Heart Choice (50 page)

We will decide which of our children is best suited to be T'Blackthorn or D'Blackthorn,
Straif said.

Agreed,
said Stachys.

I go,
Straif said, but he wanted his Fam. This should be a Family effort. So he 'ported to Drina's bedroom. She lay on her back, paws curled, mouth open and snuffling. Straif fashioned a carrier like he'd seen Ruis Elder carry his baby daughter in, and strapped it on his own chest. He picked up the limp cat, who continued to sleep, and slipped her into the carrier. She was a soft burden against his chest.

Then he teleported to Kalmi Lobelia's house and found it glowing turquoise.

Laughter broke from him, an emotion so opposite the last one he'd experienced here. He bowed to the House. It seemed to pulse with pride. “Greetyou, Residence. I track Mitchella Clover.” With one glance, he saw that her trail led away from the place, didn't double back inside.

The House turned gray. Straif sensed fear, so he reassured it. “I know you will be Mitchella's next project.”

A tinge of blue green ebbed back to tint the walls. Straif waved a hand and concentrated on Mitchella's trace—mixed with Antenn's, a predictable gray green. Both tracks tangled near a public carrier plinth.

Straif grinned and rubbed his hands. More than one public carrier line served this stop. A real challenge. Mitchella would never be easy. A bubble of excitement lodged in his chest.

He opened the connection between them wide, completely open on his side—as he'd never been since his Family had died. He could find her that way, too, always. But for now he wanted to rely on his Flair. He needed the time to hunt her as a Blackthorn always hunted their mate, conforming to ancient tradition, as he would break with the past and follow her thread into the future.

A septhour later he was in front of the Clover Compound. Noise rose from the inner courtyard, and the door he'd used when he'd visited last was open. So he pushed through and saw another party. Huge glowing, flashing letters circled the compound—common Flair—blinking “Welcome home, Antenn Clover.”

Straif swallowed a bitter lump in his throat. He could imagine the pride and love and joy that Mitchella and Antenn had felt when the adoption went through. He had missed being there with them, and that hurt. He'd come to care for the boy.

He looked for Antenn and found him running hard in a game of ball. The boy radiated happiness and didn't notice Straif in the shadows of the short hallway. But another did—Vinni T'Vine.

The boy prophet met Straif's eyes, appearing surprised. Then a grin broke over his face—right before a group of Clover lads piled on top of him.

Straif took a stride back, patting Drina for comfort. It was obvious T'Vine hadn't expected Straif to marry Mitchella—equally evident that the prophet was pleased. Straif guessed that meant this particular trail into the future was good for him . . . he hoped. He recalled what the boy had said to him weeks before—
Ask yourself this, what price will you pay for that remedy?
Straif shivered in the cool passage—he'd nearly paid the price of a future of love and happiness. Any other way for him now would be nothing but dreadful duty.

From the corner of his eye he caught Mitchella's trail, leading through a door in the short hall he hadn't seen before. He walked up to it, the knob turned under his hand. He shook his head, these Commoners were far too lax in their security. With an inhaled breath and squaring his shoulders he went through and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Anticipation, excitement—a touch of anxiety at Mitchella's reception, she couldn't have fallen out of love with him in a couple of septhours, could she?—trickled through his blood. His pulse and breathing quickened. He couldn't wait to see her, because he'd be seeing her with the knowledge that she would share his life. His loins tightened.

All too soon he was at the corner of the building, in front of a plain wooden door that was no different than any along the corridor. Wouldn't she have decorated it somehow? But he knew the question was minor, he was torn between wanting to see her and knowing that in the next moments his life would change irrevocably. She could refuse him.

He knocked, hard.

She came to the door, her magnificent body draped in an emerald silkeen robe. She was paler than he'd ever seen her, making her green eyes more brilliant and lustrous, her lips redder and more tempting.

His own mouth had gone dry. “May I come in?”

“Why?”

“I've made a mistake. I've come to apologize and—”

“You've made many mistakes.”

He winced and said baldly, “I want you.”

“You want children,” she said.

He paled but met her eyes. “I know now that there are children of the heart as well as children of the body.” His smile was weak. “I wanted to be with you and Antenn when you adopted him. I missed that.”

She blinked in amazement, then stepped back and held the door wide. The room beyond looked nothing like Mitchella—obviously a temporary abode for her and Antenn.

“Antenn and I have rooms leased in MidClass Lodge, but the current tenants haven't moved out yet.”

Straif cared nothing for that. If he had his wish, they'd be at home in T'Blackthorn Residence before the night was over.

Mitchella shut the door, waved to a large, old chair. “Please, sit.”

He couldn't, not when she stood and could escape him. “I'm sorry for hurting you.”

She shrugged, her face formed into a cool mask that twisted his gut.

“You hurt both of us. Apology accepted. You can go.”

He had to touch her. He couldn't find the words without connecting with her, couldn't let her feel what he felt, couldn't convince her. He took her hands. When she didn't pull away, he sent a burst of love to her.

Her eyes widened, and she tugged her fingers. He wouldn't release her. “I can't go. I can't leave you ever again.”

“I'm sterile. We can't have children together. You have found a potion so that your future children could be safe from the Blackthorn Curse.”

“I don't want it at the cost of you.” He kept sending her his feelings—his love, his need, his determination.

Color came to her cheeks, her hands warmed under his, but she didn't open herself or send any emotions back to him.

“What of your HeartMate?” she whispered.

“I couldn't want anyone more than I do you.”

She raised her eyebrows, but her gaze was dark and turbulent.

“I
love
you.” It was right saying that, telling her that he'd give her everything.

She stared at him. Her slow, sensuous smile bloomed. She tossed her head and slid her hands away. When she turned and walked to a shabby twoseat, her hips swayed, and he muttered a prayer for control.

She sat on the twoseat, feet together, draping her robe primly about her. Now Straif followed more slowly, the knowledge formed in his mind of what she expected.

He grimaced. “You aren't going to let me off easy.”

She smiled. “Never,” she replied, her charismatic Flair heightening her beauty. “I will never let you off easy. You should know that.”

His breath caught in his throat. He shrugged from the sling holding his sleeping Fam, looked around for somewhere to put her.

Mitchella choked with laughter, rose, and took Drina into a room, but left the door open.

His fingers fumbled with the ties to the pouch containing the marriage bands. If he'd been whittling, he'd have cut his fingers. “Come!” he summoned them.

Mitchella's smile broadened as she took her seat again. “Baubles, how nice. You do know how to apologize.”

What this woman did to him! The marriage bands slid into his hands. He dropped to his knees before her, grabbed her right arm, and shoved one gold armlet around her wrist, placed the other on the twoseat cushion.

“Please marry me.” He hadn't wanted to ask but knew she wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than a begging question.

She looked at him narrowly. His heart thundered. He tried not to think that he was dangling over an abyss suspended by only a strand of hope. With all his strength he poured love from his head and his heart. She sank back against the twoseat.

He laid his head on her lap and nuzzled her knee, the scent of her made him never want to move.

She threaded her hands through his hair and pressed him close for an instant before she stood, but he'd heard the quick beating of her pulse, felt the tremor of her fingers.

“I have something of yours.” She opened the door of a nearby cabinet and took out a heart-shaped box encased in a square crystal casket. “The Flaired crystal dampens its effect.”

Straif stared at the reddwood box he'd carved during his third Passage. His HeartGift. The reddwood gleamed from the many hours he'd polished it by hand.

His breathing stopped. “You shouldn't be able to see it or touch it, or take it from—” Where
had
he left it? He couldn't recall.

“No, I wouldn't have been able to unless . . .”

He gulped in a harsh breath. “HeartMate. My own. Oh flig—”

She frowned. “No swearing.”

He captured his whirling wits, found his feet, still focused on his HeartGift. A rush of incredible relief—of pure joy, lit him from within until he thought he glowed with sheer happiness. “My HeartMate.” He lifted trembling fingers to stroke her cheek. “My
HeartMate.
” His throat closed.

“You would have been in a deal of trouble trying to woo another woman without your HeartGift,” she whispered.

He'd never wanted to see it again, but he didn't tell her that. For a woman with average Flair, she still managed to be a step or two ahead of him. He delighted in it.

Mitchella gently placed the HeartGift on a table, picked up the remaining gold marriage band, took his right hand, and curved the cuff around his wrist.

Love exploded between them, a burst of cycling heat so huge it overwhelmed. There was only Mitchella, only love. His body quickened.

A yowl came from the other room.
FamMan!

“I heard her,” Mitchella said, but she lifted Straif's fingers to her lips and kissed them. His eyes stung. There was no such pleasure in the world as linking with his HeartMate.

Drina trotted in, saw them embracing, and sniffed. The door swung open, and Antenn, Pinky riding his shoulder, entered.

“Straif and I are HeartMates, and we're marrying!” Mitchella announced.

Drina hissed.

Pinky purred.

“Huh. Good,” said Antenn. “Am I going to be a Blackthorn?” He eyed Straif.

Straif opened his arms, and Antenn flung himself into them. Another pleasure. Grinning, Straif rolled to the floor to wrestle with the boy. Mitchella jumped on top of them, and Straif felt the roundness of her breast, her hip. The cats joined in, and he shouted in happiness. A Family, he had a Family, at last. A few moments later they all lay panting and laughing. Mitchella clasped hands with Antenn and Straif. He took Antenn's hand and completed the circle. The cats lay sprawled atop them.

Mitchella gazed into his eyes, and he found the cure for his tortured heart that he'd always searched for.

“We're a Family. Now and forever,” she said.

Turn the page for a special preview of Robin D. Owens's next novel

Heart Quest

Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!

Black Ilex Winterberry watched his HeartMate from the
shadows. He shouldn't approach her, but knew that he would.

His mouth tightened when Trif Clover performed her little ritual as she hunted for her mate. She held the charmkey she'd fashioned against the door of GrandLord Ginger's mansion and intoned, “HeartMate.”

A HeartMate could fashion a key and open their love's door, and Trif was obviously on a quest to find him.

So she truly knew she had a HeartMate. They'd connected emotionally in her last Passage and since her Flair was unstable, a few times since. Each instance left Ilex aroused and wanting, and yearning for more than her body. He hadn't known whether she'd believed the connection was anything other than an erotic dream. He had made it a point to find her—and now she was trying to do the same. But he was an experienced hunter.

He'd kept his distance from her. He was far too old, more than twice her age. Worse, he had a touch of prophetic talent and had experienced a little vision a long time ago that his life would be relatively brief. He might have a few more years left, and he refused to have this lovely, vibrant
young
woman die within a year of his own death, as always occurred with HeartMates.