Long curls of blue-black hair tumbled down creamy white shoulders. She wore a beautiful nightgown made of yards of near-transparent white silk, which she had gathered up and held across her torso to create some layers. The effort served only to accentuate the high firmness of her breasts and her gently rounded hips.
Celibate for over a hundred years, Erik was still very much a male. And his masculine need responded to the sight of her.
He felt her thoughts, swimming sensually toward him. No, not just her thoughts; she herself. Her essence—the qualities of spirit, body and mind that made Nia Davos uniquely Nia. As if she herself were a jar of magical power, and he were the Keeper…the only one would could open the vessel….
Perkele, he swore. How can this be? She is Calling me. She’s not a daughter of the sea, and no full human should be able to Call anyone, much less a Guardian.
Or so I have always believed….
It was the truth of the gods; he had been tempted by women, both of land and of sea, many times before, and would be again. But he had no woman, and would have none. He would die—if he ever died—alone. It was still a challenge to ignore her song.
I’m here on a mission to save my people, he reminded himself. Not to lose myself in a siren’s beckoning.
For her part, as she gazed back at him, color rose in her cheeks.
He’s incredible, she thought, obviously unaware that he could read her mind. He wasn’t surprised that she was mesmerized by him. Wasn’t that the way of it, the folk of the sea able to beckon human beings to their sides with a glance or a whisper?
To their sides, but not to their hearts.
And yet, I am moved….
Her lips parted and she stared at him for one, two, three seconds. Exhaling, she broke contact and averted her gaze.
He was impressed by her ability to do so. Of course, he wasn’t singing to her, as she was to him. He had not yet met the woman who could look away then.
“Mademoiselle Davos, how did you come here?” Jean-Marc asked her, breaking the silence. “Where is the woman who was caring for you?”
“My jailer? Taking a nap,” Nia said.
Plucky. Erik almost smiled. Jean-Marc closed his eyes and Erik knew he was sending someone to check.
“You’re not a prisoner,” Jean-Marc said. “I thought you understood. You’re a Keeper. You have inherited the obligation to guard and protect a magical object. We believe it was your mother who passed this duty on to you. In the case of you and Sophie, you must Keep the Jar of Naxos, and—”
She looked at Erik. Please, don’t be crazy like this guy, she thought, still clearly oblivious that he could hear her. Her plea was followed by a breakwater jumble of thoughts, veiled ones, about a long-lost aunt and danger….
“You’ve made a mistake,” she snapped. “We’re not Keepers. I don’t know anything about a jar. Give Sophie back and let us go.”
“What do you know about the men who invaded your restaurant?” Erik asked her. “About your aunt?”
Her face went dead white and her lips parted. “That’s how you people found us, isn’t it? Through that e-mail. You were spying on us.”
“Why would we do that?” Erik asked.
She was shaking from head to toe, barely hanging on. He thought about singing to her, but magic use by other Houses was forbidden on Shadows territory. Besides, Jean-Marc was more than able to conjure a calming spell for her if he chose to.
“Let me see my sister,” she begged. “I’m just a restaurant owner. That e-mail was a prank.” She advanced on him, her hands balled into fists. “Give me back my sister!” she shrieked at him. “Sophie! It’s Nia! Where are you?”
Erik glanced pointedly at Jean-Marc, who moved his hands. The scent of oranges and roses permeated the air and Nia Davos sank to the floor, unconscious.
“We’ll leave now,” Erik told Jean-Marc. “Can you give her some clothes?”
“A bag’s been packed,” Jean-Marc informed him. “Bonne chance.” Good luck. Jean-Marc looked down at Nia. “Have a care with her. She may the only thing standing between you and destruction.”
“Or the cause of it,” Erik bit out.
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