Chapter 19

Not about to let her slip back into self-pity since he’d gotten her this far, he stepped into her space. Boxed in on all sides, she had no choice but to look at him.

He let his eyes light with golden fire and spoke with contempt. Fear would serve her better than pity, would stir up constructive anger. “I order you to serve my cousin tonight,” he told her with soft menace. “If you doubt my authority to do so, I will gladly demonstrate why the Haunt are so feared.”

Anger narrowed her eyes, and just a trace of doubt. He could see she was thinking, considering, and that was bad. If he let up now, she’d slide right back into her depression.

“You don’t know me, woman,” he whispered harshly in her ear, careful not to touch her, but close enough to vibrate the fine sensors on her skin. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.” He gave her a couple of seconds to dwell on that and then lied through his teeth. “It’s no secret the Haunt male is excited by the sight of his lover’s blood. And charmers blood…” he let his voice drop an octave, savoring her heady scent. “...is said to be the sweetest of all.” Her perfume curled around him, beaconing, lulling. He lost the battle with his control and leaned in that extra fraction to touch his lips to her silky neck.

She giggled.

He pulled back, indignant. “What is so amusing?”

She caught sight of his face and clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter, but it didn’t help. Instead she raised her hands and attempted to keep a straight face. “All right, O Fearsome One. Far be it from me to disobey the big scary Haunt.” She brushed past him and sauntered over to her armoire, presumably in search of a washcloth for her face.

Unwittingly, she drew his eyes after her. He was still deeply submerged in her sensual scent, and it was all he could do not to follow her. Hunger curled in his belly, wound him tight. He wanted to stop her laughter his mouth. Let her be the one ensnared, he thought angrily, taking a step toward her. She shouldn’t have this power over him.

A flicker of common sense stopped him. She was doing as he had asked, no, ordered her to do. A wise man would let that be enough.

He was beginning to fear he wasn’t wise.

Lust was clouding his thinking. He leaned against her bedpost and watched her. He knew what she was, yet he lingered in her presence, allowing her more and more sway over his will. Knightin lusted after her, too, yet he had no trouble in distancing himself from her at every opportunity. Why did he find it so difficult?

Keilor stiffened, appalled at what he was doing. He’d given up standing around like a lovesick cadet years ago, and he wasn’t going to take it up again for a human, of all things. It was time he took another lover, someone to clear his mind and satisfy his body, to give him back control.

Determined this night would not be spent alone and unsatisfied, Keilor walked out.

***

Wiley’s eyes were glazed as she stared at the door. The late afternoon sunlight from the hall windows gave it an almost holy glow. It was covered with mother-of-pearl and inlaid with golden scrollwork, but it was doubtful she even saw the art. “I can’t do it. My mother’s in there.”

She turned and gripped Jasmine’s arms. Her hands trembled.

Jasmine wore a Grecian inspired gown of dark red with slit silk sleeves. Three tiny gold clips held the seams together, and her grip caused one of them to dig into Jasmine’s arm.

“You’ll be fine.” Jasmine pried her fingers loose one by one and smoothed the spot the clip had bruised. Her ribs felt oddly constricted, even though the wide black sash around her waist wasn’t tight. She adjusted the tasseled golden cord that was wound on top of the sash and forced herself to stop fidgeting. She looked fine. Wiley looked fine. They could do this.

She studied Wiley critically. “You’re right. You’re not ready.” She gripped Wiley’s shoulders and straightened them. With the back of her hand she chucked Wiley’s chin up gently and used her thumbs to draw the corners of her friend’s lips into a smile. When she took her hands away, the smile stayed, and grew. “Now you’re ready.”

The Haunt guards began to open the door. They flinched as Wiley suddenly slammed it shut. With her hands on the door, she hurriedly told Jasmine, “I forgot to tell you, you need to pick a male dinner partner when we go in.” She backed off and the door started to open again.

Jasmine slammed it shut.

The Haunt looked at her strangely.

“What do you mean, I have to pick a male partner? What for?” she demanded.

Wiley shrugged her ignorance. “Custom. Just pick somebody. Anybody.”

Jasmine didn’t budge. “This is some sort of social trap, right? I pick the wrong guy and I offend someone for life.” She shook her head. “No way. You pick for me.”

Wiley shifted, impatient, and gestured to the guards to open the door. They tried to obey.

Jasmine braced her back against it and glared at them.

“You won’t offend anybody, just pick someone,” Wiley insisted.

As Jasmine opened her mouth to argue, the door was forced open from the inside. Keilor stood there, frowning.

Wiley’s laugh was high-pitched. “Jasmine’s a little nervous. We’re ready to go in now.” Jasmine glowered, but kept her mouth shut as Keilor took her arm and led her into the banquet hall. She felt like the opening band at a rock concert as three brightly robed women and one man looked her over curiously, then turned their attention eagerly back to the door.

Well, the women looked back.

The stranger’s eyes froze on her face, then drifted down her body, retracing their path no faster than they had to. His loose, navy blue trousers and gold trimmed tunic were cut in the Chinese style and edged in gold. His blond hair was pulled back neatly with a clip and fell to his shoulders. By his bearing, he was a commander of some sort.

Keilor’s touch at the small of her back fell away as the man took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. “Fallon, sweet lady.” His intense green eyes sizzled. “Your servant, day or night.”

A little shocked, mostly because such a risqué comment was directed at her, she stammered, “Uh, thanks.” She looked back at the door and he reluctantly parted with her hand. It was difficult to pay attention, since he remained close enough for her to feel him breathe.