Shadows on the Aegean (44 page)

He ran after her, stumbling, drunk on sex and wine, almost sick with apprehension. “Chloe!” he cried out. “Chloe! Sibylla!”
The moon gave some light, but he didn’t know the gardens, and like everything else on Aztlan, they were labyrinthine. He had
to find her!
Mon Dieu
, he’d committed adultery with his own wife. Was that even possible? The thought made him stumble, and he cursed, then swore
again as clouds skittered across the moon. “Chloe,” he called out in French. “Chloe, my love, I am such a blind man. Please,
Chloe!”

Silence answered him, and he stopped, gulping for breath, fighting against the alcohol in his veins to stay upright. She wasn’t
dead, she was alive! She was here! Even if she hated him now, he had a chance, he could win her back. He could see her, touch
her. The tears he had stifled for so many lost, aching weeks began to flow down his face. His love was alive, she was here.
Cheftu sank to his knees, weeping. Thank God!
Grâce à Dieu!

Her hand touched his shoulder, and Cheftu brought it to his mouth, kissing and crying on her long, clever fingers. So blind!
She stood, resisting him, but Cheftu didn’t care. She was here! She lived. He buried his face against her skirt, the scent
of them commingled on the brightly patterned wool. His body had known her, recognized her, even though his mind had not.

He cried with relief, then froze when she touched his hair, cautiously running her fingers along his scalp and hairline. “How
did it get so long?” Her voice was soft, and Cheftu smiled through his tears. The questions, the hows and whys, what light
she brought to him!

“It is braided into mine,” he said, his voice muffled against her skirt, his arms aching with his grip around her.
“Eee
, Chloe, my love, my heart. Forgive me.” She stiffened. “I—I did not dare to hope.”

“Oh, Cheftu,” she said, then slipped bonelessly through his grasp, so that her mouth was on his, and Cheftu tasted her, his
Chloe, through his tears. The desire was so strong, so elemental, they simply lifted their clothing, joining, staring at each
other as completion came quickly.

Gently he held her body against him, marveling that it was Chloe he held.

“Grâce à Dieu,”
he whispered against her neck.

“Amen,” Chloe said.

P
REDAWN CHILL WOKE HER
and Chloe opened her eyes, staring at the tinted clouds, holding her breath for fear she was wrong. Cheftu turned in his
sleep, shivering, trying to get closer. “It’s cold,” she said. Her hands and feet were numb. It obviously wasn’t summertime
yet. His arms tightened around her, and Chloe submitted to being cold on one side and melting from contact with his hot skin
on the other.

She sighed, contented.

How was it that he was always so warm? He was a space heater on legs! She cuddled tighter to him, fitting her body against
the solid strength of his. One arm pillowed her head, his fingers resting lightly on her side. The other crossed over her
hips, holding them together snugly.

What an amazing thing to sleep with a man, Chloe thought. She was certain the little refrain of happiness that she heard was
her blood singing. How had this happened, how had they gotten together? It was a miracle! Nothing short!

She looked above them. The gold and orange of the clouds had turned to pink and lavender with the rising sun’s reflection.
It was a perfect morning, they had a perfect day—Chloe froze. Dawn. Cheftu was going to be tested at dawn. Was that today?
No, they had made allowances for hangovers, Chloe recalled.

The pyramid tests, what were they?

“You are thinking so loudly, I cannot sleep,” Cheftu rumbled in her ear. The tiny hairs on her neck and ear rose on end as
she shivered. “You like?” he said softly, then began to follow the curve of her ear with his tongue. Chloe felt her body heat
and turned to him, arching to receive him, holding him close, not moving, just savoring.

Then, with a groan, Cheftu began to move slowly. He drew so far away, the cool air rushing against her hot skin, the contact
almost breaking, then straight, deep, inch by inch, as though he were drawn magnetically, until they were hipbone to hipbone.
Chloe watched as her body swallowed his wholly, as they became one.

High golden light fell across the tops of the garden trees, and Chloe rolled beneath him, her hips rising to keep the contact,
their fingers laced, white knuckled, riding the rising waves. Cheftu began to pound into her, his jaw set, his eyes dark.
“I almost lost you,” he said hoarsely. “You are mine!”

Chloe’s legs began to ache, rubbed raw, and she winced, then begged for more as he raised her hips, going deeper, harder,
faster. Her breath was loud in the birdsong morning, and she ran her hands over his back, feeling the power, the need, the
benign threat of his body.

It didn’t begin or end, just flowed like waves on the shore, cresting higher and higher, her cries muffled by his mouth, his
teeth stroking her tongue, sucking on it, his sweat slippery against her skin. Cheftu bit the nape of her neck with his final
thrust, holding her close and tight, grinding against her, and Chloe felt herself burst on an almost molecular level, bucking
off the ground, trying to get closer, get more …

“I cannot move,” he said after a while.

“Why not?” Chloe murmured, half-asleep.

“I think my seed was a fast-growing vine that holds me within you now.”

Chloe smiled against his shoulder. “That sounds nice. Like a watermelon.”

He was silent a moment. “A what?” Cheftu was sounding a little more awake.

“When I was a little kid my Mimi would say that if we ate watermelon seeds, we would grow watermelons in our tummies. I used
to think that pregnant women had swallowed watermelon seeds.” She licked at his skin and felt him shudder instantly. “It scared
me to death.”

Chloe recalled with horror that they’d made love with no protection. If she reminded Cheftu of that, he was likely to pull
away. His feelings about parenting were set in concrete and didn’t include trysts beneath trees. Please, don’t let me be pregnant,
she prayed quickly.

Cheftu pushed himself up on his forearms, staring at her. He looked as if it had been a rough night, Chloe thought. Leaves
and twigs and all manner of outdoorsy stuff decorated his hair where once it was neatly plaited and curled. His eyes were
red and bleary, razor stubble dotted his somewhat blotched skin. However, the love pouring from his bloodshot eyes, his expression
telling her she was the most beautiful sight to him, this made him gorgeous. Especially when he looked well used. Especially
when she’d been the user. Chloe arched against him, and Cheftu groaned.

They froze at the sound of voices. The sun was higher now, coming through the trees that had sheltered them all night. Cheftu
ran a hand through her hair, touching her cheekbones and nose, the flat of his thumb running over the arch of her brow, the
tips of her lashes.

He gazed at her mouth, and Chloe felt her lips part. Cheftu followed the bow of her upper lip, the fullness of her lower lip
with the tip of his pinky. “I dreamed of you,” he whispered. “Every morning I woke up, remembered you were dead, and it was
like hearing it for the first time.” She saw the muscle in his jaw flex. “There was no color without you. Food was tasteless
because all I could think was Baskin-Robbins—”

Chloe laughed. In Egypt they had likened lovemaking to ice cream. All the many different “flavors” they could explore together.
We came pretty close to a menu of thirty-one, she thought.

His eyes were smiling. “So what flavor,
eee
, Chieftain?” He raised his brow, and Chloe thought of pirates and bikers and masquerading Frenchmen. His eyes darkened as
she clenched him deeply. “This,” she said, turning her face into his palm and kissing it, “was as far beyond ice cream as
water from coffee.”

Cheftu’s face, lean and hard, was turning gaunt with desire before her eyes. “So then?” he asked, his voice low and filling
every syllable with seduction.

I am insane, Chloe thought, to classify “So then?” as seduction. But with Cheftu, it was.

“Crème brûleé,” she said. He cocked his head, asking wordlessly for an explanation. “It’s hard”—Cheftu inhaled sharply at
her softly undulating body—“and crunchy and sweet on top.”

Her husband half laughed and half groaned. “You think so,
ma chérie?”

“Eee
, I know so,” she answered with a smile. “And beneath is—”

“Soft and creamy and melts on my tongue,” he whispered, and Chloe heard no more, her blood pounded too loudly.

“Take me,” she whimpered.

“Toi aussi.”

Finally someone answered the pounding at the door. About time! Chloe thought, hiding her head beneath the pillow. She’d slipped
into bed about the time the palace was stirring. These crazed Aztlantu, didn’t they realize when you party all night you sleep
until noon?

Apparently not.

Of course, she reasoned, not all of them were in the garden making it like mink all night. She smiled against the bedclothes.
By Kela, she ached and was bruised and would probably walk funny for a while, but to be with Cheftu—They’d hated to part but,
uncertain of Aztlantu etiquette, had deemed it best.

Cheftu had left her at her door and run back to kiss her no less than five times, each kiss longer and more involved, though
he swore he was exhausted beyond mortal range. Good, Chloe thought.

Heaven knew she was!

Dozing had just turned to REM sleep when she was jolted awake by a hand on her shoulder. Chloe jerked upright, heart pounding,
confused. She blinked at the owner of the hand, trying to place her.

“I called you thrice,” the woman said. She was tall and plain. Except for her eyes, which were large, thickly lashed, and
a shade of gray that looked almost silver, she was just … there. Her bright clothing hung like sackcloth. Her long hair, streaked
with gray, was wrapped around her head, styled like that of a traditional German waitress. “Sibylla?” she asked again.

Right! Cover her with mud and tears and blood, and it was the woman who’d loaned her people to operate on Naxos.

“My apology, Atenis,” Chloe said. “I was sleeping too hard, I fear.”

Atenis sat on the edge of the bed. “You got to your couch late?”

“Aye. Very late.”

The woman smiled. Goodwill and kindness transformed her features so that she glowed, light seeming to pour from her like a
prism. “Very early this morning, more like. I came by at dawn, but you were not here and your serf said you hadn’t come back
yet.”

Chloe felt herself blushing.

“Should I check to see who else was late in returning?” Chloe got even rosier, and Atenis laughed. “Just a jest this morning,
my sister. I have not felt like laughing much since Arachne—” She broke off and looked away, her hand touching the clan seal
at her throat. “I came to offer my services, in truth.”

Oh, Kela, I want some coffee! “Your services?”

“I will not be running against Ileana, but I do know how to run and how to win. I can train you.”

“Why me?”

Frowning a little with confusion, Atenis shrugged. “Vena is … unbearable to me. Her frivolity reminds me of a saline bath
on abraded skin.” That would be grim, Chloe conceded. “Selena is a good friend, but her mother is a grasping, dishonest creature.”
She smiled again. “You and Phoebus would make a beautiful baby.”

Baby.

Was she even now carrying Cheftu’s baby? She hadn’t taken any birth control seeds this morning. Did these people, these quasi
Minoans, even have birth control? Chloe blushed again.

“I’ve heard you won the first four races you were in. I know a few of those runners, by reputation at least, and am quite
impressed. You have never shown an aptitude for physical activity before.”

Living in a world where distance was measured by how the crow flies
and
how the goat climbs up and down, up and down, how could Sibylla have been less than physical? Chloe stifled a yawn. “Sounds
good. Thank you.” Slowly she began inching back down, yelping when Atenis yanked off the covers.