Mystic Flame (Beyond Ontariese 4) (4 page)

His tongue traced her lower lip, encouraging
her to open wider without delving deeper. The gathering increased,
tingles spiking from pleasure to pain and back to pleasure. He took
from her carefully, his embrace growing stronger as she relaxed
against his chest.

Memories flared, lips pressing, sliding over
naked flesh. Hands caressing, stroking, grasping as he moved
between her legs. She’d never experienced anything as intense as
making love with Evan; which made his betrayal unbearable.

Tearing her mouth away from his, she stepped
back, out of his arms. The elevator door slid open and she rushed
out into the cool corridor. He moved soundlessly, but she sensed
him behind her. Tension arced between them, a festering wound
unattended for fifteen cycles.

“Why are you here?” His tone was much
stronger now.

“To save your ungrateful ass.” She didn’t
turn around. “Do you have the journal?”

He grabbed her upper arm and brought her up
short. “Who sent you after me?”

“Who do you think?” She glared over her
shoulder, twisting her arm out of his grasp. “Keep your paws off
me. This is strictly business.” He said nothing more as she marched
down the hallway. She’d expected an emotional reaction to seeing
him again, but this was ridiculous. The ache in her chest made each
breath painful.

She opened her door with a cardkey and
stepped inside. He ducked in half a second before the door slammed
in his face. “How did you find me? I closed the portal before I
locked on to a destination. There’s no way Malos could have known
where I went.”

“Then it stands to reason Malos didn’t send
me.”

He sighed, his lips thinning as tension took
control of his expression. “If you want me to explain what happened
back then, I’ll—”

“Don’t bother,” she snapped. “It’s ancient
history.”

“You won’t let me explain, but you’re
determined to be angry. This is sure to be pleasant.”

She faced him, arms folded over her chest,
unable to do more than glare. Thick golden hair framed his face in
messy waves. Their liplink transfer had restored a healthy cast to
his skin. Distinct lines bracketed his mouth, accenting the sensual
fullness of his lips. Bracing herself for her body’s reaction, she
looked into his eyes.

Her heart fluttered and a slow, melting
sensation curled from her breasts to her feminine core. So damn
predictable. All he’d ever had to do was look at her to get her
blood simmering. “Do you have the journal or not?”

Evan swallowed past the lump in his throat.
Nothing had changed. Dro Tar still had no intention of letting him
explain. She’d ignored his messages and refused to see him until
humiliation drove him away. By burying himself in the rigors of
training he’d found something resembling peace, but she was never
far from his thoughts.

Very few Mystics could control a transport
conduit with enough precision to deposit her on Earth at a specific
place and time. Malos was one of the few, but Evan was certain
Malos didn’t know where he’d gone. It would have taken a Seeker
Circle to learn his whereabouts and only Head Master Tal had the
authority to sanction such a joining.

Balling his hands into fists, he fought his
need to touch her, to caress her until she was ready to be
reasonable. A hollow laugh sounded inside his mind. Dro Tar had
never been reasonable. She was fire and spontaneity, laughter and
defiance, but nothing as mundane as reasonable.

“What did they tell you?” he asked, evading
her question. He wasn’t going to admit to anything until he
understood the situation better.

“Why do you say ‘they’? I haven’t mentioned
anyone.”

Her stubbornness amused him far more than it
should. He really didn’t have time for her obstinacy. Walking past
her, he crossed to the window and gazed out into the night. The
parted draperies exposed a wide thoroughfare lined with massive
buildings. Lights and animated signs winked through the darkness.
Each edifice was unique yet somehow similar. “Where are we?”

“How can you not know where we are? I
followed you, sort of.”

Turning his back to the mesmerizing vista,
he looked at his prickly companion. Her hair was shorter than the
last time he’d seen her. It capped her head in a riot of
gold-tipped brown curls. The changes in her features were subtle,
faint lines fanned out from her eyes. Still, she was the same woman
who’d haunted his dreams, the same woman he’d laughed with and
loved. It didn’t matter! He couldn’t let it matter.

Her clothing was peculiar. Bold black
letters were centered on a simple white shirt, but he couldn’t
decipher their meaning. This trip had been unplanned, so he hadn’t
undergone a language infusion. Fortunately he’d been infused with
English for a previous mission or he wouldn’t be able to
communicate with any of the humans. He focused on the letters
I
Luv Las Vegas
. They still made no sense. Her formfitting black
pants rode low on her hips, leaving several inches of toned abdomen
bare. Would this costume help her blend with the local populace?
He’d been too desperate for energy on the way to this room to
notice how others were dressed.

He dragged his gaze away from her appealing
shape and centered his attention on the crisis at hand. “What did
Malos tell Head Master Tal? Did anyone see what really
happened?”

“What really happened? You tell me.”

Despite his good intentions, his gaze
gravitated downward again. The shirt hugged her torso, her nipples
creating distinct peaks in the clingy material. Did he dare hope
she wasn’t as indifferent as she made it seem?

“Hey, buster, my eyes are up here.” She
motioned his gaze toward her face.

“I find your apparel distracting,” he
admitted with a guilty smile.

“I noticed. Now talk or give me the journal
and send me back to Tal.”

“One of my responsibilities as Vee’s
apprentice was to encrypt his journal entries and transmit them to
Lord Drakkin on Bilarri.”

She narrowed her gaze and tilted her head.
Surely she had heard the name Lord Drakkin. The director of the
Symposium was fiercely private and somewhat mysterious, but
everyone knew his name. Evan gave himself a mental shake. He often
forgot how different life was beyond the Conservatory’s
shields.

“How does Malos intend to use the journal
against Tal if the entries are registered with the Symposium?”
Running her finger around the neckline of her shirt, she tugged it
away from her skin. “Anything entered into the Wisdom of the Ages
is accessible to anyone.”

It took a moment for her question to
register. “I don’t understand. Who told you Malos intended to use
the journal against Head Master Tal?”

Her features seemed to freeze, brow
furrowed, lips parted. She was clearly as confused as he was. “Why
did you take the journal?”

“I was cataloguing Vee’s possessions when I
heard suspicious sounds coming from his office. I crept across the
corridor and found Malos trying to remove the journal from its
display case. When I demanded that he stop, he attacked me.”

“Attacked you?”

“He surrounded me with a containment field,
but I was able to teleport out. All the while he frantically worked
to free the journal. We grappled briefly and I sensed the most
disturbing emotions. He was desperate to destroy the journal. It
felt as if his life depended on the act, so I grabbed the device
and Summoned the Storm.”

She was silent for a thoughtful moment
before she asked, “Where were you trying to go?”

“I only meant to take the journal beyond his
grasp, to safeguard it from his frenzy, but a vision claimed me as
I entered the vortex and I ended up here.”

“A vision?”

Her tendency to echo him in that
disbelieving tone was starting to grate on his nerves. “Yes, a
vision.”

“What did you see?”

He dragged his fingers through his hair and
expelled a frustrated sigh. “It’s all jumbled within my mind. All I
know for certain is this location was not random. My vision brought
me here.”

She crossed to the bed and back, absently
shaking her head. “None of this adds up. Malos told Tal you intend
to use the information in the journal to empower some sort of
Mystic rebellion.”

“Malos is trying to organize such a
rebellion, but I don’t think it has anything to do with his
interest in the journal. Malos is likely hoping to keep Head Master
Tal focused on me while he gathers support for the
insurrection.”

“Tal is nobody’s fool. He knows Malos is
trying to undermine him, but what’s with the journal? Why would
Malos want to destroy it?”

“That’s what we must figure out. His
emotions were not feigned. There’s something in the journal that
will incriminate him.”

Tapping her index finger against her pursed
lips, she paused at the foot of the bed. “We can’t stay here.” She
avoided holding his gaze for any length of time. Evan felt the
oddest mixture of sadness and hope at her obvious anxiety. “Tal
sent Malos on a wild goose chase, but he’ll eventually ferret out
what Tal knows and come after you.”

Evan laughed. “What is your fixation with
animals?” They were speaking in their native language, but unusual
phrases still peppered her speech.

“Tal intentionally misdirected Malos, but I
have no doubt it’s only a matter of time before he learns the
results of the true Seeker Circle.”

Evan inclined his head. “My thanks for the
translation.”

“Tal narrowed your location down to one of
three hotels. This was the most probable. It’s the first place
Malos will look.”

“My vision is as troubling as is Malos’
interest in the journal. We can’t return to Ontariese until I
decipher the images and understand what he’s trying to hide.”

“Fine, but you can’t wander around Las Vegas
looking like that.” She motioned toward his flowing black robe.

“The serving women presumed I was some sort
of performer. They asked if I was part of something called
Star-Crossed
.”

“It’s an ‘intergalactic retelling of
Romeo and Juliet
’ according to the posters hanging all over
the casino.”

“What is
Romeo and Juliet
?”

“A tragic play written hundreds of cycles
ago.” She moved around the bed and unzipped her suitcase as she
spoke. “I’m a sucker for a happy ending, so interesting new setting
or not, I doubt
Star-Crossed
will entertain me. Passing you
off as a cast member might work in this hotel, but it’s better if
we blend in.” She set various items aside until she found what she
was looking for. “I had to guess on the sizes. It’s been a long
time.”

The hushed, regretful catch in her voice
made Evan’s chest clench. Why did she have to be so stubborn? Her
perception of the events wasn’t that far from the truth, but
understanding his side might have given them some hope of working
through the conflict. She’d been mourning the loss of two friends,
so he hadn’t wanted to push. But fifteen cycles was a long time to
harbor resentment.

Their fingers brushed as he took the
clothing from her. “Thank you.”

She met his gaze and set a small container
on top of the neatly folded garments. “For your eyes.” Longing
smoldered in her gaze along with a hint of pain. His pulse leapt
and his fingers itched for more than a teasing brush of skin
against skin. Regardless of her misconception, he was not a coward.
Desire surged, igniting passion and determination.

This reunion was long overdue.

Grat Farlay paused outside the tavern and
drew the hood of his coat forward, casting his features into
shadow. He hated places like this, shabby, common places that
reeked of stale liquor and sweat. Unfortunately, too many things
already connected him with the man he was meeting, so he’d had no
option but to select a location far from home.

Filling his lungs with cool, relatively
clean air, he entered the tavern and searched the gloomy interior
for his contact. A motley assortment of rabble stood at the bar
laughing and guzzling Bilarrian ale. Equally unsavory patrons
congregated on long benches and surrounded minrell tables. A naked
holodancer undulated and contorted her body, displaying herself in
graphic poses and simulating the sex act with her provocative
gyrations.

“Not one of my better programs,” he muttered
as he moved up beside his contact. “But she’s all a place like this
can afford.”

Malos turned his head toward Grat and
scowled. “You selected the location for this meeting. Must we stay
here?”

“They won’t let me come to you. Only Mystics
are allowed within the hallowed walls of the Conservatory.” Grat
failed to keep the bitterness from his tone. Mystic superiority was
a longstanding and common complaint with many non-gifted
Ontarians.

“Keep your voice down.” Malos motioned
toward an empty table in the back corner of the room. “I don’t have
much time before I’ll be missed. Let’s get this over with.”

If the jerk preferred directness, Grat had
no problem with that. He knew Malos was spearheading the rebellion
currently threatening the Conservatory, which was one of the
reasons he’d tried to limit his interaction with the ambitious
Mystic. The lucrative dealings they’d enjoyed in cycles past
weren’t worth the risk of being swept up in a Mystic mutiny.

“How did you know they’d use my illustrious
partner?” Grat asked as he slipped into a chair, putting the wall
at his back.

Malos stiffened, obviously uncomfortable
with the question. “Only a fool underestimates his adversary.” He
took a seat opposite Grat, taking care not to touch more than the
rickety chair. Someone should have told him that poverty wasn’t
contagious. “I know as much about them as they know about me. Can
you tell me where they sent her or not?”