Nightbred(77)

“I know,” he admitted. “It took me a long time to remember to say them.”

“Well, you’re immortal; you have the time to spare,” she reasoned. “Oh, and then there was tolerance training. For that, I got tapped for blood every hour until I passed out cold. Then Burke would wake me up, make me drink a barrel of juice, and then give me work to do and evaluate my performance on the job. I’m actually pretty good at that; it only took me eight months to work up to losing three pints without compromising my ability to think straight and observe proper protocol.”

He turned her around to face him. “Christian, why are you telling me this?”

“I’m telling you I did all of that,” she assured him, “and a lot more, because that’s what tresori do for the Kyn. We serve every need you have, and I thought if I could do that for you . . . if I could be the perfect tresora that you’d . . . and you’re telling me that all this time, you’ve been in love with me? With that girl I used to be, the homeless loser with the funny hair, the pierced eyebrow, the checkered sex-trade past?”

“It matters not how you appear, or what you have done,” he said, running a hand over her hair. “That is not who you were to me.”

She went to the starboard side of the boat and sat down on the edge of the hull to stare down at the murky water in the slip. “I can’t believe this.”

Chris tried to hold it in, but her shoulders began to shake, and then the rest of her body joined in.

Jamys came to sit beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Please, Christian, don’t cry.”

That did it. The first laugh rolled out of her, followed by another, and then she really let go.

Jamys frowned. “You are not crying.”

“I know. I should be,” she gasped between eruptions of giggles. “But it’s just so funny. I was so sure it was the only way we could be together. Three years, trying to be so perfect, so ladylike, so boring . . .” Overwhelmed again, she shook her head and just let it out.

“I should probably tell you,” Jamys said, “what I have been doing all this time.”

“Sure.” Chris heaved in a breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You had to listen to my stuff.”

“I have been training as well. I have been learning how to fight. First with my father, and then by myself.” His mouth hitched. “I was never a Templar, you see, so I had never taken up the sword. One cannot rule warriors unless one can prevail over them, but I had a more personal motive. Thus I set myself to study and learn the techniques of Kyn warriors, and practice until I was ready to challenge the warriors of my father’s garrison.”

Chris sobered. “How long did you have to train?”

“Every night, from dusk until near dawn, for three years.” He smiled. “I did it for you, Christian.”

“Why on earth would you want to turn yourself into a warrior for me?” As he gave her an ironic look, she understood. “Oh, my God. So you’d have the right to take a tresora.”

He nodded. “I convinced myself that it was the only way you and I could be together.”

It was a good thing she’d exhausted her supply of laughter for the time being, because what they’d done for each other was almost hilarious. Sad, too, because they could have avoided all of it.

“You are not laughing,” he murmured, drawing her closer.

“How can I? You sold your watch to buy combs for my hair, and I cut off my hair and sold it to buy a chain for your watch.” She sighed. “Don’t take that literally, it’s an analogy. Something two other misguided lovers did in an O. Henry story.”

“‘Gift of the Magi.’” He nodded. “I know it well.”

“So do I, and yet we both made the same mistake anyway.” She looked up at him. “I know we have a couple million things to talk about, and then there’s the emeralds and Lucan and Sam and saving the world, but I need a break. You wanted me to spend the night with you in Paradise. Is that offer still good?”

“Oh, yes.” He drew her to her feet, and led her back to the navcom, where he put in a new set of coordinates. “If you’ll cast off, I’ll see to the sails.”

“We’re actually sailing to Paradise?” She’d thought he’d used the word as a euphemism for making love.

Jamys caught her around the waist, lifting her up for his kiss. “Wait and see.”





Chapter 16

Werren watched the cage containing Samantha Brown being lowered by the crane. “Has the master returned?”

“Not yet.” Clemens, the first mate, made a pushing gesture above his head for the crane operator to stop the winch. Beneath their feet the shouting continued, joined now by a furious rattling sound. “She stays in the cage until he does.”