Part 27 (1/2)

Color tinged his cheeks. ”It's a s.e.x Ritual.”

Heat infused her. She'd never done anything like that. She didn't think anyone in her family had ever done such a Ritual, though Danith and T'Ash . . .

”Please.” His voice was even huskier. He held out a hand not quite steady.

She burned, touched her fingers to her throat, and thought she could feel hot blood racing beneath her tunic collar.

”You're dressed fine. Lovely. Beautiful. Woman.” His eyes were bright blue as if he burned, too.

”I don't know how-”

He smiled. ”I've drawn most of the circle around the pavilion, charged it with spells. We need only to complete the circle together, say words as Lady and Lord. Mate to infuse the spells with energy and initiate them.”

A hot, red cord of desire, pulsing with golden sparks, snaked between them, easy to see.

”I don't think I've ever felt so aroused in my life as thinking about performing a s.e.x Ritual with my lovely Mitch.e.l.la.”

She couldn't help standing, going to him, placing her fingers in his and feeling a jolt of pa.s.sion between them. He grasped her other hand, and she swayed from the s.e.xual punch. Her s.e.x dampened. She yearned for him. For Straif.

He teleported them to a level place halfway down the river stairs, and it didn't seem instantaneous, but flying through bands of colors, of heat, of need, to a place that would be only their own.

Tangles of brush lay outside a small circle of short gra.s.s that surrounded the remnants of a small circular temple. The marble flooring was no more than twelve feet across. A meditation place, then, or a site for intimate Rituals.

Fluted Greek columns lay broken. The dome was in three pieces. A tiny part of Mitch.e.l.la's mind wondered how they could repair such damage, but there was no doubt. She thought the s.e.xual energy sizzling between her and Straif rivaled that of the sun. She wondered if ecstasy's fire would consume her and shuddered in delight.

Straif had arranged an altar, only large enough to hold the minimum amount of instruments. He led her through the small opening of the circle he'd drawn in the ground, set her hand around the athame knife that still had clods of earth on its s.h.i.+ning blade. Her fingers curled around the knife, and her breath caught in her throat. It was like a living thing, powerful with Flair. She trembled, wanted to fall to the soft bedsponge Straif had set just beyond the altar.

His hand closed over hers that gripped the knife, his body brus.h.i.+ng her back, and he was a seething, dark pillar of energy in her mind, one ready to take her to the limits of desire. He urged her to the unfinished circle, curved her under his body, directed her on what words to say with him as they completed the circle. Golden flames of Flair danced high above them.

They straightened, and Mitch.e.l.la moaned at the feel of his hard body behind her, male primed to take. His breath came ragged in her ear.

”Please,” she whispered, dampening her lips.

His chest vibrated with a low groan. Waves of pa.s.sion radiated from him, sensitizing her skin. Her lips were swollen, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s full, her core empty. She craved him.

But he led her back to the altar, and they plunged the athame into a deep goblet full of golden wine. His hips arched into her b.u.t.tocks, and she thought she'd go mad with aching, unrealized pa.s.sion.

She pa.s.sed through the ceremony in a sensual haze. He murmured the Lord's words. She didn't know scripted responses, but replied from her heart, her soul, her aching womanhood wanting to be filled. They fed each other honey cake, his fingers traced her bottom lip, his tongue flitted out to taste her fingers. They twined their hands around a goblet of crisp wine and took turns drinking. She thought she'd give him anything in that moment, and his eyes held promises she dared not believe.

Slowly, every touch a caress, they undressed each other and stood in white-golden pillars of sunlight. Straif picked her up, took her to the bed, and placed her on it. He stared at her as if she were a treasure. Again he looked like a G.o.d.

He fell upon her, making a place for himself between her thighs.

His fingers twined with hers. ”Join with me. Now!” He plunged into her. She rose to meet him. His tongue took her mouth. And a white hot force melded them together, pulsing between them.

They began to move . . . slow, steady, carefully stoking the mounting pa.s.sion. Just at the moment before all thought fled, Straif flung back his head-neck sinews straining, he shouted, ”Build!”

The world became vibration: the mattress beneath her, the thrumming air, the beating sunlight. Mitch.e.l.la knew this was how the little temple had been built.

Then Straif let his head fall to her, bit her on the neck.

They went wild. Her fingernails sank into his back. He pounded into her. She moaned in response.

Finally, she shrieked her ecstasy, splintering brilliantly. Straif shouted with her, pumping into her. The heat of the sun vanished, replaced by cool shade. Straif's trembling body kept her warm.

A few moments later she opened her eyes to see a dome overhead, tinted the light blue of the ancient Earth sky. Turning her head, she saw the fluted columns, glowing white gold where the sunlight caught them. There were no dirt-encrusted cracks in the smooth, white marble floor.

”We did it,” she whispered.

Straif moaned, s.h.i.+fted, and all her nerve endings clenched in a tiny climax. She forgot everything except him.

The sun dipped lower than the dome and streaked into the folly. The atmosphere changed from wild pa.s.sion to deep contentment.

His lips feathered over the curve of her cheek. ”Marry me. We can make a life together with strong children. The Clover genes will augment the Blackthorn.”

She recoiled. All the heated pleasure drained from her. All the joy. Into the cool marble pavement beneath her. ”I deluded myself into thinking you knew,” she whispered. She'd ignored the signs of his ignorance, wanting to prolong the easy loving between them-not only the s.e.x, but the tender companions.h.i.+p. Now she'd hurt them both.

His head jerked up until his deep blue eyes met hers. A frown knit between his brows. ”What?” he said harshly, as if prepared for a blow.

Cowardly, she couldn't watch him as she told him, couldn't see the change in his now wary eyes. It would be enough that she'd have to feel his body. She closed her eyes. ”I had Macha's disease as a child. I'm sterile.”

He flinched, then a deep shudder racked his body.

Heavy silence weighed between them until he finally said, ”I'm sorry.” And the words echoed through him, through her, through the folly. She opened her eyes, and a mask had fallen over his features. Through their bond she felt anguish. Pain for them both. His smile was empty as he held out a hand.

She put hers in his. He was so strong, to live with what he had-the deaths of all he loved. She was strong, too, to live with the knowledge that men wouldn't want her since she could not give them children. She smiled wistfully. ”So,” she said. ”We have this in common. We cannot or should not have children.”

”I'll find a cure for my flaw.” The statement was steel.

Mitch.e.l.la dipped her head, summoned control when she wanted to scream with pain and grief, squelched bitterness.

With a gesture, he clothed them both. He circled her with his arms. His body was stiff as they 'ported to the Grand Hall.

”I must work,” Straif said.

”Of course,” she said.

Before she reached the top of the stairs, her eyes were blurred with tears, and as she turned down the hallway, she heard Antenn's startled voice.

”Mitch.e.l.la? What's wrong?”

”Let's go into your suite,” she said, her voice thick. It was the closest.

Her chin quivered. She hated that.

When they were alone, Antenn's words were savage as he paced his sitting room. ”He hurt you. I knew he would.” Fists balled, he looked up at her for confirmation.