Ash shivered to see it, he knew that numinous gaze of old.
Hers were the eyes of the moon, of the sea between the stars. A seer’s eyes, the eyes of an oracle.
He looked down at her.
As she lifted her gaze to meet his in her mind’s eye, Miri could see two of him, one layered over the other. One was the extraordinarily beautiful man who stood before her while the other was even more so. Beautifully, heartbreakingly, preternaturally gorgeous.
But not human.
Enormous wings arched high around him while the sword of her earlier imaginings hung in a scabbard at his hip. In vision he drew that sword two-handed as he set himself to protect her. That other self was strong, proud, determined, a warrior, it had been bred into him, was intrinsic to his very being.
More images streamed through her, it felt as if she drowned in them.
In his other form, he seemed taller. Perhaps it was the wings.
His skin was the color of banked coals, a deep radiant scarlet. It gleamed with shimmers of gold that slid beneath and through it like sunlight through flame. Lovely.
Bared to her Sight, the power of his body was unmistakable, the muscles of his chest and arms strongly defined, his abs taut. There was power in that form, in his gorgeous body. Short horns curved from his forehead. A tail lashed lithely around and behind him like a panther’s.
He radiated sex and the promise of fulfillment.
That ephemeral self was naked, nothing was hidden from her not even his desire for her, his cock was rampant, rigid.
Need, want and desire roared through her veins like an incoming tide as her body reacted instinctively to the closeness of his presence, to the warmth of his hand in hers, to the beauty of him, of his body.
Wings, horns, it didn’t matter, he was incredible.
She burned, her body was on fire, nipples tight, pussy aching…
As she fought the visions that threatened to overwhelm her, she clutched at his hand all the more tightly as an anchor against what she saw.
Not here, not now, she pleaded mentally.
If anyone saw, if they learned what she could do, what she was? She’d lose everything. Her reputation would be destroyed, she’d be dismissed as a nut, a crackpot.
Dazed, Miri said, “Who… What are you?”
“I’m not a thing,” he said, tightly. “My name is Ashtoreth.”
Miri blinked, startled once again at the name and the sharpness of his tone. She recognized it from her studies of myth and mythology.
“As in the demon Ashtoreth?” she blurted.
Those words jolted. Ash stiffened out of long habit. The way she said them were like a dagger to his heart. No others could have cut as deeply.
Only the priests of old, the ones who’d tortured him, had referred to him that way, as a creature, something else, something other, a
thing to be hunted down, tormented, and then slaughtered like a mad dog.
Coming from Miri Reynolds, those words stung all the more sharply. Ash’s awareness of her was too deep, too sharp.
To his shock, she visibly jolted in reaction to his pain and shook her head as if to deny what she Saw. Those sea-foam eyes were stunned, shocked. They glimmered with unshed tears.
Startled, Ash steadied her as he looked down into her bottomless green eyes.
Memories, though, raced through his mind in response to what she’d said.
Suddenly Miri could See it as she saw him. The images in his mind burst through her, hammered at her, the blows harsh and cruel.
A village.
Soldiers tore through it, savaged those within it. Slaughtering wantonly they set cottages on fire, then cut down those who tried to escape and those who tried to defend. They hacked with their swords, cut at the women and children as they tried to flee the devouring flames.
In that vision the man before her was so young. He was magnificent in his fury and despair as he rode to fight, to defend those who depended on him. His swords spun around his hands, so much like her first imagined image of him, his knees tight around the horse as he guided it with them. Young as he was, warrior that he was, he charged into the enemy. They scattered before him, but not before he recognized some of the dead, and grief burned through him.
Another memory. He was chained, bent and bowed with what they did to him. She nearly cried out in horror at what she saw.
In vision his magnificent body was bound to a timber frame, stretched within it. He arched beneath the lash of magic and whip, the rack holding him helpless as the lash traced a line of fire across his strongly muscled chest to match the dozen or more that had gone before. His skin tore. The whip left a trail of blood across his body. She could feel the burn of it as if it fell across her own. In her vision his eyes flashed with fury, and with despair, brilliantly gold, flecked with sparks of fire, his jaw locked against the agony that cut through him like a knife. As if she were part of him, she knew that no matter what they did to him, he wouldn’t say the words they wanted him to say. He wouldn’t confess to such horrors, not and condemn his brothers to an even worse fate than his.
They would use knives on him and burning coals, those dark-cloaked pious priests. Steel and fire burned him, the iron of the shackles that bound him scored his wrists and ankles, another agony all their own.
He’d known his ultimate fate for they’d told him of it – to be bound to a cross upside down and burned even as he hung. Yet even in the face of that terrible fate a part of him had yearned for death, for an end to his pain.
It was suffering and horror, an agony of both body and soul.
His pain tore at her.
“I’m sorry,” Miri whispered, “so sorry… Please, forgive me…I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
Ash looked at her, appalled.
She was as pale as milk, her golden freckles stark against the pallor. Her eyes were huge in her triangular face, the green of them shifted like mist as the visions moved through her. All trace of sunlight in those eyes was gone, lost in the void of what she Saw.
He’d thought this kind of magic long gone from this world but like the oracles at Delphi Miri Reynolds was a seer.
What was it she saw with those depthless green eyes? What was there in those shadows that moved deep within them like sharks to devour her soul, to blot out the light?
He thought about what he’d been thinking the moment they’d touched. Her inadvertent words as she Saw him for who and what he truly was with the glamour of his kind stripped away – startling enough to her who thought his kind a myth – as the pain of them seared through him. Bringing with it his memories.
Ash winced and swore softly and bitterly, knowing exactly what it was she saw. Deliberately, swiftly, he closed off his memories, shut them away.
In desperation as the vision suddenly let her go, Miri braced herself against him, against the solidness of his chest. Her fingers curled over the strong curve of his pectoral muscles. Automatically, her fingers spread to span them and couldn’t.
The sudden physical reality of him was nearly as overwhelming as the psychic.
A shot of heat, of pure lust, went through her.
New images went through her, of this beautiful man with his hands on her, his body raised above hers as hers writhed in pleasure beneath him, his long, thick shaft buried deep inside her as she cried out in ecstasy.
Just as suddenly all the planes of existence, all the possibilities, suddenly spread out before her Sight like a massive, shimmering yet invisible hand of cards spread in a broad fan that became a tumbling Mobius strip. It was like watching a movie unreel.
In that instant she knew that this moment in time was a nexus, a pivot point – travel this path and disaster would follow, that one and death and destruction were sure. Another… Endless possibilities fanned out before her, branching off with no one path clear.
There was no constant except Ash.
A shuddering breath escaped her. She couldn’t sort them out and they wouldn’t release her, spooling endlessly across Time.
“Help me,” she whispered when she felt his hands loosen.
Ash looked at her. Those sea-foam eyes looked up at him, lost, drowning in Vision.
It was the one appeal he couldn’t deny, wouldn’t, not knowing what she’d seen of him, what she was and would someday be to him Gods willing. His true mate.
“Yes,” he said.
“I See you,” she breathed, looking up into his eyes with that mystical gaze. “I See you.”
She did, in truth, for all that he was. The glamour that was intrinsic to his people was as nothing before Miri’s Sight.
Those beautiful eyes focused on him and her pretty mouth went soft.
Relief rushed through him, that she saw him for what he was so clearly. She knew him, knew him for who and what he was. There would be no illusions, no lies between them. There might still be fear, but as yet she hadn’t turned away.
He knew she needed confirmation though that what she saw was true. So many with her gifts had been labeled mad. He’d seen it happen many times over the centuries. Some had gone mad simply because of those doubts and fears.
His heart caught at the need in her eyes, in her voice, even as his breath caught at the beauty of her.
Ash took in the lovely lines of her face, her finely arched brows, the sprinkle of golden freckles across the bridge of her nose. Those depthless eyes returned his look, dark red-gold lashes framed them as her pretty lips parted on a breath of wonder.
It caught at him. Wonder, not fear and not horror. Amazement.
After all the centuries of hate and fear, that look alone nearly destroyed him, nearly brought him to his knees.
She knew him for what he was, what he’d been and yet still she looked at him with eyes full of wonder.
To be seen so clearly. It shattered him.
Ash felt the sudden sharp need to take her soft mouth with his, to taste her sweetness, to feel her lips move against his. With an effort, he fought the urge to touch her cheek, to feel her soft skin beneath his fingers. He wanted to draw her tender body against his, to feel her hips cradle his, to feel her against the hardness of him.
He could do none of those things in so public a place, but he could confirm the truth of him.
Looking up, Miri saw his dark eyes change, saw them shift to glow a deep luminous gold. It was like looking into the heart of fire. Shimmering sparks danced in his eyes, swirled almost hypnotically. There was a beauty to his soul, a clarity, a purity of purpose she could feel. It resonated within her even as his voice echoed in her bones, beneath her breast.
A shuddering sigh escaped her, looking at him, needing him. It seemed as if her body had turned incandescent, white-hot.
“So beautiful…” She whispered the words.
It was and so was he. She couldn’t breathe. Real. He was real.
Miri saw something in his harsh face change. His glowing eyes warmed, heated. Something in that look made her heart ache as well as her pussy. Those stern features softened, eased. Beneath her hands – now clutched on his strong forearms – she could feel his muscles tighten to draw her into the protection of his arms.
His skin was so warm beneath her hands.
Almost involuntarily, she lifted a hand to touch his cheek.
“Excuse me,” a man’s voice said, harshly, startling them both.