Heart Choice (33 page)

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 sex, but the tender companionship. 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.

Mitchella 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.

“Mitchella? 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.

“We hurt each other. He didn't know I was sterile.”

Antenn snarled.

“Apparently he thought the Clover genes might mend his own.”

“Fligger.”

She didn't correct his language. Managed not to agree. “Every person has points in their life when they're a fligger.”

The boy vibrated. “What are you going to do to him?”

“That's how a gang member would talk,” she snapped.

Antenn paled.

She crossed to a chair and let her weak knees fail, fell into the cushioned depths. “I'm going to love him.”

“How could you—”

“He's hurting, too. I believe he loves me, too. I'm going to love him.” She smiled, and tears began to trickle down her face. “I'm going to love him for the duration of this project, then I'm going to put him away in my memory and live my life. But I still want him now.”

“How could you?”

Mitchella shook her head. “I don't know. I never thought love could be this deep, this painful. This wonderful. I want it for the little time we have.” Since her time with Straif was so short, so doomed, she wanted all the glorious, agonizing moments she could greedily gather.

“Some man will marry you, someone who doesn't care if you can't have kids,” Antenn said.

“I
can
have children. I have one now,” she said, opening her eyes wide. “I know you're too big to be held, but I need to hold you, need you to hold me.”

Antenn was on her lap in a flash. Pinky trotted into the room and jumped onto Antenn, draping himself over them both. For several moments the only sound was the cat's purring and Mitchella's weeping. She held Antenn tight.

Finally, when her tears were all gone, she kissed Antenn on the top of his head. Scowling, he went to his desk and his grove-study assignments, but she thought she'd distracted him from his learning and sighed.

After her emotional storm, Mitchella gathered herself together and for the third time that day, washed and changed clothes. She shoved away her pain and let a little natural optimism seep through. She'd get through this time, meantime she'd win back the man. Could she act breezy, casual? Yes. Just the way to keep him off balance.

But she didn't see Straif or Drina as evening fell into darkness, as Antenn and she ate dinner, as she kissed him before he slept, and she walked to her own suite.

A glint caught her eye from one of the corridor's end windows, light she'd never seen. She drifted to it, realizing what it was just as she neared the window. A glow came from the vicinity of the small pavilion. She didn't know how long the effect would last. Until Straif found his HeartMate? What would that woman think of the Summer Folly?

Fierce possessiveness rushed through Mitchella. She'd left her mark all over the Residence, and for this short while Straif was
hers
.

She wanted him still. Despite all the pain, she wished to continue the affair until the very last moment when she had to walk away.

Or he left to track his HeartMate.

Twenty-two

Straif went to the HouseHeart to recover from the blow
Mitchella had dealt him. Somehow he survived the agony. Perhaps he should have known she was sterile, but he'd been away from Druida a long time, and most gossip he heard was about the First Families. He meditated deep in the Residence and recalled Vinni T'Vine's words about the price for his cure. Drina kept close to him, now and then licking his face, and she was a comfort. But he wanted Mitchella's arms around him, Mitchella to hold him while he hurt.

He didn't sleep with her that night or invite her to his bed. In the weeks they'd been lovers, they'd missed an occasional night of loving, because one or both of them had been exhausted, or they'd indulged in passionate sex during the day.

When he awoke, he reached for her and she wasn't there, wasn't close and warm and soft in the huge generational bed. He was alone. In the bed. In the room. In the suite.

The last Blackthorn. His throat ached. His heart was torn—he could have his woman and turn his back on his duty to his line. Or he could follow ingrained responsibilities to his Family, to those who'd come before, those who'd sacrificed for him, and reject the woman he loved. Almost inconceivable. His Family line would die, the great Flair of the Blackthorns would die.

The faces of his lost parents haunted him. He'd already failed—in his quest, in abandoning his home, in nearly losing his estate. How could he selfishly turn his back on his heritage again? He couldn't. Not now.

Scowling, he corrected himself. He was the last Blackthorn with great Flair, the true blessing of tracking talent. That qualification didn't lift his spirits, but darkened his mood. He was still alone, craving the sweet loving he'd become accustomed to, the woman's inventive hands, her soft body, which he could sink into and forget all his problems. More, her cheerful optimism, her laughter, her gentleness. He'd been starved for affection and connection, and she'd given it to him, withholding nothing. So he'd filled himself with her, ignoring the quest that had kept him sane and purposeful for all the years of his adult life. It had felt as if she could cure his genetic flaw with her loving, just as she had made his emotions, his heart, whole.

But she couldn't.

And she'd known all along that she couldn't, but loved him anyway. He was sure of that. She loved him. He thought he might love her, but that notion opened a dark chasm of pain, so he set it aside. Recalling the night before, he realized that she had never taken their sleeping together for granted. He had always asked her to come to his bed, or had followed her to the guest suite—something that hadn't registered. But he hadn't asked her last night.

How strong she must be to love a man who couldn't take her as his wife.

He rubbed his face. He didn't know if he had her strength.

The afternoon before, in the stunned grief of realization that Mitchella couldn't give him what he most longed for, a healthy child from his loins, he'd rescheduled his appointment with the colonist Ship,
Nuada's Sword
. Perhaps now the Ship was running, his ancestors' technology could mend what Celtan Flair could not. Captain Ruis Elder had done what Straif himself was attempting, had found and restored a home for himself—but rehabilitating an ancient Ship must have been much more difficult than bringing a GreatHouse back from more than a decade's neglect.

A prickle of hair rose on the back of his neck, then Straif heard the running footsteps of the boy, Antenn. Straif hadn't made much progress in making friends with the boy. Had that meant Straif hadn't accepted Mitchella completely in his life? He was confused, and thinking about it hurt, so no more pondering. He headed for the waterfall. He'd skip breakfast.

Straif reached his ResidenceDen without meeting Mitchella or Antenn. As usual, Mitchella's updated models were on his desk. He glanced out the window and the view of the Great Labyrinth annoyed him. Yesterday he'd hired a mass of low-paid workers to clear the land, had marked bushes and trees that would stay, or be donated to the Clovers for their Family grove. He wanted to see the progress.

Knowing more about decorating and holowindows than he had before, he strode over to the sill and plucked two imaging buttons from under the slight ledge and deactivated them. The shortened grass of the gliderdrive and the emerging grassyard and gardens beyond sprang into view. The sheer green startled him. It was the green of upcoming summer.

With the Ritual, he'd strengthened and protected the Residence, set shieldspells. But to restore—or relandscape—the grounds would take much more Flair-energy than he had, than he could spare. Or he could become indebted to FirstFamilies who he didn't count as allies.

A holocalendar ball appeared and said, “Time to leave for your appointment with
Nuada's Sword,
” then vanished. Straif grimaced. Time to prepare himself for hours without Flair. Drina decided to accompany him to play with her sister, Samba. Straif sensed his Fam wanted to boast. If Samba was anything like Drina and every other FamCat, Samba would turn the tables on Drina, and Straif would leave with a Fam with wounded pride.

A couple of septhours later, Straif lay naked on a medical bed and listened to the Ship.

“We will work on the problem of your genetic code,” Ship said cheerfully. Straif ached all over after the intense examination. Ship had taken “samples.”

Ship continued, “If you allow us to keep the samples, we can store them in our banks with all the other code.”

The idea was too intriguing to disregard. “Other code?”

“There are
many
animals and plants from Earth that aren't currently alive on Celta. Many that didn't survive during the generations that we Ships were in space. Many that the colonists didn't revive. Many that didn't flourish on Celta.

“As the planet becomes more civilized and the Healers and scientists such as the Heathers and Culpeper grow more knowledgeable, as well as Ourselves, it might be possible to grow and release more adaptable Earth species.”

Straif grasped the kernal of information. “You could keep my DNA and, uh, other samples—”

“Your sperm,” Ship said helpfully.

Straif shuddered again at the unpleasant way that had been obtained. “—and store my code until a complete cure could be found, until your, um, nanobots could fix it.”

“True.”

“Does the code contain the information for great Flair and the Blackthorn hereditary tracking ability?”

“Of course.”

“So even if you can't find a cure at this time—”

“We are sure we will be successful. We anticipate having a positive answer for you within two weeks.”

That news should have been thrilling. Instead he calculated that the date would be when his relationship with Mitchella would end. The open house was in two weeks, the main restoration of the Residence would be done, Mitchella might be gone. Though they hadn't talked about it, Straif knew she would not stay with him when the project ended.

After the Ship found a cure, there would be no reason for him to delay finding his HeartMate, a woman he should go to with a free heart, ready to start a new life. He couldn't imagine loving another woman.