Protector of the Flame (20 page)

He drifted down beside her, breathless, and crossed his legs at the ankles. She glimpsed his strong calves and lean, sculpted thighs. Tempted to look further, she stared up at the cloudless, azure sky.

“This is my favorite spot. I swim for an hour every day,” he said with a familiar underlying accent that only came out in carefree moments away from others.

“The mainland you go to for supplies, is it Australia?”

“New Zealand. It takes two days to reach.” Adriel lay on the ground and plopped his head in her lap as though she were a pillow.

The shock of his cool, wet head soaking her pants down to skin made her gasp.

“Why didn’t you join me?” He shielded his eyes from the sun. “Still can’t swim? Or did your human sense of modesty keep you shackled to the beach?”

“I’m afraid both.”

“Pity.” He closed his eyes and put his hands on his chest. His fingers strummed his sternum to a beat in his head.

She wondered what it was, if it would be something she’d enjoy. He had eclectic taste that deviated from the mainstream. Not only did it add to his charm, it appealed to her sense of adventure. Adriel could turn a simple morning meal or a jaunt down to the beach into an escapade.

Words couldn’t explain or justify the depth of their friendship. As if each day in his company stitched a bond between them worthy of months in complexity and trust and affection.

Adriel’s energy stream stroked hers, warm, gentle, enticing connection.

“You said
still
a minute ago,” she said, choosing not to plug-in to him, despite growing temptation.

“About your swimming? Yeah, I guess you never learned.”

Serenity touched his cheek. Her curly brown hair cascaded into his face. She roped her hair back into a ponytail. “How did you know I couldn’t swim?”

He opened his eyes, but squinted. His lips twitched in hesitation. “When I healed your mind, I experienced your memories as you relived them. Now it’s like they’re my memories too.”

Part of her couldn’t put into words the sense of violation. The other part was strangely comforted he’d been able to share some of the best and worst events in her life. After he’d healed her, the magnitude of sympathy he’d shown had suggested as much, but she’d been too caught up in the raw pain and sorrow to ask.

“Do you have all of my memories or just the ones that had been altered?” She held her breath, waiting. Sharing a sliver of her psyche she could handle, but not the whole shebang.

He closed his eyes. “Only the damaged ones.”

She exhaled relief. “Do you like sharing my memories?”

“It makes me feel closer to you.” He peered up at her through the light. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

The sense of closeness was mutual. She didn’t have to confide with words, hide her pain or diminish the anguish of the horrible day she lost her parents. Someone else already shared it from her perspective.

If only it could have been Cyrus.

Adriel rolled his head, pressing his face against her stomach. The coolness of his cheek made her skin tingle.

She stroked his damp hair, smoothing it back, and then stopped.

To touch him in such a way was too intimate, even for Adriel, who she felt closer to than anyone else except her
kabashem
. Wondering where the inclination came from, she put her hand down on the grass. To allow his head to rest in her lap teetered on the verge of wrong.

Then again, Talus had ruffled Cassian’s hair plenty of times. He had even massaged her shoulders and calves on occasion. It didn’t mean anything between a brother and sister.

“It’s sunset. We should head back for dinner.”

He opened his eyes groggily. “I was just beginning to doze.”

“You were just beginning to snore,” she joked.

“I don’t snore.”

“How would you know?”

All expression drained from Adriel’s face. He jerked upright, facing away from her. His shoulders slumped forward.

“What’s wrong?” She rubbed his back. “I was only playing. You weren’t snoring.”

“You’re lucky to have the love of your
kabashem
,” he said softly. “To know the warmth of another.”

Careless. Thoughtless. He had a
kabashem
who wanted to see him dead, not in her bed. And under the watchful, reproving eye of Neith, he’d probably never dabbled with another.

Adriel dressed quickly.

“I’m sorry.”

“You said nothing wrong. We should go back.”

The hike to the main building was rushed, filled with uneasy silence. Chatter in the dining hall was a relief. Adriel bypassed the open spaces near Caelius and Nakia, opting for an empty table and breaking another rule. Neith wanted all occupied tables to be filled before sitting at an empty one. It only created more work for the kitchen staff that had to set out additional food. They sat across from one another and he poured two cups of wine.

When Serenity looked up, she met Sothis’s gaze.

Seated at a table four rows over, her mother conversed with several warriors. Sothis glanced away, and the moment passed. That was the extent of their contact since the bath they’d shared. A look or stare at dinner. Nothing more.

She and Adriel nibbled, not saying a word until she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Why do you use an Australian or New Zealand accent when we’re alone?”

He stared at her, doe-eyed, a mouth full of food.

“You don’t use it around Neith or the historians. Why do you only use it with me?”

“I also use it with Nikos. He thinks I sound better with it.”

Smiling, she ate a sporkful of fish. “I don’t know about sounding better, but you’re more yourself. Why do you use it with me?”

He lowered his eyes and drank wine. “I can be myself around you.”

“But you used it the first time we met.”

“You were standing in the middle of the dining hall, looking as lost as I feel half the time.” With a wistful look, he grazed her wrist with his thumb. “I spoke to you without really thinking. It just came out.”

“I’m glad it did.”

Across the hall, Caelius shifted a glance between her and Adriel. He stared unabashedly and undeterred when she met his gaze.

They finished dinner and put their dishes on the receptacle.

“What do you want to do this evening? You’re getting better at Senet,” he said.

“I’d like to do some drawing, but I don’t have any art supplies.”

“I have a pad. It’s for writing not drawing, and pencils.”

She shrugged. “I’ll try it.”

“Grab us a sofa,” he said, the sparkle back in his gentle eyes.

She found an empty one by the garden. The only time they’d sat in a different area had been on entertainment night when she’d sparked speculation amongst the collective about the nature of her
ingenium
.

Something about her gave them pause. Perhaps it was that she hadn’t connected to the collective stream. She didn’t want them to ease the discomfort of her separation from Cyrus. She wanted to endure the craving until she could be satiated by her
kabashem
.

“Will this do?” Adriel handed her a pad and pencils.

The pad was half the size of her usual sketchpad and had lines, but it was better than nothing. “It’ll work.”

He tucked himself into the opposite corner of the sofa and opened a comic book.

“What are you reading?”

“
The Walking Dead
.”

“What’s it about?”

“Humans trying to survive in the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse.”

“Hmm,” she said, trying to keep her tone nonjudgmental.

So much appealed to her eye. She began a sketch of Soren and Mira, seated languidly on chairs, speaking in whispers, fingers interlaced.

Tony entered the hall from the garden and purred as he passed behind their sofa. He waited for Ximena who had just finished supper. The lovely bald woman fed the black-and-white monkey on her shoulder a piece of bread and greeted the white tiger with a pat on his head.

Serenity turned the page and began a drawing of Adriel. He had well-defined eyebrows and lush lashes, but she couldn’t get the rest of his features quite right. Half his face was covered by the comic book and whenever he peered over the top to glance at her it broke her concentration. His dancing eyes beckoned her to play.

“May I see?” He rested the comic on his stomach.

“I don’t like to show anyone until I’ve completely finished a drawing.”

Nakia sashayed to their sofa and sat on the edge. She pulled the elastic band from Serenity’s hair and raked her small hands through the curls. “You shouldn’t wear so many ponytails. You’re prettier when your hair is loose.”

“She’s right,” added Adriel, his voice suddenly husky.

Nakia wrapped her arms around Serenity’s neck from behind. “I wish to read, but I’m bored with the stuff I already have. My dear sister, do you have any books or magazines I may borrow?”

“Nakia—”

“Silence, Adriel!” Nakia interjected. “I’m speaking to my sister, not to you. Interfere and you will know my wrath.”

Adriel rolled his eyes and picked up his comic.

“Well, do you have anything I may read?”

“No magazines, but I have a couple of books in my backpack,” Serenity said.

A smile lit Nakia’s face. “May I go to your room and get them now?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.” The young girl fluttered up the walkway with the lightness of a butterfly.

“You mustn’t lend Nakia books.” Adriel sat up. “Caelius won’t be pleased.”

“Why?” What could her
kabashem
have against reading for goodness sake?

Adriel scooted forward and waved her closer. When she leaned in, he snatched the notepad from her hands and leapt to his feet.

“Is this what you think I look like?”

“Give it to me.”

He backed away and turned the page. “You can get a tiger right and not me? You look at me every day.”

“It’s not finished.” She tried to grab it, but he kept the pad out of reach.

“You’re not much of an artist if this is the best you can do with me.”

Serenity punched him lightly in the stomach. He feigned injury, holding his gut with a twisted smile, and then took off running through the garden.

She dashed behind him, following through the maze of bushes.

As soon as she thought she had him, he rounded a corner. They turned another bend and hit a straightaway. Without the zigzags to slow her down, she closed the distance between them.

She clipped the corner on his heels. Adriel turned to face her, stopping at the same time. She plowed into him, and they tumbled to the ground with his arm around her waist.

Catching her breath, she gazed down at him. His glance wavered between her eyes and heaving bosom, an inch from his face.

“You made a spectacle of us back there,” she uttered in an uncertain voice, thrown off balance by how much she enjoyed the feel of his body against hers.

“I merely ran. You chased. I’d say you were the one to make the spectacle.”

His hand drifted down to her lower back. Her energy stirred, caressing the fringe of his vibrant pool. His shaft stiffened and moved against her inner thigh.

She squirmed at the surprising feel of his erection, inadvertently brushing her leg and breasts against him.

Heat radiated from his body as he tightened his grip, fingers fondling her hips.

Swayed by the rapt sweetness in his eyes—defying logic and the very order of the cosmos—she wanted to kiss him. But she pushed off of him onto the grass.

Someone snatched the notepad from Adriel’s hand. Serenity’s gaze travelled from sandaled feet up an ivory gown to Neith’s face.

She popped up from the ground. He scurried to his feet, trying to cover his crotch. The fabric of the pants didn’t afford him modesty. His erection looked like Pinocchio’s nose after a spree of lies, only tilted toward the sky and much thicker.

His face burned beet red. Serenity thought she might faint from mortification.

Neith turned the pages slowly. “You have talent. Do you paint?”

“Yes.”

“You shall do a portrait of me.”

“It would be an honor,” Serenity stammered.

“Adriel, go with Nikos to the mainland tomorrow. Get whatever she’ll need,” Neith said.

“We’re scheduled to go next—”

“You may still go next month as scheduled,” Neith interrupted. Adriel looked down. “Aren’t you pleased? You love going to the mainland.”

“It’s just a surprise,” he said in his neutral voice. “Thank you.”

Neith handed Serenity the pad. “Walk with me.”

She took it and followed the ancient beauty through the garden toward the water, suppressing the urge to glance back at Adriel.

“Did you know Adriel wasn’t born here?” Neith asked, pulling Serenity’s full focus.