of looking at him, of being near him. “I would have died out there. How did you find me?”
He dipped his chin, acknowledging her thanks with a tilt of his head. “I was in the forest. I sensed you nearby, sensed your spirit fading. It was little enough to carry you back here.”
“I was miles away from here.”
He took her arm and led her up the broad steps without speaking. When he reached the front door, he paused and looked down at her, at her fingers clasped tightly around his forearm. “I often travel far at night. It is my way.”
“You saved my life.”
He opened the door and waited for her to precede him, closed the door, then turned and leaned solidly against it as if it were an anchor. His hands still grasping the handle, he studied her for a moment. She couldn’t read the emotion in his amber eyes, but there was a sense of quiet desperation about him.
“No,” he said, his chest rising and falling with a very deep breath. “You may very well have saved mine.”
Chapter 3
The room to which he took her was elegant yet very simple, done all in soft shades of gold and green. The bed was large, the bathroom luxurious, with a tub big enough to swim in. He left her there with instructions to meet him for breakfast in another hour.
She took her time bathing, not at all surprised to find a big fluffy robe hanging behind the door when she finally climbed out of the steaming water. A hair dryer lay on the counter, along with a comb and a brush and even a new toothbrush. She dried her hair and brushed it out, then left it hanging loose about her shoulders. She checked a couple of drawers, looking for makeup, then finally gave up and went back into the bedroom, fully intending to put her old clothes back on.
A forest-green gown of softly knitted cashmere lay across the bed. There wasn’t any underwear, but she didn’t mind. The fabric clung to her body, caressed her flesh. Warmed her. She stood in front of a full-length gilded mirror and studied her reflection.
The style was amazingly simple: a scooped neckline, long sleeves and a natural drape to the gown that followed the flow of her body, emphasizing her rounded breasts and slender waist, her full hips and unusual height. With her gray eyes and dark russet hair, she knew she couldn’t have chosen a more complimentary shade or design.
She turned away from the mirror and noticed her purse, the small leather backpack she’d lost the day before. It sat on a table next to the bed. She picked it up, saw her wallet was still inside, that everything appeared to be where it belonged. Sighing, she found her zippered cosmetics bag, put on a bit of lipstick, then set the bag back on the table.
Xandi stared at the bag for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Everything over the past few hours had about it a dreamlike quality, almost surrealistic in nature. She suffered a brief moment of fear, the sense that maybe she should call someone, tell one of her co-workers where she was…who she was with. She glanced about the room, suddenly noting the lack of telephone, radio and bedside clock.
Then she smiled. Folding her hands in front of her waist, she took a deep breath. She had no idea where she was. There was no reason to call, no reason for fear. She’d asked for change.
She’d found it.
Now was the time to do something with it.
He sat at a round glass-topped table set in a windowed nook in the large kitchen. She’d expected to find him in a more Gothic setting, at the head of a long table in a darkened, very formal parlor, but the kitchen was exceedingly modern, filled with delicious scents of morning foods. The lighting was bright and cheerful, and the cup of coffee he poured for her smelled wonderful.
Once again, she felt as if she’d been caught in a surrealistic dream, a feeling that wasn’t lessened a bit when he handed her the financial section of the local newspaper after she sat down across the small table from him.
Sipping at coffee, reading the paper…it could have been any morning in any kitchen anywhere in America. Except, when she glanced up, the amber eyes of a wolfman watched her.
“You haven’t told me your name,” she said, sipping her coffee. “I’m Alexandria Olanet. Xandi, for short.” She smiled, waiting.
He stared at her a moment longer, took a sip of his own coffee. “I know,” he said. “I must apologize. As you’ve probably noticed, I kept your purse. I read your driver’s license, found you on the Internet. You are a very successful young woman. A partner already in your company. You’ve worked very hard for someone so young. Which reminds me. Do you need to let anyone know where you are? Will people be looking for you?”
“No,” she answered without thinking. “I left yesterday for a two-week va—Oh!” She looked up at him, aware she shouldn’t give him such knowledge…suddenly afraid.
He shook his head. “You need not fear me. I won’t hold you against your will, Ms. Olanet. Oliver will take you home whenever you like. You only need to ask.” He looked away, as if thinking of something pleasant, then turned back to her. “Spend your two weeks with me. Here, at my home.”
“Oh, I can’t possibly….”
“Because of what I am.” His voice was flat, no longer the rich baritone she’d found so full of life.
“No,” she said. “That’s not the reason at all. I was going to say I couldn’t possibly intrude, even though I want to stay. More than you can imagine I want to stay. Please, tell me your name. I can’t keep thinking of you as my rescuer, can I?”
She smiled and, without thinking, reached across the small table and placed her hand over his forearm. He didn’t pull away this time, though she felt his muscles tense. He merely stared at her fingers, was still staring when Oliver came into the kitchen with a bag of sweet rolls from a bakery in Portland whose name Xandi recognized.
“Morning, Miss. Sir.” He set the bag in front of them, turned and opened the oven door and drew out a warmed quiche and a platter of sausages and bacon. After quickly setting out silverware and placing the food in front of the two of them, the small man turned to leave. “If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll be leaving now. I’ll return in the morning.”
“Enjoy your visit with your family, Oliver. And thank you. We’ll be fine.”
Xandi watched as Oliver left the room, then turned back and faced her host. “Okay. You’ve sidestepped my only question long enough…my only question for now, that is. Your name is…You can fill in the blank any time you’d like.”
“My name is not so mysterious.” He turned his hand and actually grasped her fingers in his. “My name is Stefan. Stefan Aragat.”
“Aragat? That name’s familiar. Wasn’t there a—?”
“A magician. Yes, a very famous, very powerful magician. An extremely egotistical, misanthropic fool of a magician.”
Xandi looked from their linked hands to his face. He was actually smiling, his lip curled back, his sharp canines unable to disguise the self-deprecating humor. “Unfortunately, he pissed off an even more powerful purveyor of the black arts. A wizard, actually. A very old, very potent wizard. Aragat didn’t have the patience to learn control of the powers he hoped to gain. Without control, one often makes mistakes. Very.
