Текст книги "Stars of Fortune"

Автор книги: Nora Roberts

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CHAPTER TWELVE

The second time proved amazing—and as for the third, sex in the shower was an experience she definitely wanted to repeat. Often.

Sasha wondered if going without sex for her entire adult life had given her a voracious appetite for it. Regardless, she considered herself well and truly sated, and made her way down to the kitchen to attend to another appetite.

She was starving.

She grabbed an apple out of the bowl, poured a glass of wine before perusing the contents of the fridge.

Someone, she noted, had done some shopping. And since she’d contributed nothing there, unless anyone objected, she knew what to do with the lamb chops.

Humming, she put together an easy marinade, hunted out a bowl deep enough to hold the dozen chops, poured it on, set it aside.

And turning, let out a squeak when she saw Riley leaning against the doorjamb.

“God! You scared me. I didn’t hear you.”

“You were too busy singing to bluebirds and butterflies and making rainbows.”

“I’m marinating lamb chops.”

“Uh-huh.” Riley eyed the wine bottle, got herself a glass. “Well, I have to cross off any idea of using you if we need to sacrifice a virgin.”

“What? Oh. Ha.”

“No need to ask if you’re okay, as you’ve got those rainbows coming out of your ears.”

“It was amazing. I keep using that word. There has to be a better word.”

“It works.” Riley toasted her. “Congratulations.”

“Does everybody know what we– That we . . .”

“Anybody who’s not brain-dead. Where’s your studly sorcerer?”

Sasha winced, glanced at both doorways. “He had some things to do, and I was starving.”

“Good sex burns a lot of calories.”

Sasha held up three fingers.

“Three times? Now you’re making me jealous.”

“Is that usual? It’s probably a stupid question, but I don’t have anyone to ask.”

“Let me just say congratulations again.” Riley boosted herself up to sit on the table. “Three’s a lot for your first rodeo, but you look pretty fresh yet. And let me also repeat: stud.”

“He made it magic. Literally. I probably shouldn’t talk about it. Tell you.”

“Oh, au contraire. You really should, and step-by-step is best. How long does that sit?” Riley gestured toward the bowl with her glass.

“An hour would be good.”

“Great. Let’s take a walk, and you can give me the play-by-play.” Riley pushed off the table. “Look, Annika may be more of a girl, but I’m girl enough to know when it comes to sex—especially the intro to—you’re allowed to share. Plus, I haven’t had any myself in a while, so I need my perks where I can get them.”

“Where is everybody else?”

Riley topped off both glasses. “Sawyer—and we can thank him for the provisions—went down to the beach for a swim. He looked a little shell-shocked, as Annika dragged him around the village for earrings. She’s either upstairs admiring them or she went down for a swim, too. The Seventh Samurai—”

“Who?”

As they walked outside, Riley mimed pulling a sword out of a sheath, wielding it.

“Oh, Doyle.”

“Yeah, since everybody else was, we’ll say occupied, he and I sat down with the maps. And butted heads over where to look tomorrow. He’s got a really hard head.”

“Where are we going?”

“My pick. And his,” Riley added. “We decided on both before blood was spilled. So we’re heading out at seven thirty. Now, you can describe magical sex, in finite detail, while you practice your combinations.”

“My combinations?” Puzzled, Sasha punched her fist. “But I’ve been drinking.”

“Sash.” With a headshake, Riley set her glass on the stone wall. “The best fights happen when you’ve been drinking.” Riley danced on her toes, bounced her shoulders. “Show me some stuff.”

“Well, all right. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to punch and talk about having sex at the same time.”

“Multitask.”

As he worked, Bran caught the movement outside. He paused to step closer to his open doors, and saw Sasha practicing her boxing with Riley.

Not in the cover of the olive grove this time, he noted. But in the open. So much about her had opened.

It seemed miraculous that less than a week had passed since he’d stepped out onto that hotel terrace and seen her. Fated, he didn’t question that. Fated for the six of them, all so different, all from other places, to come together here. To join together here for the search that had been part of his family’s legacy, part of their duty, for countless generations.

But had he been fated to have such strong feelings for the reluctant seer from America? The attraction, the desire? Basic, normal, simple. But the rest . . . He needed time to explore and evaluate the rest. And time was so crowded.

He’d taken more than he should to be with her that day. Was taking more now just to watch her. But it was a bright thing, wasn’t it, to see her laugh when Riley snapped her head back, flung out her arms and dropped to the ground as if suffering a knockout punch.

That was friendship, he thought. An oddly tight one for so short a time. The tough little scientist and the insular artist.

As he considered it, Annika came up the cliff steps, a flowered sarong blowing around the very tiny bikini she wore.

Another oddity, he thought as Annika went toward the other women while Sasha executed what he thought was meant to be a side kick and Riley shook her head—her amused pity all but visible.

The three of them stood in the softening sunlight, all beauties in their own unique way. Annika flung her arms around Sasha in one of her joyful hugs, then did a trio of cartwheels that sent her sarong flying—and the dog chasing it.

Not to be undone, he supposed, Riley did a handspring. Annika a backflip.

Then the two women began to coach Sasha—who clearly needed it. He watched a moment more, struck by the way the setting sun gleamed over them, the way their laughter carried to him on the evening breeze.

Then he went back in to finish the work. The laughter was a tonic, he thought, but the lessons were honing weapons.

And he would do the same.

*   *   *

Sasha found Sawyer sniffing at her marinating chops when she came back in. He glanced up at her.

“Got plans for them?”

“Oh, did you?”

He shrugged. “I was just going to toss them on the grill. This looks fancier.”

“It’s really not. I thought Greece, lamb, and looked up some recipes last night. It’s pretty basic and quick. Some browning in olive oil and garlic. A little seasoning, some lemon juice.”

“Have at it.”

“I haven’t thought about sides, and it’s later than I meant it to be.”

“I’ll handle that part.” He got out a beer. “Teamwork.” He popped the beer, took a hit. “You look . . . healthy.”

“Healthy?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Healthy. I’m going to go grab some herbs.”

“I could use some thyme for the lamb.”

“You got it.” He tapped her cheek as he walked by. “Healthy.”

Great, she thought, and moved to the sink to wash up. There was nothing wrong with a grown woman looking healthy. She just wasn’t sure how she felt about advertising it, as she apparently was.

She got out an enormous skillet, the oil, picked up a bulb of garlic. Annika breezed in to get dishes. She heard Riley’s voice from outside, and Doyle’s as she bundled her hair up and out of the way to cook.

As she prepped the garlic, Sawyer came back with the herbs. He put a pot of water on the stove before dumping some new red potatoes in the sink.

“Boil ’em till they’re tender,” he said, scrubbing, “then sort of sauté them or whatever in butter and herbs, heavy on the rosemary. Looks fancy, like your chops, but isn’t.”

“Teamwork.”

“Completely.”

She grinned at him, then saw Bran come in. And felt very, very healthy.

“This looks domestic and under control. Need a hand with anything?”

“Know how to prep asparagus?” Sawyer asked him.

“Haven’t a clue,” Bran said as he helped himself to Sasha’s wine.

“You’re about to get one.”

She heated her oil as the potatoes boiled. Got Bran his own glass of wine as Sawyer instructed him how to prep the asparagus. Riley came in to feed the dog; Doyle got a beer and asked when the hell they were going to eat. Annika came in for more candles.

Like family, Sasha thought. It felt like family.

Whatever happened tomorrow, tonight she had family.

*   *   *

She found out what it was like to share a bed with a man. They took up considerable room, but it made waking up an entirely new experience.

With Bran on breakfast detail, she took time to send her mother an email, with pictures of her view attached. What it lacked in detail—eliminating sex, vengeful gods, and learning how to box—it made up for in bright chatter.

And she thought how pleased her mother would be that she was enjoying her . . . holiday. And making friends.

Once sent, Sasha grabbed the exercise bands Riley lent her, used them as instructed for biceps curls, triceps kickbacks, lateral raises, shoulder raises.

She thought there was more, but couldn’t quite remember—and since her arms felt like rubber, called it a session.

She grabbed her bag, her hat, and took the terrace doors out.

The sun, brutally bright, had her lifting a hand to shield her eyes as she dug with the other for her sunglasses. When she reached the base of the steps, pushed them on, the world went night-dark.

“There,” she said, and lifted an arm to point out toward the sea. “Her black dogs come, malformed curs riding the night on bat wings. Formed for death, no more, no less. Steel to slice, to tear. But fire, red as bloodshed, hot as the hell her hounds spring from, must burn and burn and burn. Red is the star, fire is its heart. Fire will shield it. The time of transformation is here. The bright, white moon, and the bright, white magick with it, with the chosen six and all they are. Against this she strikes. Against her we to the life or to the death. For this we were born, for this we were joined. And worlds wait, for their fates are in our hands.”

When she swayed, Bran slid an arm around her waist to support her.

“God, my head.”

“You will fight it still,” he said softly and eased her down at the table to sit.

“It’s automatic. Habit.”

“Some juice.” Annika crouched beside her. “Do you want water instead?”

“No, thanks. This is good.” Shaky yet, Sasha sipped at the juice.

“Do you remember what you said?”

“Don’t poke at her!” Riley snapped at Doyle.

“I’m asking a question.”

“It’s all right. Yes, I think so. I could see. It went from day to night. Like a switch flipped. And I could see them flying in from over the water. Like the bats in the cave, but bigger.”

“You called them dogs,” Bran prompted her.

“Yes, sort of. Like . . . gargoyles. Twisted bodies, oversized heads. Claws, fangs. Attacking.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. It’s not clear. Night. Tonight? Tomorrow night? Next week? I don’t know. She’s with them, and when they bleed, or we do, it feeds her. Like a vampire. Blood and death feed her.”

“You spoke of fire. As a weapon and a shield for the star.”

“I wish I knew what it meant.”

“Bright magick.” Bran stroked a hand down her hair. “White magick. We fight her with it as she fights against it. But something more, or something more through that. I can work on it.”

“And meanwhile?” Doyle asked. “This time of transformation? What’s that?”

“I’m not looking for Optimus Prime,” Sawyer put in. “But we’re transforming, in a way. From each of us going on our own to working as a unit. We’re not all the way there, maybe, so we’ve still got some work to do on it.”

“Maybe so, but while that transforming’s going on, we’ve got a fight coming. Sooner or later,” Doyle said. “It seems to me we’re leaning too heavy on witchcraft.”

“When I’m going up against a homicidal god, I like having a witch in my corner,” Riley tossed back.

“Not saying different. But since we’re going up against a homicidal god, we ought to have some battle plans.”

Riley nodded. “I’ll give you that. We should eat, get going, and we can start working on those plans on the boat. Cold breakfast’s still breakfast,” she said as she sat.

Bran waved a hand over the platter of bacon and eggs. “Now it’s hot.”

“See that?” Happily Riley piled food on her plate. “Having a witch around’s handy.” She rubbed Sasha’s thigh under the table with one hand, scooped eggs onto Sasha’s plate with the other. “Even if you’re a little queasy, it’ll settle you—and it’s going to be a long workday.”

She’d carry her weight, Sasha promised herself. And despite being a little queasy, picked up her fork and ate.

*   *   *

Sasha worked on her nerves on the way to the first cave. She’d done all right on the dives the day before—even enjoyed part of them. But the morning vision left her shaken and uneasy. She hoped the cool, damp wind, the flashing sun off the water would clear out those nerves. When they didn’t, she dug out her sketchbook.

“We’ll be fine.” When she glanced over at Bran, he tapped a finger on her temple. “You don’t have to be a seer to see. You’d do better to relax. We’re here for a purpose, and it isn’t to lose when we’ve barely begun.”

“I could smell the blood,” she said quietly. “Hear the shrieks those things made as they poured out of the sky. And feel the madness in them. Her creations, Bran, formed of nothing but hate and madness. Their only purpose is death.”

“Ours is life. I believe life, if it’s willing to fight for it, wins. Trust life. Trust yourself and what’s in you.”

“I’m working on it.”

When they geared up, Sawyer hooked on a camera.

“I picked this up in the village yesterday. Depth rated to two hundred feet. I figured we should start documenting.”

“I’m keeping a log.” Riley studied the camera. “That’s a really nice toy. Good idea, Sawyer. Stills and video?”

“Yeah. I’ll do some of both, see how it goes.”

Though the dive proved pleasant and pretty, even amusing as Annika performed underwater gymnastics for the camera, they found nothing but sea life. And while Sasha caught herself glancing over her shoulder, half expecting to see a black cloud of winged creatures slicing through the sea, she felt more confident in her rudimentary diving skills by the time she pulled herself back on deck.

“Hydrate.” Riley dug in the cooler for bottles of water after she’d stowed her used tank. “That’s three crossed off. My pick’s next,” she added, tossed a bottle to Doyle.

“I’m going to review the pictures.”

“I want to see.” Annika snuggled onto the bench beside Sawyer.

Because she’d leaned in as well, bracing a hand on Sawyer’s shoulder, Sasha felt the lust punch through him. Surprised at how clear it came, embarrassed she hadn’t blocked it, she eased back just a bit.

Not that anyone could blame him, she thought, as Annika wiggled closer. But understanding it and feeling it were different things. To ensure his privacy, Sasha moved to the other side of the deck where Doyle pored over maps.

“Do you have another location in mind?” she asked him.

“A lot of possibilities. We should pick up the pace.”

“Which is slower because I’m inexperienced.”

“You’re doing all right.”

He looked up then, and she sensed something hard and deeply guarded.

“Looking for something?”

She answered as coolly as he’d asked. “Trying not to.”

Still watching her, he picked up his water. “Anyone else in your family with the sight? It tends to run in families.”

“No. Not that I ever heard of.”

It occurred to her she didn’t know him, not the way she felt she’d come to know the others. He held himself just a little aloof. Still, it meant he didn’t know her either. Maybe they should try to fix that.

“Not much family anyway,” she continued. “Both my parents were only children, and I only saw my grandparents sporadically. My father left when I was about twelve. He couldn’t handle what I have. My mother made excuses for me, then made excuses for him. I resented that, which isn’t really fair. She did her best. She does her best. But given all that, I chose to live alone, so I didn’t have to deal with what I have. Where I could focus on art, and I liked it.”

She looked back to where the other four passed around Sawyer’s camera.

“I like this better. Even knowing what could happen, knowing some of what will happen, this is better. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have family?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“It’s hard, without family. I didn’t realize until . . .” She looked back again. “It feels like alone’s easy until you realize.”

“It’s got its advantages. Only one person to worry about. You want to go left, you go left because nobody’s pushing you to go right.”

“I’d rather go right, at least give right a try, than be alone again. I like the way Sawyer talks about his family, his grandfather especially. And Riley and Bran theirs. They don’t know alone, not the way we do. And Annika . . .”

She couldn’t imagine Annika alone, but it occurred to her she’d never asked.

“Annika? Do you have family?”

“Family?” Tossing back her long braid, Annika smiled. “Yes. I have six sisters.”

“Six—” Sawyer began.

“Sisters?” Riley finished.

“Yes. I am the youngest. Chantalla is the oldest, then Loreli, then—”

“You’re the seventh daughter,” Bran interrupted.

“My father says he’s cursed with girls. He’s joking,” she added.

“Your mother?” Doyle shifted around. “Does she have sisters?”

“She has six, as I have six.”

“And she’s the youngest?” Bran glanced at Doyle as Annika nodded.

“Well, kick my ass.” Riley shoved the camera back at Sawyer. “We’ve got us a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. Do you have the sight, Anni?”

“Oh, not like Sasha. I know things. Just know sometimes. I knew to be on the beach for Sawyer. To be here—this time, this place. So I came. I don’t like to fight, but I knew I would. I will. Sasha sees things that help. That warn. I only see what I’m meant to do.”

“What you see might help, too,” Sawyer told her. “You should let us know.”

“I want to help. When we find the Fire Star, it will get harder. She’ll be angry we have what she wants.”

“That’s a good bet,” Riley agreed.

“I say set the course, Doyle.” Bran’s gaze gleamed hard and bright. “And let’s see if we can really piss her off.”

*   *   *

They found nothing, though they pushed it to three dives. Fatigue hung over the boat like a cloud on the trip back to the marina. Sasha tried to shake it, reminding herself they’d barely begun. They weren’t likely to stumble across the prize without a lot of sweat and effort.

But the sensation of adventure had faded for the day, and only a thin shadow of dread remained.

It seemed infectious.

Sawyer toyed with his compass and brooded. Riley huddled over her logs. Even Annika had lost some of her shine and sat curled on a bench, staring out over the water.

“Your vision,” Bran said at length. “On the cliff, in the storm. Calling the storm. The lightning. Maybe it’s time.”

“No.” Panic clawed through her belly.

“You can’t let fear cloud it.”

“It does. It does, but it’s not only that. There was something urgent, immediate, even desperate in it. Beyond the danger of it, even beyond the power. It’s not for now. I don’t know when or why, but I’m sure it’s not now.”

“But you’ll say when it is?” He closed a hand over hers before she answered. “Truth, Sasha. And a promise.”

“Yes. I think you’ll know as well as I, but yes.”

That added another layer of dread as they dealt with the gear and equipment. She wanted her paints, Sasha decided. To lose herself in them for an hour. By the time Riley pulled up at the villa, Doyle roaring in behind her on his bike, she’d set plans to begin her series of local flora.

“I’m heading back to the village,” Riley announced. “I’ve got some people I want to talk to, some lines to tug.”

“I could go with you,” Annika began.

“I’m not looking to shop. Don’t look for me for dinner,” she added. “In fact, don’t wait up. I might get a hot date out of this.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be going out on your own,” Sawyer said.

“I can handle myself, cowboy.” The dog poked its head in the jeep, wagged all over. “You hang here, big guy.” Though she ruffled his fur, she nudged him away. “I’ll be back when I’m back.”

The dog looked mournfully after her when she drove off, then leaned his big body against Annika.

“It’s all right. I’ll play with you.”

After the others walked off, Sasha stood, staring after the dust the jeep kicked up behind it on the narrow road.

“What is it?” Bran demanded.

“I don’t know. It just feels off. Something.”

“Open to it, Sasha.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, rubbed.

“I can’t get there. She doesn’t want me to. I just know she wasn’t telling the truth—or not all of it. I need to clear some of this out. I need to paint awhile.”

“I’ve work of my own.”

“We don’t feel together,” she said as they started for the house. “I don’t mean you and me. I mean all of us. Last evening, it felt we were—or really close. But now, it feels as if we’ve all closed into our separate places. Maybe that’s what feels off.”

“I’d say we’re all a bit tired. It’s been a long day.”

“That’s probably all it is.” But she glanced back at the road again, at the dust settling as they climbed the terrace steps.