He tipped his head side to side. "Been there, done that, but not in a while. And what exactly are you, Anissa? A genie? Or is it Djinn?"

"Djinni, if you please. Djinn is plural. I am a captive of the box, bound to grant wishes to those who solve the secret."

"Three wishes, just like in the stories?"

She nodded, softening a bit toward the brute. He might be a bit rough around the edges but he seemed to be smart and unlike her last owner, he hadn't run screaming from the room. She respected courage. Perhaps he would bed her before making his wishes. She would not object. She knew her nipples were peaked beneath the thin silk of her clothing and hoped he noticed.

"This will require some thought. Is there a time limit on the wishes?"

She bowed her head. "No, master." No limit, only her own impatience to find the champion of her dreams. And, perhaps, for a few moments of carnal pleasure.

"Are you required to call me that?" She looked up to see a frown on his face and she shook her head.

"No, master." Only in the initial speech were the words prescribed. After that, it was up to the master.

"Then please don't."

"As you wish." Then what was she supposed to call him? There was no armor, or coat of arms to reveal his identity and the furnishings were plain and poor, so he probably wasn't a lord.

"My name is David," he replied. "Doctor David Allan Garavaglia, or Professor Garavaglia to my students. You can call me Dave." He enunciated his last name slowly, like he always did when introducing himself. Gara-VAHL-ya. It didn't seem that difficult to him, but hardly anybody ever got it right the first time.

"David." It was a nice, solid name. "You are a physician?"

"No. A - scholar, I suppose, you'd call it. I teach at a university." He sipped his ale, then seemed to realize what he did and set it aside. "Are you thirsty? Can I get you something? Do you even drink, or eat?"

"I do, when I am free of the box. A drink would be welcome." She had no idea how long it had been since she'd tasted anything and her mouth began to water at the thought. Perhaps she could take time for that before she let him bed her.

He flung the covers aside and Anissa averted her eyes, before she realized that he was fully clothed. Not in a nightshirt, as her last master had worn but in a pair of soft, loose trews - trousers, she remembered - and a baggy tunic of the same faded gray material, with words emblazoned on the front. When he stood, she saw that heavy stockings covered his big feet. She shivered, becoming aware of the scantiness of her dancer's costume, the filmy bandeau top and wispy skirt that were part of the geas.

"Are you cold?" He reached out a hand and assisted her to stand beside the bed. His hands were powerful and large, she savored the brief touch. A soft fluffy rug cushioned her bare toes and the bells around her hem and ankle jingled while she moved.

She nodded, suddenly shy. Few of her masters had thought of her comfort and none so quickly. "A little."

"Wait here." He bounded over to a chipped, painted chest and pulled open a drawer. Anissa took a moment to look around the room. It was fairly large, with a big square bed, two mismatched chests and a large shelf facing the bed. The shelf told her that she'd been in the box a long time, because she recognized none of the black metal boxes with glowing red and green lights, dials and numbers. Music came from the cloth-covered smaller boxes atop the corners of the shelf but such music as she'd never heard before, loud, raucous and cacophonous.

"Here." A bundle of fabric was thrust into her hands. "It will all be huge on you but it should keep you warm." He pressed a button on one of the boxes and the noise stopped immediately. Perhaps it was a descendant of the radio - she remembered those.