Visions of Fire and Ice (The Petiri) (10 page)

She sighed and glanced up at Ramose. It was then she noticed the glittering gold serpent wrapped about his bicep and forgot all the worries bouncing about in her brain.

“Hey, you have one, too!”

He followed her gaze. “Yes. Like I said before, it’s called a
Napshua
. It’s a sign of my people and why I am so interested in yours.”

She glanced again at her arm. His was so close to hers, only instead of the small asp, there was no mistaking his as the king of all cobras. The hood encompassed a large portion of his muscle, while the tail trailed almost to the bend in his arm. “You know, you could have been more forthcoming. You said before it belonged to people who were nameless.”

He shrugged, though she saw the tense muscles around his mouth. He didn’t show much emotion. Anyone else would probably think him to be stoic and calm. But with the help of his aura, she was learning to read him.

“We do not talk about them much.”

She nodded. She could understand that. Her family didn’t talk much about their gifts outside of the clan either, and if his arm bracelet affected his talents as much as hers did, the chances were it was a big secret. “What makes you think mine is the same as yours? I mean....” She shook her head. “Mine could be a replica.”

“No. It’s the real thing. I feel its magick.”

He threw that line out as if it was common knowledge to everyone around them. “Really?”

“It is why I was hesitant to speak of it earlier. Not everyone understands such things.”

Tamara nodded. She understood skepticism. She’d received many a healthy dose from friends over the years. “I understand. And, yes, I can feel the magick. The instant I put it on…well. First, tell me about them. What are they?”

He sighed, as though contemplating whether he should speak.

She twisted a damp thread of hair by her face. “Ramose, you said you want to know how I got mine, but you’ve still given me no reason to trust you. For all I know, you could be trying to steal it.”

“No.” He gave a slow shake of the head. “I wouldn’t steal it. Though depending on how you came by it, I may be forced to recover it.”

Tamara swallowed the sudden surge of anger and ignored the flare of heat from her bicep. He was right. The armband offered a major boost to her power, as though it had a mind of its own. “Then you’d best start explaining.”

“Very well.” He rested his forearms on the table. “The
Napshua
is a symbol of my people, but it also holds magickal abilities. It bonds, for lack of a better term, with the wearer. But only if its magick is compatible with that person.”

“Where does the magick come from?”

“That is something I can’t explain.” When she moved to argue, he raised a hand as though to fend off her questions. “I don’t know the answer, Tamara. The
Napshua’s
are made by a select few of our race, and they are the only ones who know how it works. All I can tell you is they are intended for my people, and none other.”

“And who are your people? What makes them so special?” This time he’d said “race,” but she could swear earlier when they were arguing he’d said “species.” And, listening to him now, it almost sounded as though if she couldn’t prove her heredity, he would take it, through force or persuasion. The force didn’t bother her, she’d burn the hair of his head off if need be. It was the persuasion part that made her most skittish. Well, he was pretty powerful, but even her sister backed down when she turned on the heat. Persuasion, though, would be difficult.

“For thousands of years, we have hidden our talents, living deep in the desert sands.”

“Why?”

“Because like you, we have our own special talents. If you are, as you say, from North Carolina, then somehow one of our people must have made it to your lands. Fire is your talent, yet I have seen you use others, including discernment with Amunkha last evening.”

Tamara nodded, warily.

“Just as I thought. Yet the discernment is not as powerful as your fire. Like you, we each have a small grouping of talents, one of which we are stronger with, while others we work hard to develop.”

Ramose grew quiet, and Tamara used the time to consider what he’d said. What it meant. The arm bracelet had come from her grandmother. She had no idea where it had come from before her. One thing was sure: The piece had strengthened her own talents to the point it was difficult to control her fire when she got angry. That alone told her she had the real thing. The instant she’d put the bracelet on, she remembered feeling a surge of power, racing through her blood. “So you’re saying this bracelet only bonds with people of your race?”

He nodded.

Tamara wished she could see into his mind, for his face was unreadable. “So, if this has bonded with me, you are saying I’m one of your people?”

He stood and paced about the room. “I don’t understand how that could be. But I also don’t understand how it could bond with you if you were not.”

The muscles in his legs flexed with every movement. Last night’s dream came to mind, of Ramose dressed in ancient garb, his legs bare, but for the leather thong sandals wrapped about his lower legs. She’d seen almost all of him now. All but the one part she knew would wash away all common sense. “All I can tell you,” she whispered, forcing her mind back to the topic at hand, “is the bracelet came from my grandmother. She left it with my family to pass down to me. When my parents died, my aunt kept it until I was older. I didn’t start wearing it until last night.”

He stopped and turned to face her, his eyes sharp. “And did you notice a difference?”

Tamara chuckled. “Oh, yes. Right away. I almost set fire to the curtains last night after I put it on.”

His eyes widened, and he dropped into the wooden chair. “I see.”

“Tell me,” she demanded, “about these talents. What are yours? Other than telepathy. Can you control the telekinesis?”

For long seconds, Ramose stared off into the distance as though considering her question. When at last he spoke, his voice held a faraway, almost wistful tone. “No, telekinesis is not a primary for me. Otherwise, you would still have that mirror,” he said in a wry tone. “For my people, like I said, we each have our own grouping of talents. It is said, if we live long enough, we could master all the talents of the spectrum. For me, my primary is, as you noticed, the ability to cool what I touch. But there are others.”

Tamara coughed back the sudden choking sensation in her throat. “You mean, while I can create heat and fire, you can create cold?” She let her thoughts leap to what he hadn’t said. “And ice?”

Ramose nodded. He drew back the curtain, letting the harsh desert sun spill into the room. He placed his palms against the glass. Frost formed, spiraling outward until the entire widow was incased in a light rime icing.

Tamara jumped up and traced a finger over the window then glanced at his palms. Just as she was rarely burned by her own talent, he seemed oblivious to the cold he’d generated.

He stepped back. “Your turn. Show me your control.”

Sporting a knowing grin, he nodded and stepped forward. She hadn’t had a chance to show off in ages. Her own family was terrified she’d set them on fire and never challenged her to a duel of sorts. She liked this.

Ramose didn’t step back as she expected. He stood close enough behind her she could feel his body. He wasn’t as warm as most men. Maybe that was why she was so attracted to his touch. The cool touch was almost sensual against her own body heat. She tried to ignore it as she held her hands up before the glass. Unlike Ramose, she didn’t touch it, but instead let the heat do the work. First one spot, then another, melted beneath her raised hands.

She heard his sharp intake of breath at her technique.

Concentrating, she let physics do most of the work, letting the glass conduct the newly infused heat, melting the ice to tiny droplets of water. Then, with practiced ease, she blew a soft breeze across the window, and the droplets evaporated.

Before she could drop her hands, he reached around her, placing both hands against the now warm pane of glass. “You don’t touch it.”

She shrugged. “No need,” she murmured. Warm breath burned the top of her head against her now nearly dry hair. His scent, so comfortingly masculine, washed over her, burying itself deep inside her lungs. Her blood heated, and not because of her own talents this time. With trembling fingers, she put her hands next to his on the glass.

“You are an enigma,” he said, his voice rumbling low in his chest.

If he didn’t step back, she was going to make a fool of herself. To know someone who didn’t run from her talents, to be attracted to a man beyond her dreams, that in itself was shocking. Her legs wobbled as if made of rubber, and she was torn between leaning back against him, absorbing the masculine pull, or turning to touch her lips to his.

“And can you create flame, with control?”

She nodded, but when she would step back to show him, Ramose was still there.

* * * *

From behind her, Ramose again had the urge to throw caution to the wind. Or to the flames. His body sizzled and steamed in ways it never had before. He knew what it was. Pure lust. His arousal hardened, and he wanted to give in, to lean in for a touch. For a kiss.

He’d always admired anyone with control over their talents. Hers showed a mastery only the most experienced of his people could demonstrate. Her technique was different. Most Petiri under a thousand years of age would use their own energy, burning the ice away in one swoop. She did not. She used the surrounding air, and the surface upon which she worked, understanding the physics of what she produced. In essence, she conserved her own energy, utilizing what was around her.

Everything about her was an enigma. If what she said was true, the
Napshua
on her arm had bonded with her, so there was no doubt she was at least part Petiri. But how?

He let his fingers trail down her arm, caressing, and touching the edges of the serpent. The asp trembled beneath his touch, and, though there was no sign of welcome, it didn’t threaten either. He could already guess what his would do should she run her fingers down the cobra’s tail, and it was humiliating. The chances were it would lay itself in her hands, begging for her touch. He looked again at the delicate fingers so close to his own, pressed against the now warm glass. So close. All he had to do was slide one hand closer—

Chapter Eleven

The shrill ring of the telephone jarred them both, and Tamara jerked. Ramose’s hands dropped to his sides, and he spun away from her.

Tamara dove for the bed and snatched the receiver from its cradle. She listened then held it out to him. “It’s for you.”

Ramose cursed, though his fingers were gentle when he took the phone from her grasp.

“Ramose.” His voice was clipped.

What would have happened if the phone hadn’t rung? For that matter, how did they know where he was? She hadn’t needed to see his aura to know he’d wanted to touch her. The problem was, while she knew why they should be together, he didn’t, and it appeared he was fighting the attraction.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, trying not to eavesdrop. Gone was the sensual tension that had filled the room. In its place was a man who resembled the creature on his arm, a coiled snake ready to strike. His hand tightened on the phone, his knuckles turned white. “I’ll be right there,” he growled. He slammed down the receiver then turned toward her.

“I have to go. Someone tried to break into the museum.”

“I’ll dry your clothes.” Without another word, she went straight to the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
What could he possibly do to help if the museum was robbed?
True, he had special talents that not everyone else had, but uncontrolled telekinesis and controlled cold couldn’t stop or identify a thief. Then, again, she still wasn’t quite clear on his job description.

She laid the trousers across the counter, stretching them till they were flat. Holding her hand just above the cloth, she generated heat with a thought, guiding it with her mind. She swept her palm above the material. The fabric beneath absorbed the heat, warming the cloth like a dry cleaner’s press. Her mind wandered while she worked. He was a handsome man.

It was a good thing he couldn’t read her mind. Next was the shirt. Steam rose as her hand worked like an iron, pulling the moisture one drop at a time from the soft, satiny Egyptian cotton.

But when she got to his undershorts, things got a bit uncomfortable. And not just from her hand. Seeing him in a towel had been pure decadent indulgence. She’d tried not to stare, but it was hard, even with their conversation. Then, when he’d stood behind her… He thought he’d hidden his desire from her by turning away, but she caught a glimpse of a bulge beneath the towel. Oh, yes, he definitely filled out his clothes.

When she was finished, she glanced into the mirror.
Oh, now, that just won’t do.
Her eyes sparkled with sexual arousal, and her cheeks blushed beneath her gaze. Even as inexperienced as she was, she knew she radiated her own desires.

Closing her eyes, she pictured home. Her sister’s dog, her brother. Yes, that was it, picture her brother. Overprotective to a fault. There wasn’t a man in North Carolina allowed to date any of his sisters.
Yep, that would do it.
When she opened her eyes, they were no longer dilated quite as much.

She turned to the door and took a deep breath, releasing it as her fingers closed over the knob.

“All done.” She stepped into the main room. “You can change in here if you like.”

He stood and smiled. “I think that talent of yours could come in handy.”

She laughed, struggling to keep her mind on her brother. “Yes, it’s always been a big help.”

He walked past her, a quirk in his smile, almost as though he knew what she’d been thinking behind that closed door.
God, I hope not.

In just a few minutes, he was out and leaving. As he reached for the door to the hallway, he glanced over his shoulder. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

Surprised, she answered, “I planned to go to the Khan el Khalili market. Why?”