Your Magic or Mine? (30 page)

“All right. I’ll accept that you don’t consider it rape. The imperative, however …”

He wasn’t listening to her—or rather he wasn’t hearing what she was saying. She’d try another approach. “Look at it another way. Is it really the imperative controlling us, or are we using the SMI as an excuse? I never heard a word about the phenomenon
creating
soul mates. It recognizes them somehow, and the imperative gives them a nudge when they come together. After that, the desire to become mates takes over. We came together, the attraction kicked in, and bang, we mated.”

Where he had been inscrutable before, now she could trace every emotion across his face. Relief that she didn’t think he had raped her. Horror at her next suggestion and its ultimate conclusion.

“I hate to agree, but I have to admit, you have valid points,” he said in a hoarse voice, like he was forcing each word reluctantly past his lips. He was looking everywhere except at her. Finally he brought his eyes—fear and dread still present—back to hers. “Your line of thinking brings up the other mating rule—no artificial barriers. Assuming that was a mating, no matter what the usual averages are, could we be
bonded
with that one episode?”

She stared back at him while her thoughts flew to Daria and Francie. “No, I don’t think so. My sister and sister-in-law told me their bonding, the actual decisive act, was transcendent, almost an out-of-body experience. While what we went through was strong, I don’t think it was
that
powerful.” She paused to assess herself before saying, “I don’t feel differently toward you.”

He relaxed with a whoosh of air from his lungs. “I don’t either—to you, I mean.”

“There is one point I simply don’t understand. From everything I’ve learned and every instance I’ve seen, the soul-mate bond is all about love. The two mates love and cherish each other. The feeling increases they grow closer. I can’t see how what we’re going through has anything to do with love, though. The only emotion in evidence is lust. Where’s love in the equation? I certainly don’t feel like I’m ‘in love.’ Do you?”

He was quick to answer. “No, I don’t. I feel manipulated. I’m willing to agree that we would have been attracted to each other even if we weren’t practitioners, but we are. Practitioner mates certainly never need much coercion.”

Typical man—he
still
wasn’t listening and was back to that “forcing” idea, so she tried again. “Is it
really
coercion? Or are we simply overcome by the soul-mate attraction and doing what comes naturally? Oh, I’ll admit the SMI’s aggravating us, but it doesn’t do that when we hold hands or kiss. How do you feel this minute, this second? Not in your head. In your body. I feel pretty damn good.”

He gave her a thoroughly black look.

“Well?” she pushed.

“I feel… satiated,” he mumbled.

“No aches or pains?”

He shook his head, stared at his hands.

Another matter raised its head as her brain made connections. “Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“No barriers. I never activated my birth control spell.”

“You could
be pregnant?”
If it was horror in his eyes before, now they held total terror.

“It’s highly unlikely,” she reassured him after a swift calculation of dates. “To be on the safe side, however …” She hurriedly cast the spell and felt the correct effects. “There. Nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” When he didn’t look completely convinced, she repeated, “Yes, I am sure.”

He sat there like a lump.

“Okay, what next?” she asked, hoping to get him talking again. “We’re soul mates. Where do we go from here?”

He frowned, but she couldn’t tell if it was at her questions or the situation. “It appears from the Rhinedebeck tale that we can successfully refuse both the imperative and the mating. In that episode, the blame and the consequences came down on the man, not the woman. That’s fine with me. There’s no reason you should suffer at my intransigence.”

“Let’s be scientific here and look at the facts,” she retorted. “One instance like Rhinedebeck does not make a trend. That couple hadn’t mated—according to the evidence we have. Don’t forget, the imperative is already giving me pain, too. Why won’t it continue to do so? If you reject me, there’s no guarantee that I’ll ever have another mate. What am I supposed to do? Go out and find a non-practitioner to marry, like he did? I don’t think so.”

He glared at her. “Are you saying you
want
me to give in?”

“No. I simply think we have to consider
all
the possibilities for why we’re in this jam.”

“What’s left to consider?”

“Why you’re implacably against the concept in the first place.”

His face went blank as he sat straight up and crossed his arms over his chest again. “That’s my business and mine alone.”

“It certainly looks like ‘your business’ has put us both into a mess of major proportions. All of our other disparities can probably be negotiated or handled or ignored, even the totally different approach to magic. Lulabelle says she knows a number of couples who have lots of diversities and contrasts. Maybe we ought to give the process a chance.”

He said nothing, but didn’t seem able to meet her eyes.

Okay, she’d try yet another tact. “At the beginning you suggested approaching our exploration scientifically. How can we do that when you’re withholding what may be the most important variable—the reason for your refusal?”

“I can’t see that my dislike of the whole concept has any bearing. Something—the phenomenon and its imperative enforcer, the universe, whatever—has decided we’re soul mates. I refuse to give in to those dictates. I’d feel the same, no matter what. It’s nothing against you personally. It’s become a matter of principle to me. I do not want and will not take a soul mate. Becoming mates would be a disaster for both of us. There must be a way out of our dilemma.”

Moving the man off his “principle” was like trying to move a giant redwood tree with her bare hands. What else could she do but keep trying? “How do you prove that your reasoning is sound unless you put it to the test?”

“All our talk is getting us nowhere,” he said and stood. “Let’s research deeper into the whole subject of soul mates and touch base during the week before we leave for Atlanta. I’ll go on Friday to put in some time at the library there.”

She stared at him. What could she say to those statements? He was totally walling himself up. She truly did want to scream.

He met her eyes for only a few seconds before walking to the door and opening it. “I’ll talk to you in Austin.”

She watched him leave and close the door after him.

Coward
. The man was a coward.

And she was willing to bet real money that he was over across the hall packing to leave tonight.

Lily-livered, sniveling coward
.

She smiled to herself. She knew what she had to do—the same as with her brother when he wouldn’t tell her important information.

Ambush him.

Not until he had reached the sanctuary of his suite did Marcus allow himself to react. Once inside, however, he began cursing and pacing, using every foul word he could think of over and over until he ran out of breath and vocabulary. How could he be so stupid not to have recognized what happened when the two of them came together? Because he’d been so afraid he’d raped her that he hadn’t seen the larger picture.

Soul mates! He and Gloriana were, in fact, soul mates!

Despite all his determination never to have one, all his care never to be even in the vicinity of eligible female practitioners, what had happened? A catastrophe.

No matter that having sex with Gloriana had been the most powerful sexual experience of his adult life. No matter that when he had been sitting there talking about the situation, he’d felt the most powerful yearning to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right.

Because it wouldn’t. It couldn’t.

He knew himself. He could fight his true nature and his family history, but he knew how it would all come out. Glori—vibrant, beautiful, funny, intriguing Glori—would be more than disappointed in him as a lifelong companion. She’d be crushed, sad, confused, and frustrated. She’d end up hating him, soul mate or not.

Better to refuse to go along with the imperative before they were deeper in the emotional morass. She’d get over him. The practitioner gods would surely grant her another mate.

Another mate. That meant another man would be the one to hold her, to kiss her, to take her to bed, to wake up beside her, to father her children.

Those thoughts almost doubled him over, and not from imperative-caused pain. No, more from an intense ache of jealousy and a mighty surge of possessiveness.
She was his
, damn it.

No! Stop thinking! These thoughts lead to madness. Get out of here before you do go crazy!

Yes. He’d leave tonight. Go home, where he was in control of his life—and alone.

He stalked into the bedroom, dragged out his luggage, and threw his things into it. He almost laughed at the thought of how his parents would react to his haphazard packing. Within five minutes he was on his way to the concierge. There had to be a plane out of Chicago tonight. Hell, the place had two airports. He’d go to Dallas, Houston, anyplace with a connecting flight to Austin. He’d spend the night in the airport if he had to.

On the plane early the next morning, after a night spent pacing the halls of O’Hare Airport, Marcus tried to sleep. Despite his exhaustion, it wasn’t easy. His stubborn brain kept reliving those moments with Gloriana, their passionate kisses, the mutual resonance of their magic centers, the absolute thrill and wonder and, yes, satiation of their lovemaking.

No, not lovemaking. Sex. That’s all it was.

His body and his magic center said differently, of course, and he was doubly glad he didn’t have a seatmate as his unrepentant cock responded to his thoughts.

George and Evelyn were surprised to see him when he went to pick up Samson, but he managed to mumble something about not feeling well, and they let him go without asking real questions.

Marcus took Samson for a walk, then headed for bed. Once lying there, he decided he could survive the coming week and the next debate. He wouldn’t have to see her again until Saturday. There’d be lots of people around. If he was never alone with her, he didn’t have to worry about a repeat of their previous “togetherness.” Furthermore he would not, definitely refused to, think of her or their problem until he saw her Saturday night. That determination relieved some of his stress, and he was able to concentrate on math proofs until he fell asleep.

“Come on, girl,” Gloriana called to Delilah as she walked out of her house on Wednesday morning, “Let’s go to town. You can visit with Samson while I take on his master.”

The basenji chortled at her and climbed into the car.

Gloriana strapped the hound into the harness she’d ordered on the Internet—a duplicate of the one Marcus had used on Samson. She headed for the highway singing along with Shania Twain on the radio, “I’m Gonna Getcha Good!” Delilah yodeled a couple of times in accompaniment.

As she drove to Austin, she plotted her moves. She was mad, damn mad, totally, thoroughly, completely mad. She didn’t have words for her anger at Marcus Forscher, not to mention the entire soul-mate process.

At Marcus for his obstinate refusal to discuss the reasons behind his rejection of a soul mate. How else were they going to get to the bottom of their dilemma? He was the one who said, “Let’s look at the situation scientifically.” Scientifically? Hah!

She was also angry at the soul-mate process, particularly the SMI, for reducing her mind to such mush that she hardly knew what she—or he—was doing when she lost her virginity. That was one event at which she had wanted to be fully present, mind and body.

Oh, the memories of what happened had come back to her, and she’d relived every touch, every kiss,
everything
over and over, but that wasn’t the same as being consciously there in the moment. It certainly wasn’t the same without Marcus being there, touching her, kissing her,
everythinging
her.

She hadn’t discussed the soul-mate revelations—especially not their mating—with her parents. Her mother had given her a couple of questioning looks. Thank goodness she hadn’t broached the subject beyond asking how Marcus had been at the debate. Gloriana hadn’t called Lulabelle, either. After all, what could they do? This mess was between her and Marcus.

Soul mates
. She’d thought long and hard about the concept in general and her soul mate in particular. Okay, there was the phenomenon—practitioners always found their soul mates—and the imperative, which made sure they got together and “nudged” when they dawdled.

She’d thought about her brother and sister and how they’d gone through the process of finding and accepting their mates. Leaving all the
sameness
between mates aside, it appeared that lust—an enormous, all-consuming physical attraction—was the trigger.