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  “The dreams are getting longer and more vivid.” She tightened her belt and averted her gaze. After her erotic encounter with the stranger the day she’d teleported to Earth, she hadn’t been surprised to find him in her dreams. But the dreams were completely different from the vision. She couldn’t explain the distinction to Steph, so she’d only told her friend about the dreams. “I just need some sleep.”

  “He still hasn’t spoken to you or acknowledged that you’re there?”

  She shook her head, glancing back at the mirror. Had her recurring dream turned into a hallucination? “I feel like I’m spying on him. Seeing the same man every night would be a lot more fun if we interacted.”

  “Did you call Dr. Neaman? She’s wonderful.”

  The idea was utterly impossible. If Aria showed up at a psychiatrist’s office “in costume” her strange dreams would be the least of her concerns. “What would I tell her? I see random segments of a man’s life playing out in my dreams. He never speaks to me or tries to touch me—”

  “But I damn sure wish he would?” Steph shook her head, a sad little smile curving her lips. “Even in your dreams you have no life. Why do you do this to yourself?” Wrapping her arm around Aria’s shoulders, Steph gave her a firm squeeze. “Several of us are going clubbing tomorrow night and you’re coming with us. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “I can’t—”

  “You’re going. That’s final. Now get a move on it. The VIPs are gathering.” Before Aria could say anything more, Steph left the dressing room.

  “Perfect.” Now she would have to disappear after the show tomorrow night and that was easier said than done. Reaching across her vanity, she picked up a wide-toothed comb.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” A deep, masculine voice intruded on the quiet, gradually fading in as if some unseen hand operated a mixing board. “I didn’t realize you could see me.”

  She licked her lips and shifted her gaze to the spot where the dark-haired man had been. The surface of the mirror distorted, rolling in silvery ripples as his image came back into focus. Her hand tightened around the comb and she glanced toward the door. Would Steph hear her if she screamed again?

  “You don’t need to be afraid. I only want to speak with you.”

  This couldn’t be real. She looked over her shoulder. The space behind her was still unoccupied, but his image remained in the mirror. “Who…? What are you?”

  “A mouse, remember.” A smile parted his lips and drew her attention to his wavering features. She couldn’t see him clearly, but she knew it was him, the man who visited her every night—no, it was more like she visited him.

  The longer she stared at the image, the more detailed it became. Gleaming black hair just brushed the man’s shoulders while three thin braids disappeared into the surrounding distortion. His features were arranged in dramatic angles and rugged planes. Her gaze lingered on his mouth, noting the full lower lip and the perfect bow of the upper. Could a man’s lips be beautiful?

  If his mouth didn’t earn the distinction, his eyes certainly did. The outer mass was tinged blue while a red ring divided his black irises from his pupils. Her mouth went dry as she remembered their first and most disconcerting encounter. Only once had the images been erotic and once wasn’t nearly enough.

  Mine. The word echoed in her mind and resonated through her body.

  “Who—are you?” She met his gaze, forcing calm into her tone. Was she imagining him now? That was the most rational explanation. She craved the sort of wild abandon she’d glimpsed in her vision, the consuming passion and elemental connection. Even her imagination couldn’t create an image this detailed.

  “My name is Drakkin.” He inclined his head and the red ring in his eyes gleamed. “If I solidify behind you, will you promise not to scream?”

  Get the hell out of here. The practical side of her nature urged. Surround yourself with people then go get some sleep!

  Unable to force words past her dry throat, she nodded and slowly turned around. He can’t be real. But she wanted him to be real, ached for him with every beat of her lonely heart. The argument twisted through her mind as the man took shape in front of her. His skin-tight black shirt outlined a well-defined chest and rippling abdomen. Though toned and proportionate, his body emanated strength without the bulging muscles that fascinated so many humans. The thick material of his pants was unlike anything she’d seen before. Intricately tooled yet supple, likely some sort of leather, the garment flexed with his slightest movement.

  He crossed one arm over his chest and bowed from the waist. His three thin braids swung forward, brushing against her thigh. “I’m Lord Drakkin of Hautell, the central mountain region of Bilarri.” He straightened as his gaze returned to hers. “Bilarri is the planet on which I reside. Your father sent me to find you.”

  I will find you, my love.

  Her muddled brain scrambled for explanations as she felt the faint brush of his braids. Reaching out one trembling hand, she gave his shoulder a little push. He caught her wrist, guided her hand to his chest and pressed her palm to his warm flesh.

  “I’m real, Aria.” He covered her hand with his, staring deep into her eyes. “We need to talk.”

  Someone knocked on the door and she jumped back with a guilty start. “I’m almost ready,” she called out. “Just give me another minute.”

  “The lounge is packed and the autograph hounds are yapping.” It was Preston Carmichael this time. “Don’t make them wait too long.”

  “I hear and obey.” She did her best to sound playful. Had Preston noticed the tension in her voice? She couldn’t drag her gaze away from Drakkin. She’d been taught to mistrust sorcerers, to expect deceit and betrayal from anyone capable of manipulating magic. Had he sent the dreams as a sort of warning?

  “I’m sorry to disappoint your adoring fans, but the autograph hounds will have to wait.” The autocratic edge in his tone was more in keeping with the images twisting through her brain. She’d watched his life for the past ten months, all the while wishing he’d notice her, talk to her, touch her.

  Sweeping her into his arms, he pressed her tight against his body. Her face tingled as the red rings in his eyes began to glow. She shoved against his chest and cried out. He turned and the dressing room followed. Twisting, bending in an ever tightening skew, her surroundings contorted into a blur of color and sound.

  Drakkin cradled Aria against his chest as he sank to the mound of furs. They had been halfway to Bilarri when she went limp against him. Her warmth and intoxicating scent had been so distracting he’d nearly lost control of the conduit. Interdimensional travel was always tricky, but he’d also created a temporal shift. They would remain slightly out of sync with his dimension until he released the shift. Even if the Rodytes figured out where Aria had been, the temporal adjustment would make her all but impossible to track.

  He glanced around the nenalte with a lazy smile. Despite its generous size and numerous amenities, the clever structure could be disassembled in a matter of minutes. The people of the San Adrin deserts had been nomadic for centuries. Most had since settled in permanent encampments, but they were fiercely proud of their heritage. The nenalte had been designed by necessity and refined by the inherent love of luxury all Bilarrians shared. The outer shell was densely woven for protection against the elements, while remaining durable. Brightly colored fabric and rich cloth of gold lined the interior walls.

  A distinct scratching drew Drakkin’s attention toward the overlapping flaps. He only knew one other person capable of navigating a temporal shift, the person who had arranged for the nenalte to be assembled here. “Enter.”

  The man bent nearly in half as he eased through the low opening. “I thought I felt your arrival.”

  Drakkin smiled at Indric, Prince Regent of the San Adrin. “I appreciate your hospitality.”

  “You’re always welcome in my camp and you know it. Of course, you’re not actually in my camp yet.”

>   “I’ll repeat the greeting when I am.” Indric’s “camp” was actually a bustling city, largest and most densely populated in the region. And Indric lived in a lavish palace not a traditional nenalte.

  Indric bowed his head, sending his gold-threaded black hair flowing over one broad shoulder. “If you keep entrusting me with your women, I might start thinking you have no use for them.”

  “I trust you implicitly, and neither of these women belongs to me.”

  “Really?” He stroked his close-cropped beard and gazed off into the distance.

  “Krystabel has been to hell and back. If she has caught your eye, you must—”

  Indric’s gaze snapped back to his. “You have nothing to worry about. She has eyes for one man and one man alone.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He is frequently cradled in her arms.”

  Drakkin realized he meant the boy for which she was caring and relaxed. “There was more than passing curiosity in your tone.”

  One corner of Indric’s mouth quirked, but he ignored the observation. “If this one does not belong to you either, why have you brought her here? Your message didn’t elaborate.”

  “I’ll explain everything when I’m certain it’s safe to release the temporal shift. I’m not sure how Aria will react to all I must teach her. We need this time alone.”

  “I understand. Training women is always challenging.” A sardonic smile framed his teeth and made the gold rings in his dark eyes glisten.

  “This will not be that sort of training.”

  One of Indric’s brows arched dramatically, but he left the challenge unspoken. Instead he indicated their surroundings. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “Everything and more.” Drakkin inclined his head in a customary show of respect. When he raised his face again, he found Indric’s gaze narrowed and assessing as it swept over Aria.

  “Where did you find a jumanna?” The glint in his eyes now had nothing to do with humor.

  Gathering Aria close against his chest, Drakkin stared at his friend. “The resemblance is striking, I admit, but she is not Bilarrian. Her mother was from Ontariese and her father—”

  “Was Rodyte?” Indric crossed his arms over his chest, his expression hardening. “The Rodytes are our genetic brothers, whether they choose to acknowledge the fact or not. Rodyte blood can produce Bilarrian gifts.”

  “Her father was only half Rodyte. The jumanna are rare even in full-blooded Bilarrians.”

  Indric shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “What color are her eyes?”

  Tension coiled through Drakkin. Aria’s eyes were closed and had been since they arrived. Indric couldn’t have seen the striking combination of lavender and mauve. Still, the question gave Drakkin pause. Aria’s mother had possessed vivid purple eyes, her father emerald green. So how had she ended up with the eyes of a jumanna?

  “Look at her hair,” Indric went on, “it shimmers with strands of fire and her skin gleams with a pearlescent sheen. Do her nipples turn crimson when she’s aroused? A jumanna’s cream will intoxicate her lover, make him wild and insatiable.”

  Drakkin fidgeted on the furs, stifling a groan. “I’m well acquainted with the legend, but Aria can’t possibly be a fire pearl.”

  “It’s no legend, my friend. I spent one night with a jumanna in my youth and the memory lingers with me still.” Indric shifted his gaze from Drakkin to Aria and back. “They are creatures of sensuality and grace. Her pleasure will infuse your entire body and make your magic stronger. They can even trigger dormant gifts. If this woman is not yours already, claim her immediately.”

  Indric didn’t understand the situation. Drakkin had promised to mentor Aria, to awaken her Mystic abilities, not explore her sexual aptitude. “She’s a woman in her sexual prime. If she possessed these abilities, it would have been discovered long ago. She might look like a fire pearl, but her magic flows from Ontariese.”

  “If you have never been with her, how can you be sure? Awaken her with your kiss. Touch her and taste her and see if what I say is true.”

  Drakkin could barely speak. Images rolled through his mind. He pictured Aria spread out on the furs, her glorious hair framing her naked body. She arched and sighed as he knelt between her thighs, his tongue exploring her crimson folds.

  Cunning light ignited in Indric’s gaze as he continued to stare at Aria. “When you arrive in my camp it is customary to present her to me.”

  A surge of protectiveness urged Drakkin to refuse. This was the sort of nonsense that started wars. “She is not a jumanna and you have been my friend for twelve centuries. Of course, I will present her to you.”

  * * * * *

  Something prickly tickled the side of Aria’s face. She turned away from the annoyance and throbbing erupted inside her head. Where was she? The last thing she remembered was—him. She remembered the man with the red-ringed eyes teleporting with her. Drakkin. He’d said his name was Drakkin.

  Holding perfectly still, she eased her eyes open. She was lying on a pile of furs in some multi-colored tent. If he thought she was still asleep… Her thoughts scattered as her gaze landed on her captor. Naked to the waist, he stood with his back to her. The sculpted perfection of his torso distracted her for a moment before she gave herself a mental shake. She needed to find a weapon, some way of defending herself.

  She had to press her lips together to keep from laughing. He could materialize out of thin air and teleport at will with a struggling passenger on board. Would any weapon be effective against someone like him?

  That left escape. But she had no idea where he’d taken her or why she’d been his target. Better to cooperate for a time and gather information.

  He made a waving motion with his hand and his tight black pants disappeared. Aria sucked in a ragged breath. With or without those pants, his was the finest ass she’d ever seen. Tight and round and perfect for squeezing.

  What was wrong with her? Regardless of his appearance, he was her kidnapper, her captor. Her enemy.

  Tension rippled down his back, accenting the muscular definition. Had he heard her muted gasp?

  “This climate is too hot for my usual attire.” He poured water into a basin and quickly washed before conjuring a pair of loose linen pants. “I’d hoped to change before you recovered.”

  She held her dressing gown together and managed to sit up. This situation would be as intimidating as she allowed it to be. “You saw me naked in my dressing room. I guess this is only fair.”

  The matching tunic was still clutched in his hand when he turned sharply and looked at her. “What I glimpsed in your dressing room left me eager to see more. Are you willing to show me?” He stalked toward her, desire shining in his eyes.

  Maybe challenging him wasn’t such a good idea. She licked her lips and fiddled with the gaping halves of her robe, covering as much of her legs as possible.

  “I didn’t bring you here to seduce you.” His fingers curved around her chin, drawing her gaze back to his. “If you are in need, however, I’d be happy to oblige.”

  “Why did you bring me here?” She ignored his proposition and waited until he lowered his hand. “You said you knew my father.”

  Her comment defused the tension and he tugged the tunic on over his head. “You might find the k’fal more comfortable.” He motioned toward a purple garment on her left. “I’ll even turn my back, if you insist.”

  She scooted to the edge of the furs then stood. Picking up the dress, she shook it out with a sharp snap. Largely shapeless, the gauzy material would flow from chest to ankle, the front and back panels connected by two wide straps. Intricate embroidery decorated the upper band and created a lavish border at the hem.

  Without glancing at Drakkin, she lowered the gown over her head and slipped off her robe. The k’fal had no sleeves to speak of, just the connecting straps. She pushed her arms through the openings and felt the material settle against her skin. “That is better.” She sigh
ed. “Now why would my father want to contact me after all these years? I presumed my mother hadn’t told him about me.”

  Actually, Aria had presumed her mother didn’t know who fathered her child. The one and only time her mother spoke about it, she’d been so defensive, Aria never brought it up again. Her mother had been a space pet. She was passed from man to man, sometimes within the same day. Rather than pique her interest, Drakkin’s claim only made her more suspicious.

  “Would you care for something to drink before I begin? It’s a complicated story.”

  “No, thank you.” She spotted several chairs on the other side of the room. They were low and backless. Still, anything was better than sitting on that pile of furs. “Where are we? That might be a nice place to start.” She couldn’t hope to escape until she understood her situation. He was being courteous and calm, but she couldn’t allow herself to be lulled by his charm. She was his prisoner.

  He followed her to the chairs and sat beside her before he started his explanation. “We’re on Bilarri, in the desert region of San Adrin, to be exact.”

  She had no way of verifying his claim. They could be anywhere, including Rodymia. The first vortex had whisked her away to the relative safety of Earth. Had Drakkin tracked her down and brought her back? She focused on his eyes. All the Rodytes she’d seen, including her mother, had blue rings in their eyes. She’d always wondered why her eyes were a different color.

  “Is Bilarri near Rodymia?” Her mouth was so dry she struggled to form the question.

  “You don’t need to be afraid. No one will ever hurt you again. I have pledged myself to your protection.”

  He seemed sincere, but she knew how easily men could deceive with earnest words. Drakkin’s image had first appeared the same day she’d heard Faujer’s commander. She remembered his words, but the sound of the commander’s voice eluded her. Was it possible they were one and the same? She shook away the notion. Nothing in her dreams indicated a connection between Drakkin and Faujer. But could she trust her dreams?