Authors: Kate Douglas
Crystalfire (4 page)
His sword lay on the floor on the other side of the room, half buried in the white foamy stuff from that weird and seemingly ineffectual weapon Ed had used. Taron stared at the foam and tried to figure out what had just happened. Nothing made any sense.
The little engine continued to circle the track.
Chug, chug, chug ...
He couldn’t seem to make his mind work and his jaw ached like blazes. He rubbed it carefully with his fingers, surprised to find that it didn’t feel broken. Still, something was very wrong. Obviously, the demon had taken over Ed’s body, but something else hung there on the fringes of ...
“Nine hells. Bumper?” Taron shook his head as he tried once again to clear the fog from his brain. He glanced around the cluttered workshop. “Where are you girl? Bumper? Willow?” He tried once more to stand. This time, by grabbing on to the edge of the worktable, he struggled to his feet.
There was a switch in front of him. He flipped it off.
The tiny engine came to an immediate stop. Now where the hell was Bumper? Moving very carefully on legs that didn’t quite respond, Taron took shaky steps around the big layout table and retrieved his sword. It was covered in white foam. Carefully he wiped it off on his pants and stuck it in his scabbard.
His head began to clear. Finally.
Someone, somewhere, moaned. He glanced quickly around the room, but there was no sign of Bumper. Ed was gone so it had to be the dog. He heard the sound again. Frowning, Taron dropped carefully to his knees and peered beneath the huge table. There, in the shadows ...
A hand. Certainly not Bumper’s paw, this was a pale, slender hand with long, perfectly shaped nails, palm up, unmoving. The wrist disappeared in the darkness. Taron wrapped his fingers around the hand and tugged. The arm plus another hand and part of a bare arm came into view and he grabbed that hand as well. Tugging slowly, carefully, he pulled until the body attached to the hands slid out from beneath the table.
“Gods-be-damned ... who the hell ... ?”
She moaned again, though she wasn’t quite conscious. Her eyelids fluttered. Dark lashes tipped in gold flickered against pale cheeks. Her long, curly blond hair had tangled around one table leg. Carefully he unwound the strands and pulled the woman the rest of the way out from under the table.
She was slim and fair and entirely naked, her body long and lean, her breasts small and firm. Her nipples reminded him of dark coins against her pale skin. Taron slipped his hands beneath her back and legs and, moving slowly and carefully, eased her limp and unresponsive body into his arms and then close against his chest.
His legs were still a bit rubbery, but he managed to stand up smoothly in spite of his burden. His own badly bruised jaw was forgotten as he carried her out of the workshop and across the back lawn to the house. There were a million questions running through his mind. A million questions, but only one answer that mattered right now.
He recognized her. Recognized the perfect line of her jaw, the full, rose-colored lips, the arch to her brows. Recognized her, even as he knew that the woman he held in his arms couldn’t possibly exist. Shouldn’t exist, not in this form.
How in the nine hells could this beautiful, perfectly sized woman be Willow? He may have seen her up close only once before, when she was a mere slip of a sprite, but he would never forget her face, her beautiful little body, her perfect red lips.
But this was no longer a tiny will-o’-the-wisp, and that body was, after all, gone forever.
The woman he held in his arms was all woman, with skin like silk and a body unlike anything he’d ever seen, impossible or not. She’d fascinated him when he saw her as a sprite, but there was no describing the effect she had on him now.
She was also unconscious and her skin felt like ice, which meant he’d damned well better get his mind working and his priorities straight.
First he needed to get her inside the house and see if he could find a couch or a bed for her to lie on and a blanket to warm her. Then he had to figure out how to help her, and then what to do with her. Way down on the list was figuring out how to rescue Ed, and getting rid of the demon that appeared to have commandeered Ed’s body.
How in the name of the gods was he supposed to do all of this on his own? As he strode across the backyard, Taron sent out a frantic call to Alton. Tried to reach Darius. Called hopefully for Dax.
Nothing. Not a single response.
Okay. He was on his own, at least for now. Somehow, he’d make this work—if he could get inside the gods-be-damned house. He paused at the back door and stared at it a moment. What he wouldn’t give for a nice Lemurian energy portal about now. After a moment’s pause, he shifted Willow and carefully slung her over one shoulder to free up his hand, so that even with his arms full of unconscious woman and one hand planted firmly on her soft, round butt, Taron managed to figure out how the handle worked. Feeling just a little bit smug, he turned the knob and opened the back door to the house.
First obstacle overcome.
He carried Willow down a long, dark hallway until he reached a room where a night-light burned. This one had to be Eddy’s. He recognized a shirt lying on the bed, one he’d seen her wear before.
He carried Willow down a long, dark hallway until he reached a room where a night-light burned. This one had to be Eddy’s. He recognized a shirt lying on the bed, one he’d seen her wear before.
The big bed was made up so he laid Willow down on top of the comforter and brushed the tangled hair back from her face. She had felt icy cold when he first picked her up, though she’d lain in his arms as still as death while he carried her into the house. Now her body shivered and trembled as if she were freezing. The tiny pulse at her throat fluttered faster.
He put his hand against her forehead. Her skin still felt like ice. What the nine hells could he do for her? Taron glanced around the room, found a soft knitted blanket tossed over a chair in one corner and carefully covered her. Then he sat down beside her and took one of her hands in his.
Her icy, trembling fingers clutched his hand, as if, at least on some level, she was aware of his presence. She moaned softly and drew her knees up, tucking herself into a fetal position. Why was she so cold?
That single knitted blanket wasn’t nearly enough. He hoped Eddy wouldn’t mind, but he tugged the blankets back, lifted her again and stuck her beneath the covers. Then he tucked them close around her chilled body and sat down beside her again. He held onto her hand and sat there without a clue what he could do to help. What did humans have for healers? Dawson Buck would know, but he wasn’t here.
How the nine hells could he get her warm? The room felt uncomfortably hot to him, so her chills made no sense. But, if he was hot and she was cold ...
He’d read about using body heat to warm victims of hypothermia, which made the only solution more than obvious. Taron kicked off his sandals, unbuttoned the flannel shirt and took it off. He shoved his jeans down his legs and the stretchy underwear went with them, so he kicked everything off. Then with a prayer to whatever gods might be watching, he slid beneath the blanket and drew her body close to the warmth of his.
She felt like ice, but if he’d had any concern that he was doing the right thing, those worries fled as Willow snuggled close against him, buried her cold nose in the dusting of hair on his chest and sighed. Her tremors seemed to slow and she pressed even closer. Taron wrapped his arms around her, and held her tighter.
He refused to think of the obvious, that she was naked and so was he. That his body was reacting in a manner that was far removed from his intention of merely warming her. No. He searched for and found control, forced himself to relax, reminding himself he held her for one purpose and one purpose only—to warm her. That was all.
So how many times did he have to repeat that stupid command before he actually believed it? Nine hells, what else could he do? He was alone in Evergreen with an unconscious woman who could only be Willow, his friends were all fighting demons in Sedona, and the demon king had taken over the body of a very good man who was now in terrible danger.
He’d panic, except he knew that if he lost it, he might never get it back. He’d never felt so terrified in his life, though it wasn’t fear for himself that had his heart thudding in his chest or his lungs clutching at every breath of air. It was fear for a woman who shouldn’t be. Fear she might not survive, that she could somehow disappear as quickly as she’d appeared.
No. He would not allow that. He would hold her close, share his body’s heat. He would not allow her to disappear. Sighing, he held on to Willow. Focused on the soft rise and fall of her chest against his, on the softness of her skin, the firm globes of her bottom beneath the palm of his hand.
He couldn’t help himself—couldn’t stop gently rubbing her smooth skin, couldn’t avoid the thoughts that pushed against his mind. She’d fascinated him from the very first time he saw her. Fascinated him even more, now. Where had this perfect body come from? Willow had been locked in the mind of that curly-haired mutt. Surviving as pure consciousness, sort of hitchhiking along with Bumper. Now she was whole and beautiful, and somehow he had to make her warm. He would keep her safe.
His fingers tangled in her hair, in the mass of blond curls cascading over her shoulders. He remembered the first time he saw her when she was merely a tiny sprite. She’d looked like a tinier version of the woman he held in his arms now—except she’d had long, straight blond hair.
She was a larger version of that tiny sprite in every way but her hair—hair that reminded him of something, somewhere. He buried his face in her tousled curls and sighed. No matter. She was in his arms, her body was beginning to warm, and he’d find out the answers when she awakened.
She’d been so terribly cold—colder than she could ever remember, but now she was surrounded in the most delicious warmth. It had to be a dream. She’d not had any real feelings or physical sensations of any kind for so long—not since the demon king had eaten her body. Thank goodness she’d already escaped from that fragile shell before he actually started chewing.
That would have been truly awful, but she’d practically exploded out of her physical body and shot straight for Bumper, and there she’d remained ever since. Without real sensations or feelings, without actual contact with anything physical.
Until now.
She’d learned to sense what Bumper felt, to see through her eyes and, if she really concentrated, to hear clearly with Bumper’s very sensitive ears, but it wasn’t the same. Besides, as much as she loved the silly dog, she missed being her own woman, no matter how tiny that woman had been.
She didn’t feel tiny anymore, either. How odd. She cast out with her thoughts.
Bumper answered.
Willow? Are you awake?
Willow? Are you awake?
Mmmm? Yeah, I think. Where are you?
In you, Willow. I’m scared. What happened?
In me? How did that happen?
Willow frowned and tried to remember. They’d been in Ed’s workshop and Bumper was napping on the floor. Then Taron had come, and then ...
Willow frowned and tried to remember. They’d been in Ed’s workshop and Bumper was napping on the floor. Then Taron had come, and then ...
The demon king!
Willow’s heart was suddenly pounding in her chest and Bumper whined.
Hang on, Bumper. We’ll figure this out.
Hang on, Bumper. We’ll figure this out.
Willow felt the brush of air across her face and opened her eyes to the pale rays of early morning sunlight coming through a window. Startled, she jerked her head.
“Ouch! What ... ?”
“Taron?” She turned, eyes wide. Taron stared at her, only he was the same size as she was, and she wasn’t looking at him out of Bumper’s eyes, which meant ...
“Eeek!” Scrambling away, she sat up, realized she was naked and grabbed the blankets that had been covering both of them.
She ripped them away from Taron and held them against her breasts, biting back another scream. Or was it a nervous giggle? Whatever—she still slapped a hand over her eyes.
Taron was naked. Oh, good gods was he naked! She peeked out from between her fingers just in time to see him grab the pillow she’d had under her head and slam it down to cover up all those manly parts she’d never once seen on anyone except Dax.
“Are you okay?” Taron peeled her fingers away from her eyes. “Willow? You are Willow, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, I’m Willow, but no ... I don’t know if I’m all right. I’m big! How did I get big?” She sucked in one big breath of air after another, but she couldn’t seem to get enough to fill her lungs. Bumper was yammering away in her head, but she had no idea what the dog was saying. All she could hear that made sense was the air rushing in and out of her lungs and a buzzing in her ears, and ...
Taron pressed his hand against the back of her head and forced her to bend way over until her nose was between her knees. “You’re hyperventilating. Take slow, even breaths or you’re going to pass out.”
Easy for you to say.
He laughed. “I heard you. I wondered if you’d still be able to use telepathy. That’s it. Slow, even breaths.”
He rubbed her neck and back, and there was something really soothing about the soft stroking of his big hand along her spine. She managed to slow her gasping down to almost normal respiration—at least to what she thought was normal.
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