Part 2 (1/2)
”Please don't,” Jareshk asked simply, beseeching Aldorsk with his eyes. In horror he'd watched as
Kelsey's memories of their time together had been wiped from her mind. If Aldorsk wiped his memories, too, he would never find his way back to her. It would be as if nothing had ever happened between them.
Jareshk felt tears burn his eyes, and he paced the transport hallway, Must he be required to sacrifice even this? When he'd already given everything to serve his people?
He knew what would come next, felt the tendrils of his mentor's power already reaching into his mind.
”Don't take her from me. Please, Aldorsk, I beg of you.”
The elder's kind eyes grew pained. ”Son,” he said, clasping his shoulder, ”the memory jeopardizes your safety. It links you with her.”
”It was only a kiss!”
”A kiss that created a memory-bond between you and this human.”
”Her name is Kelsey.”
”My lord,” his beloved councilor said, bowing, ”there will be many young women... many kisses and far
more than that. You are entering your first season; that's all that you are feeling. We can make
arrangements to help you through this cycle safely. To meet your needs-””Don't talk to me about my season!” he roared, feeling his face burn at the mere mention of it. ”I've nothad such a thing. I will never cycle, not with someone of the council's choosing.”
”Mating cycles .are natural for your line, my lord. You know this, even if we've never discussed it openly.”
Jareshk's stomach tightened with shame. ”I will not cycle, not without Kelsey.”
”She won't be the last.””She's special,” he whispered, his voice hoa.r.s.e. ”I don't want to forget her! I need to remember-I won'tbe able to find her if I forget.”
”Your safety, my king, must always come first,” Aldorsk said, inclining his head even as he closed his power around Jareshk's mind. ”Forgive me, but you must forget.”
Jareshk wanted to argue, to protest that he knew it wasn't his own safety, but rather the safety of the succession that the elders were so worried about. Oh, he wanted to cry out a great many things, but he could not seem to find his voice.
What did she look like? Oh, G.o.ds, he couldn't say. What color was her hair? No memory.
”Please,” he implored, locking his power of intuition around one image, the only one he could seem to hold fast to, as all the others sifted away from him like sand in an hourgla.s.s. But what was it? He could not even say for sure. ”I... beg you not to take her.” He gasped, still seeking to lock on to something, anything that he could keep of her. There it was again! And this time he recognized the one image that Aldorsk couldn't seem to touch: her graceful human hand caressing his royal mark; then came another, of her in his arms, kissing him. Except there was a problem: The kiss was like quicksand, impossible to grasp, falling from him. If he could just recall her name, her eyes, anything! Then he could keep the memory of her; it would be his, untouchable. Permanent. Pure. Aldorsk's power tightened around his mind a second time, causing a flash of pain behind his eyes and a strange spasm of grief in his heart.
”There, my lord,” Aldorsk soothed softly, gazing into his eyes. He dropped his hands back to his sides. ”There, you are well.”
”Am I?” Jareshk asked uncertainly, lifting a hand to his head. There was something precious he'd been trying so hard to remember. Wait-it was there, just below the surface, if only he could lay hold of it.
Aldorsk slipped one arm around his shoulder, walking him toward the transport elevator. ”You will feel better once you rest, my king.”
”Yes, undoubtedly.”
”The trip to survey the mitres has been a heavy burden for you.” As always, genuine concern filled Aldorsk's eyes. He'd been the closest thing to a father Jareshk had known since his own father's murder almost six years ago.
Jareshk stepped into the lift, nodding politely toward Aldorsk, but a spark of an image in his mind's eye made him stop the closing doors with his palm. A delicate hand, touching his mark. He never revealed his mark to anyone. That image was chased quickly by another, more startling one: He was kissing a woman with dark red hair. He had never kissed anyone!
Aldorsk stared at him expectantly. ”My lord?”
Jareshk's head felt fuzzy, as if his memories and thoughts were suddenly expanding far too much to fit inside his brain. Had he been thinking of something? He wasn't even sure.
”I'm to bed,” he said with a laugh. ”I've no idea what I was going to say.”
Then, like a b.u.t.terfly flickering aimlessly on to its next flower, the memory of that kiss-that tender, stolen, unforgettable kiss-floated into the burning sun.
Chapter One.
In the northern portion of the Teton Range stood a mountain as proud and immovable as the man whose revolution hid within its depths. In the grand scheme of the area, it seemed an unspectacular thing. Too small to interest climbers, too low to stand above its siblings in the region, the mountain's jagged face rose, nevertheless, in simple defiance of its averageness. It had the countenance of a warrior, with craggy heights shaped by time and element. Concealing a network of tunnels and machinery, it was Jared Bennett's most important base, crucial to the rebellion he housed within its shadow.
Today, Jared was inspecting one minuscule piece of that vast military framework, staring across a large hangar filled with a fleet of fighters his engineers had spent the past nine months testing. Sleek and black, the planes had moved stealthily along Earth's surface in test flights that had taken his pilots from California to j.a.pan and onward over to Europe, then back across the East Coast of this country they called their temporary home.
A hydraulic lift approached, sounding warning beeps as it backed up to one plane's side. Jared's engineers stood back, waiting, as always, for their commander's approval. He mounted the steps, climbing upward toward the craft's c.o.c.kpit. For a moment, he appraised the plane's design, appreciating its powerful styling.
”Tight little things, aren't they?” Jared remarked to one of the engineers, running his fingertips over the dull black surface of the wing. His deep voice echoed off the hangar's ceiling, which stood a good forty feet overhead.
His chief engineer stepped forward and smiled, obviously pleased with the praise. ”We've worked hard on the design,” the man said, releasing the hatch with the flick of a switch on his handheld control. ”Room for two, but still light enough to go long distances without refueling.”
Jared stared into the open c.o.c.kpit, itching to Take the craft out for a test. Even after some narrowing recent engagements, the fighter in him still needed to get off the ground again-and soon. He reached out an appreciative hand to stroke the b.u.t.tery-soft leather of the pilot's seat. ”Comfortable too,” he said with an admiring nod.
From the cement floor below, Scott Dillon glared up at him, and he could read the warning that flared in his friend's eyes: Don't go getting any ideas, Commander. If his lieutenant had his way, Jared would never go up again, but that simply wasn't an option. Not only did their strategy necessitate his involvement; he also refused to be grounded like some figurehead.
Jared hoisted himself up onto the side of the craft, and was already planting one booted foot inside when his intelligence commander, Thea Haven, trotted across the hangar toward him. From the expression on her face, he could tell long before she reached him that there was a serious problem, and he swung back down to face her.
”The elders have gathered,” she announced, standing at ease after he returned her salute. ”They're calling you to chambers, sir.”
”The occasion?” He glanced across the hangar toward the darkened a.s.sembly room where he always met with his council. Nervousness shot through his heart; the elders never convened unless something truly serious warranted it.
Thea's blue gaze darted toward Scott, and Jared had the sense that his two commanders had already discussed the matter. She seemed ready to tell him more, but then inclined her head respectfully. ”Sir, they wait for you,” was all she said.
Jared took his place in the data portal, sliding into the large, thronelike chair, and immediately the sensory scan of his vitals began. First his cornea, the red filter light sweeping over both of his eyes. Then, as he flattened his palms on the electrode pads, he felt a slight tingling as his fingerprints and energy readings were verified. For an answering moment, there was only the quiet hum of data renewal, and he allowed his eyes to drift shut, fighting back the wave of anxiety that meeting with his council always evoked.
In the darkened chamber, the council members began to appear in a semicircle about him. Not literally- they were, of course, back on Refaria. But thanks to technology that accessed energy packets flowing faster than the speed of light, he and the elders were able to interact in these chambers in real time, even across the vast distance that separated them. Reflexively his fingers tightened around the metallic arm of his chair. In turn, each elder made the traditional sign of respect: a slight bow, then one hand over the heart, a proud yet reverent stance. And he d.a.m.ned well hated it; he always did. Still, someone along the way- perhaps Scott, or maybe Thea, he wasn't sure-had reminded him that the people needed the traditions, even if he did not require them. Even if he did not want them.