Book One of The Seer Trilogy Read online

  “You will stay with me?” She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands.

  Gods help him. “Yes.” He drew her down to the sleeping-roll and settled her against his chest. She sighed and closed her eyes but it took a long time for her to stop shivering and relax back into sleep.

  ~~~

  The squawking of an agitated bird woke her. She lay on her side. Blayne was curled behind her. He’d flung one muscled leg over her thighs, pinning her to the bedroll and… her shirt had ridden halfway up her waist during the night. She attempted to slide from his embrace. He stirred and she stilled. And then there was only his scent, his warmth, the press of his body against hers…. Her mind filled with thoughts of him doing other things—intimate things—and those thoughts coaxed responses from her body. Her pulse raced. Her breath came in tiny gasps. Butterflies cavorted in the pit of her stomach. She knew she should shove him aside and escape. But oh, how she wanted to get closer still.

  Blayne yawned and stretched. One hand brushed the bare skin of her thigh, stroked and caressed. “Morning,” he murmured. The stroking paused. He stiffened, and then shifted, freeing her and tugging down her shirt until she was decently covered.

  Before he could rise, throw on some clothes and leave the tent—leave her—she fumbled for his arm.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Not a thing.” She tugged his arm until he lay back on the bedroll. And with a sure movement she straddled his hips, hoping that he wouldn’t think her forward, hoping he wanted her, too.

  With feather-light fingertips she learned his body, thrilling with each hitch of his breath beneath her touch. She traced his well-defined abs—a six-pack and then some—his pectorals, shoulders, biceps. She speared gentle fingers through his hair, releasing it from the leather thong he used as a tie. As she smoothed strands of his hair back from his forehead her fingertips lingered. She’d wanted to do this but never dared. Until now. Her questing fingers learned his features, delicately tracing his eyebrows, eyelids, nose and stubbled cheeks, only to linger on his lips.

  He was a strong, powerful man—one who wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever he deemed necessary. But he could be gentle and compassionate, too, as she well knew. That fleeting earlier vision of him formed again in her mind. He was handsome. Not that his looks mattered to her when she could no longer base her opinions on appearances. The person inside the masculine shell was far more important to her. “Blayne,” she whispered, wanting him so badly she ached.

  He cupped her nape with a big hand. His heat soaked into her skin and the toughened calluses on his palms chafed the sensitive skin of her neck. Phantom fingers tickled her spine. It was the first time he’d touched her in a sexual way, because he wanted to, not because he’d been forced to guide her or assist her with some task. It thrilled her to her core.

  Gentle but insistent pressure on her nape urged her downward, toward him. Anticipation built. Time stretched. And then she was sprawled across his chest and his lips were on hers—warm and firm. They tasted, nibbling and teasing and then demanding more. Her lips parted beneath his. His tongue stroked hers. Her mind whirled with the heady sensuality of his kiss.

  “Are you sure about this, Hope?” he murmured against the corner her mouth.

  Her lips curved upward. “Yes, I am. Are you?” She held her breath, waiting for his response, tense with hope and raw, powerful need.

  He wrapped an arm around her to keep her flush against him, hooked his leg about hers and twisted them so she was beneath him. He settled between her thighs, hard male flesh pressing intimately against hers. Oh yes. He was sure.

  Afterward she lay draped atop him, her hair fanning his chest as he idly stroked her back. And for the first time since she’d been plucked from her world she felt no desire to rebel against fate, or God, or whatever supernatural forces had snatched her from her home. She only wished she could stay here with him, like this, forever.

  The wish shattered when Cayl yelled, “What’s for breakfast?” And when they didn’t immediately emerge, followed up with a pithy reminder that Dayamar would be getting impatient.

  After breakfast the two men broke camp. Even though she knew she should eat to keep up her strength, Hope had barely managed more than a couple of bites. Her stomach had clenched into a tight knot at the prospect of meeting this all-powerful man Blayne and Cayl were so obviously awed by. What would he want with her? Could he truly help her return home, as Blayne had suggested? And, more importantly, did she wish to go?

  Back home there was no one to miss her save Maggie, her mother’s long-term friend, who’d helped her so much after the accident and insisted on acting as a surrogate housekeeper until Hope had found her feet. Maggie had become a dear friend. She’d be worried sick about Hope’s sudden disappearance. And mortified to discover Hope had named her as sole beneficiary in her will if she died without a partner or children.

  She regretted not having the chance to say goodbye, and assure Maggie that all was well. But she had to put her old life behind her. Here, there was Blayne and a new beginning. It both worried and thrilled her to realize she’d become so attached to him in such a short time.

  Blayne took her hand and they trailed after Cayl.

  By noon she began to feel light-headed. The darkness that was her world came to life, boiling and surging in sickening waves. Her skin prickled, ultra-sensitized, and even her light shirt chafed her skin. A pounding ache built behind her eyes. Unwilling to hold the men back, she remained mute, gritting her teeth and plodding onward, one foot in front of the other.

  As dusk fell, she’d reached the limit of her endurance. “Cayl. I know you are eager to reach your settlement but I cannot continue at this pace. I am sorry.”

  Cayl patted her arm. “We can take it easy now. We’ll be home in a couple more hours anyway.”

  “Why don’t you go on ahead and advise Dayamar,” Blayne said.

  “Good idea. I’ll head him off before he comes looking for you personally.” Cayl strode off and Hope concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and hiding her discomfort from Blayne.

  ~~~

  Blayne spotted bobbing flames in the distance. A welcoming committee. Cayl’s doing, no doubt. There went any chance of sneaking Hope in unnoticed to spare her the inevitable song and dance her arrival would cause. He touched her arm to let her know he was about to speak. “Cayl’s sent a few people to guide us in. I can see their torches.”

  She halted, slumping. “That is good news.”

  As he slung an arm around her waist to urge her forward again a shudder coursed through her slight body… followed by a muted whimper. He searched her face. She was deathly pale, her features drawn and her blue eyes clouded with pain. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said. “Now.”

  “I do not feel good. Dizzy. My head and eyes pain me. My chest, too.”

  Gods. He’d been dreading this. If only he’d pushed her to travel faster. He shucked his pack, swung her into his arms, and sprinted toward the lights.

  A light detached itself from the group ahead and bobbed closer. A familiar face materialized from the darkness. “Cayl. Thank the gods. Hope’s ill.”

  “Is it—?”

  “Yes. Here’s what I need you to do.” He fired off a list of instructions. “Go. Hurry!”

  Cayl sprinted off as the others caught up and gathered around. Concerned faces peered at his burden. “What’s wrong? Is she ill?”

  “Someone find my pack. I left it back aways. Bring it to the Healing Hall. You—” he jerked his chin at a strapping young man whose name escaped him “—help me with her.” Together they propped Hope into a semi-sitting position and made a seat with their linked hands so they could carry her between them as they ran.

  Cayl met them at the entrance of the hall with the box of herbs and preparations Blayne had requested cradled in his arms. Good man. Blayne barked orders at Johan, the healer on duty, while Cayl retreated to an unoccupied sleeping platform.


  Fear bit at Blayne when he saw Hope couldn’t catch her breath. Her chest heaved as she tried to suck in air. Her eyes burned feverishly bright and her skin felt hot to the touch. Her pulse raced, and then skipped beats altogether. They stripped her, and Johan was sponging her with tepid water to try and get her temperature down, but aside from forcing more herbal concoctions down her throat there was little more they could do for her. They needed Dayamar. What was taking the old Sehan so long?

  He smoothed the tangled locks that had escaped her braid from her face. “Hope, it’s me, Blayne. It’ll be all right. We can help you.” He fought to remain calm, to distance himself from his patient and assume the authoritative mantle of Panakeya. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

  “My eyes hurt. Head… stomach… very sore.” She squeezed her eyelids shut, clenching her jaw as another spasm wracked her body. When she opened her eyes again she stared past him, at the doorway. “Who is that man?” she whispered.

  Blayne glanced over his shoulder to see Dayamar standing there, watching. Apprehension slithered down his spine. He turned back to Hope. “You can see him?”

  Dayamar brushed past him. “Do you know me, Hope?” He spoke quietly but his words, like his presence, filled the room.

  “You. I do know you… know your voice… from my dreams… see you in my mind… gold eyes… strange mark on your forehead… like another eye.”

  “Have you given her any medicine?” The old Sehan asked.

  “Euphrasia—eyebright—with anthemisia and lavendula to relax her airways. When she had difficulty breathing before it helped. I was about to administer more of the same mixture.”

  “Don’t give her anything more,” Dayamar said.

  Blayne’s healer instincts shrieked denial. Dayamar’s authority was absolute but…. This was Hope. He couldn’t stand by and watch her struggle for each breath. Dayamar could not demand this of him. “She can scarcely breathe. I have to do something.”

  “Wait and observe.” The old Sehan held his gaze. And then, just as Blayne was about to do something foolhardy, something that might see him stripped of his authority as Panakeya, Dayamar threw him a bone. “There are changes that must take place, changes that will affect Hope’s physiology and innermost being. We must not interfere. She’s now in the hands of the gods. This is how it must be.”

  All the fight drained from him. “Have you Seen that she will survive?”

  Dayamar gave a curt nod. “Yes.”

  Relief coursed through him. Thank the gods.

  Dayamar motioned to Healer Johan. “Help Blayne sit her up.”

  With Johan’s help Blayne maneuvered her into a sitting position. She shook violently, forcing them to tightly grasp her arms.

  Dayamar bent to peer into her eyes. “It begins. Watch closely, Blayne.”

  Hope’s pupils paled to milky white until she resembled a spirit-woman from some ancient myth. Johan swallowed an imprecation. Blayne fought the desire to close his eyes and shut out the sight.

  Color leached back, and he dared hope he’d been mistaken, that what he’d seen was some bizarre affliction he’d never before encountered. But though her irises remained black, Hope’s pupils swum with liquid gold. The rich golden hue swirled, intensifying….

  Abruptly it set. Her eyes shimmered. Unearthly gold—permanently gold. If she survived the transformation, Dayamar would have a new Sehani apprentice.

  Chapter Five

  Blayne clenched his hands into tight fists. All he could do was stand helplessly beside her bed. Now he truly understood how the relatives of seriously ill patients must feel. Every muscle strained with the need to ignore Dayamar’s command and render what little aid he could as he watched Hope writhe and clutch her stomach. She full-body shuddered, twitching and jerking. Her teeth chattered. A hoarse cry ripped from her throat… and one last gusty sigh that sounded like a death-rattle before she lapsed into unconsciousness.

  They eased her down onto the mattress. Blayne checked her vital signs and only then released the breath he’d been holding. Her pulse was now steady and her breathing had visibly eased. He covered her with a blanket and told himself to relax. The danger was over. For now.

  Cayl approached to gape at Hope’s prone form. He shook his head, his body vibrating with disbelief. “Sehan Dayamar, what does this mean? How can she possibly be a Sehan?”

  He’d voiced questions Blayne wanted answered. How could this young woman be a Sehan when she was blind? How could a stranger, not of this world, be a Sehan?

  “She needs rest,” Dayamar said. “Nothing you have witnessed here is to be discussed outside this hall.” His tone brooked no argument. “Blayne, we must talk. Johan will watch over Hope.”

  No way was he leaving her side. “If you want to talk to me, Sehan Dayamar, do it here. I’m not leaving her.”

  Dayamar’s penetrating gaze dissected him, probing every nuance of his expression for answers. Whatever he learned apparently satisfied him for he nodded. “Very well.” With a flick of his hand, he dismissed Cayl and Johan.

  Blayne didn’t respond to Cayl’s clumsy attempts to catch his gaze. He turned back to Hope, seeking reassurance she was in no further danger. He knew Dayamar was observing him, doubtless drawing his own conclusions from the way Blayne fussed with the blanket he’d tucked around her. The old man could conclude whatever he liked.

  Dayamar touched his shoulder to reclaim his attention. “Hope is merely sleeping now. She will soon recover fully. Sit with me and make me a cup of your excellent tea, if you please. Then you will tell me what I must know.”

  The old Sehan was right. Hope was as well as could be expected. Pointless to torture himself by watching her chest rise and fall as he counted each breath.

  When the tea had brewed to his satisfaction, Blayne related his first encounter with Hope and the events since that day. The old Sehan’s careful questioning drew out details he hadn’t remembered until now. He was especially interested in Blayne’s sighting of the phantom wolf, and Hope’s eerie confrontation with the serpent.

  At last the old man appeared satisfied. “Get some rest. I have much to think on before this night ends. If she has recovered by then we will officially introduce her to the elders tomorrow.” He departed, leaving Blayne to watch over his charge.

  He stripped and washed the travel grime from his body before settling beside Hope and tucking blankets over them both. He held her close to him, listening to her steady breathing until fatigue dragged him under.

  ~~~

  She dreamed of the animals again—a white owl, a silver wolf and a red-banded black serpent. All had the same golden eyes, ageless and glowing with power. And then she fell into another dream.

  Foul oily grey smoke rises from the pyres, casting a pall over the settlement. Neither herbs nor fragrant oils can disguise the stench of charred and burning bodies. She holds a damp cloth over her mouth and nose as she picks her way through the rows of dead awaiting burning. She does not mourn them. She cannot—compassion has been sucked from her soul, replaced by horror and soul-deep despair.

  Hollow-eyed survivors stumble past, retching and coughing. She barely acknowledges them. There is nothing more she can do to ease their pain, nothing she can do to ease her own.

  There is nothing more she can do….

  ~~~

  The first thing she become aware of was the pungent odor of dried herbs. Her nose twitched. The sneeze took her by surprise, shattering the silence. The man curled protectively around her stirred and mumbled.

  He’d stayed with her. The smile curving her lips faltered. They were no longer snug inside his travelling tent, safe from prying eyes—that much she knew. She twisted and levered herself up on an elbow to shake Blayne’s shoulder.

  He protested for a moment before promptly drifting back to sleep. She shook him again. His response was to pull her down and nuzzle her neck.

  “Blayne. Wake up!”

  He yawned and stretched, stilled. She sensed him examining
her face.

  “You’re looking better,” he said. “You gave us a real scare last night.”

  “Why? Where is this place? And where are my clothes?”

  She felt the tension in his muscles as he eased away from her. When she inhaled she caught a whiff of emotion in the air—worry laced with apprehension. Why did she know that? How? Her stomach swooped. What on earth had happened to her?

  He answered her unspoken questions. “You had difficulty breathing but you’re… fine now.”

  That ever-so-slight pause made her question what he’d left unsaid. But whatever had laid her low yesterday couldn’t be too serious because she did feel fine. More than fine—energized.

  “This is the Healing Hall.” He lowered his voice in a suggestive manner. “There aren’t any patients at the moment. We’re alone. And your clothes appear to be missing. What shall we do about that, hmmm?” He pulled her on top of him and kissed her until she melted into his arms, all her worries and fears drifting away.

  Someone chose that moment to enter the hall. Hope heard a sharply indrawn breath and the gentle thuds of bundles falling to the floor.

  “Johan.” Blayne tweaked the cover over her. “I was just checking Hope’s—”

  “I don’t need to know what you were checking.” The newcomer’s voice rang with barely repressed amusement. “Here. You might find this useful. I’m turning my back now.”

  Blayne helped her struggle into a shirt the visitor must have handed him. “Thanks, Johan,” he said. “Appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

  “Hope, we haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Johan, and I’m a healer. I helped Blayne last night when you were… ill. Welcome to the Healing Hall.”

  Hope tugged the hem of the shirt down her thighs as she scrambled from the bed. “Hello, Johan. I am very pleased to meet you.”

  She’d just begun to wonder at his hesitation when he grasped her outstretched hand. She smiled at him, hoping to put him at ease. A sharply indrawn breath. And then his hand clenched more tightly around hers. He seemed in no hurry to relinquish it.