Dark Light

Chapter 20

THE SHIVERING SENSATION WAS GETTING WORSE. GOING downstairs into the depths of the Crystal Pavilion's parking garage did not improve the situation.

Fontana gave her a concerned survey when he tucked her into the passenger seat of the Raptor.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Gee. Now my lowly male intuition is telling me that you're lying through your teeth."

"Just a little tense, that's all."

He closed the door, circled the vehicle, and got in behind the wheel. "Is it always like this for you?"

"I've had strong reactions in the past, but it's never been as bad as this. Something about Troy Patterson really rezzed my senses and triggered the old claustrophobia feeling. I don't understand it."

She'd been certain that the worst was over when Troy Patterson disappeared into the crowd. She'd been wrong. On some very primitive level, not being able to see him had proved even more unnerving than being in his presence. Her brain would rather confront the danger face-to-face than flinch at every fleeting shadow.

"Think about something else," Fontana said.

"Like what?"

"Like me." Fontana put the Raptor in gear and drove out of the garage. "What does your intuition tell you about me now, tonight?"

Her mouth went dry.

"I realize there's an… attraction," she said cautiously.

"I want you. Given your special intuition, you know that already."

She didn't know what to say.

He slowed for a light. "I'd also like to make it clear that my feelings for you have nothing to do with any scheme to use your talent. Hell, I didn't even know you were psychic until tonight."

"I know."

He drove through the intersection and turned toward the Quarter. "I can't claim to be highly intuitive, but I've had the feeling from the beginning that the attraction between us goes both ways. Am I wrong?"

"No." She took a shaky breath. "I'm just not sure it's a good idea."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid," she said quickly.

"Yes, you are. I can feel it."

The fog was growing heavier as they drove deeper into the Quarter. Infused with the psi that emanated from the great quartz wall around the ruins, it glowed a luminous green.

"Okay," she said. "Maybe I am a little afraid."

His jaw hardened. "Of me?"

"No. Of myself. I nearly made a disastrous mistake with Jonathan. I don't want to repeat it."

"We're married, Sierra. I know that as far as you're concerned, it's just a business arrangement, but I'm taking it seriously. What about you? Can I expect you to honor those vows we made yesterday? Or are you brooding about Pemberley?"

Anger pulsed through her, sharp and driven by pain. She had just opened a vein for him, and he had the nerve to mention Jonathan.

"No, I am not brooding about Jonathan," she said. "But that doesn't mean I'm interested in a short-term affair with you or anyone else."

He opened the massive steel gates and drove up the long drive in front of the mansion. "I'm not looking for short-term, either."

"Don't try to tell me you're looking for long-term. We just met yesterday, remember? We hardly know each other. Besides, your first priority at the moment is the Guild."

"So much for your great intuition."

She folded her arms around herself. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that right now my top priority is you. You are one badly rattled reporter."

"I'm not rattled" she said through her teeth. "I just need some time to recover from the psychic shock I got when I met Troy Patterson."

He drove into the garage, de-rezzed the engine, and turned in the seat to face her.

"Any idea why Patterson had such a strong effect on you?" he asked quietly.

She stared straight ahead through the window. "Yes."

"Care to explain?"

"I don't think this is a good time. I need sleep."

For a moment she thought he was going to keep her prisoner in the front seat of the Raptor until she told him why she had overreacted to Patterson. But to her great relief, he finally nodded once and opened the door.

"Let's go inside," he said. "I've got what you need. My special tonic."

"What?" she asked.

"You'll see."

Elvis greeted them when they came through the back door. He bounced around, muttering cheerfully. He still wore the white cape she had put on him earlier before leaving the mansion.

Sierra scooped him up. "Did you miss me?"

Elvis rumbled happily and scrambled up to her shoulder.

Fontana crossed the room and opened an ornately designed cupboard. He took out a bottle and two glasses. She smiled a little.

"Brandy is your special tonic?" she asked.

"Works wonders."

He splashed some into each glass.

She accepted one of the glasses from him and took a swallow. Then she immediately took another. The heat felt good. Restlessly, she started to prowl the room. Fontana drank some of his own brandy and watched her.

She stopped in front of a display of radiant green urns and took another sip.

Fontana propped one shoulder against a paneled wall, saying nothing.

Gradually, the tension within her began to fade. Perspective, or what felt a lot like it, returned. When she reached the opposite end of the gallery, she came to a halt. She held up her half-empty glass and examined it closely.

"You know, Fontana, I think you may have something here."

"Thanks. But I should warn you that the brandy can hit hard when you're rezzed on psi and adrenaline."

"Hmm. You think that's what got me tonight when you introduced me to Patterson? A heavy dose of adrenaline?"

"That and a strong shot of whatever biochemicals are involved when your psychic senses get stressed to the max. Probably not that much different from what happens to a hunter who melts amber."

"I don't think it's quite the same thing," she said smoothly. "I've heard tales about what happens when hunters melt amber."

He smiled. "Is that right? What have you heard?"

She drank some more brandy and leaned down to study the glowing objects in a display case.

"First you get really, really lusty," she said. Good grief. Was she flirting with him?

"There is a strong afterburn effect," he conceded.

She straightened and looked at him. "I've heard that not every hunter is powerful enough to rez the kind of energy it takes to actually melt amber."

He swirled the brandy in his glass. "That's true."

"Can you do it?"

"What do you think?"

She smiled. "Oh, yes. My intuition says you're definitely strong enough to do it."

He drank a little more of his brandy.

"So, do you do it a lot?" she asked, going for wide-eyed innocence. It was a look her brothers assured her that she did very well.

"Melt amber?" Fontana shook his head. "As infrequently as possible."

"Really? Why?"

"There are a couple of major downsides to using the kind of energy it takes to burn through a chunk of tuned amber."

She leaned one hip against the corner of the display case, letting the slit in the green gown fall open along the length of one thigh. "Such as?"

"Well, for one thing, it makes the amber unusable until it can be retuned." He studied her thigh. "When you're underground, you don't like to lose good amber."

"What else?"

"The burn stage doesn't last long. Less than an hour."

She smiled knowingly. "An hour is a long time when it comes to some things."

"Yes, but you pay a heavy price for the good time. After the burn comes the crash. It can last for several hours."

"You mean you go to sleep afterward? I've heard that's pretty common with men."

"It isn't an ordinary sleep. It's more like going unconscious. Nothing can keep you awake." He examined his brandy. "When you're out like that, you're… vulnerable."

"Vulnerable," she repeated, tasting the word. She no longer felt like flirting. "As in, someone like Troy Patterson could sneak up and kill you?"

"As in."

"Okay, I can see why you wouldn't want to go out of your way to burn amber." She looked down at her own glass. "I think I can go to sleep now."

He came toward her through the glowing shadows of the gallery. He looked wonderful in this room, she thought; a man of power surrounded by objects of power.

She smiled again. "You know, you are the sexiest man I've ever met."

"Try to remember that in the morning."

She pouted. "You think I'm drunk?"

"No. I think you're about to crash."

He picked her up in his arms and started toward the door. She rested her head against his shoulder and inhaled his scent.

"You smell good, too," she whispered.

"So do you."

She was vaguely aware of being carried up the grand staircase. She snuggled closer, wondering if he was taking her to his room. She did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed when he walked into the guest bedroom.

He set her on her feet, turned her around, and unzipped the green gown.

"You're undressing me," she said, watching the satin pool at her feet.

He picked up the gown and put it carefully across the back of a chair. "This is as far as I go."

"Oh. Well, I suppose it's for the best."

"That's what I'm telling myself."

She kicked off her shoes and sank down onto the bed, yawning. He pulled a quilt up to cover her. She closed her eyes. Elvis hopped up beside her and settled down at her feet.

"I lied when I said I didn't know why I freaked out so badly after that encounter with Patterson," she confessed.

She did not open her eyes, but she felt Fontana go still beside the bed.

"Did you?" he asked.

"The reason I had that little panic attack was because of you."

"I caused it?" His voice was perfectly neutral, utterly drained of all emotion.

"Well, sort of." She turned on her side and pulled the quilt to her chin. "When I realized how much of a threat Patterson was to you, I understood something else, as well."

"What was that?"

"How much I'm attracted to you, even though I swore I'd never get involved with a man who was so much like everyone else in my family. I can't seem to help myself. It wasn't the thought of Patterson wanting to murder someone that gave me a panic attack. It was the realization that he wanted to murder you in particular that did it."

"Sierra."

"Good night, Fontana."

She thought she heard him say something else, but it was too late. She was already plunging down into the warm oblivion of sleep.