Goddess of the Rose (25 page)

To her surprise, he didn't snarl at her or whirl away. He sat.

Mikki picked up the fork and resumed loading her plate with a variety of the delicious selection of meat and cheese. Tonight they had added dark, flavorful olives and roasted sweet peppers as well as fresh, plump figs. She glanced up when she realized he was still just sitting there. Mikki raised one brow at him.

“I am unaccustomed to eating in the company of others,” he said slowly.

She didn't have to ask him why. Gii had already answered that question for her. The rest of the realm saw him as a beast, little more than a walking, talking animal. Even the goddess herself had reminded her sternly that he had not ever been, nor would he ever be, a man.

Well, Mikki was different. No, he wasn't a man, but he wasn't an animal, either.

“Where I'm from it's mean-spirited to make someone eat alone while everyone else excludes him.”

“And you are not mean-spirited, Mikado.”

He didn't phrase it as a question, but she answered anyway. “No. Sometimes I'm selfish and stubborn, and even cynical, but I can promise you that I've never been mean-spirited.”

As she spoke, something in his face changed. It was like she had somehow peeled away a protective layer that he kept wrapped around himself, leaving him terribly, unexpectedly, vulnerable. She remembered that awful, lonely roar she'd heard echoing from a dead statue all the way through a modern world and into her dreams. Mikki wanted to reach out and touch him, to tell him that everything would be okay, but she was suddenly afraid, and not of the fantastic beast who sat so awkwardly across the table from her. Mikki was afraid of herself.

She looked away from the raw emotion revealed in his eyes and busied herself arranging the food on her plate. Soon she heard the clanks and rattlings of cutlery, which told her that he, too, was filling his plate. Mikki filled her goblet with the cold white wine that was beading its pitcher and was pleased that it was the same excellent wine she'd had earlier at the springs. She glanced up at the Guardian.

“Wine?”

He nodded, and she poured. Then she lifted her own goblet and smiled.

“To the roses,” she said.

The Guardian hesitated. He made a small gesture with his hand and spoke a single word under his breath. Then he, too, raised his goblet. His powerful hand engulfed the delicate crystal, and he held it awkwardly, as if he was afraid of crushing it.

“To our new Empousa,” he said.

When she lifted the glass to her lips, she saw the perfect white rose blossom floating in the sea of wine. It hadn't been there before; he'd made it appear—for her. Mikki closed her eyes and drank, inhaling the sweet perfume that was the perfect accompaniment to the crispness of the liquid.

Later, she would remember it as the moment she began to fall in love with the beast.

CHAPTER TWENTY

S
HE'D wanted dinner to be easy and casual, but in truth, there were several awkward moments. The Guardian was silent and clearly self-conscious and uncomfortable. Which made total sense. He always ate alone. The entire realm considered him an animal, an outsider. How was he supposed to know anything about polite dinner conversation?

She was careful not to stare at him, because whenever she looked his way, he quit eating. Trying to make him more comfortable, she dispensed with the niceties of using knife and fork and picked up the meat and cheese with her fingers, purposefully chewing more noisily than was her norm. Still, he sat stiff and silent, eating little and drinking only when her attention was elsewhere.

Mikki glanced across the table and awkwardly met his eyes, then looked away quickly, for what seemed like the thousandth time. Too bad they didn't have a TV they could sit in front of or, at the very least, other diners they could eavesdrop on. He needed something to get his mind off the fact that he was sitting at dinner with her. And then she had it!

“The map of the gardens,” she said. “While we're eating, you could sketch one for me.” Her mind was racing. “I'll bet those little servants who bring dinner and such could scare up some paper and a pencil.” She'd stand by the door and not let them come in her room. They wouldn't even know he was here.

“I created it while I awaited your call.” He held out one massive hand and spoke a word that sounded like a growl mixed with vowels, and a rolled-up parchment burst into being in his hand. He offered it to Mikki, and she took it from him gingerly, half afraid it would disappear at her touch.

“You know, it's amazing the way you can make things appear like that.” She cleared her throat and, only half kidding, added, “Could you teach me to do it?” It didn't seem possible, but in this world, who knew?

“I'm afraid you must be born the child of a Titan to have the ability to conjure inanimate objects.”

“That's too bad. It'd come in handy to be able to conjure up a hoe or pruning shears whenever I needed them instead of lugging them around.”

His lips tilted up in the hint of a smile. “But I do not have the ability to call the Elements to me, or to cast Hecate's sacred circle.”

She smiled. “There are definitely good things about being Empousa.”

“Agreed.” He lifted his wineglass to her again, and this time seemed more at ease holding the crystal goblet.

Mikki pushed some of the dishes to the edge of the table, making room for the wide parchment paper. She unrolled the Guardian's map and placed four of the smaller plates at each of its corners so she could study it. It was all done in what looked like quill and ink. He'd drawn a thick, wide, spherically shaped circle, which clearly represented the rose wall boundary. Within the boundary, created with amazing attention to detail, was the garden's blueprint. The palace was placed in the north. He'd even sketched in the southern-facing balcony on which they sat, as well as the cliff behind the palace where the springs were located and the unique beds of roses it looked out on, which were Mikki's private gardens.

Hecate's Temple was drawn in as a domed shape, with the enormous fountain beside it, which Mikki could see was, indeed, situated in the geographical center of the gardens. Spiraling out, like spokes on a wheel, he'd drawn bed after bed of roses nestling within a labyrinthine series of interwoven pathways.

She had expected the crude map equivalent of a stick-figure drawing, but he'd created something filled with detail and rich with beauty. Completely caught off-guard, she looked from the map to the creature who had drawn it with such obvious care and unexpected talent.

“Guardian, this map is wonderful! Not only does it have everything on it, so I can easily divide it into fourths and show the handmaidens exactly which area of the gardens I want each of them to be responsible for, but it's a great resource for me. Now I don't have to worry about not knowing my way around.” She couldn't help looking at his hands, which more closely resembled massive paws than an artist's delicate tools. “How did you do it?”

For a moment he didn't answer and then, slowly, he lifted his left hand. It was man-shaped, but bigger, with thicker, more powerful fingers than even what she imagined would be normal for a pro football linebacker.

“They're really more dexterous than they look,” he said. “I have spent centuries learning to wield them.”

Spreading his fingers, his hand quivered, and from each fingernail bed a long, pointed, talonlike claw extended.

“Shit on a shingle!” she gasped.

He barked a rough laugh. “Is that a curse?”

She drew her spine up straight. “Yes. A very bad one. I should watch my language, but you . . .” Her words ran out and she could only gaze at the five dangerous knives his fingers had become.

“I frightened you,” he finished for her.

“No,” she said quickly. “You didn't scare me, you just surprised me.” She met his eyes. “May I touch them?”

“Yes . . .” The word rumbled from deep within his chest.

She touched one of the gleaming claws. “You're like Wolverine.”

“I'm like a small, mean-tempered animal?”

“No.” Fascinated, she stared at the claw. It felt cold and hard against the pad of her finger. “It's the name of a fictional character who was created for something called comic books in my old world. Actually, he probably was named after the animal. He's a man who has special abilities. One of which is that he can make claws come out of his hands, like you can.”

The Guardian didn't take his eyes from his hands, where she was still tracing his claw with the soft warmth of her finger.

“And is this Wolverine a demon, shunned and rejected by the rest of the comic book characters?”

“He seems to get himself in more than his share of trouble, but he's really a man with a good heart who tries hard to do the right thing.” She finally raised her eyes to his. “After you get to know him you understand that the only demon within him is the one he imagines in his own imperfections.” Mikki couldn't look away from him. His dark eyes devoured her sense of reason. Reality bent until it wasn't important what he was, as long as he kept looking at her like that—like she was his world.

With a little tremor, she felt his claws retract and she realized that her hand was resting within his. With a nervous laugh, she pulled her hand quickly to her side. “So you actually use your claws as quills?”

“Yes, Empousa.” His expression hardened into unreadable lines again.

Mikki's stomach clenched. She didn't want him to retreat from her, so before she sat back down she reached over and placed her hand gently on his forearm. His eyes shot to hers, but he didn't speak, nor did he pull away from her touch.

“Thank you for this beautiful map. It is exactly what I need to organize the women tomorrow.”

“You are most welcome, Empousa.”

She smiled and then returned to her chair. “I wish you would call me Mikki. I like being High Priestess, but there are times when I just want to be me.”

“If you would not mind,” his deep voice rumbled between them, “I would prefer to call you Mikado. It is a lovely rose, and I find that it reminds me of you.”

She felt a thrill of pleasure at his compliment. “I don't mind. I like the way my name sounds when you say it—like there's some kind of secret hidden within the word.”

“Perhaps there is,” he said.

“Perhaps . . .” she said. She was falling into his gaze again, losing herself . . .

“I should go,” he said abruptly, breaking their gaze and beginning to stand.

“Not yet!” Leaning forward, she caught his hand and felt the jolt that went through him when their flesh touched. “Stay a little longer and have one more glass of wine with me.” When he relaxed back into his chair, she reluctantly released his hand and then busied herself refilling both of their wine goblets. “I know I should be exhausted, and my body is, but my mind keeps going around and around with all the things I need to do tomorrow and all the things I should have gotten done today.”

“You accomplished much today. You should be pleased.”

“I am. I'm just impatient to get to work on the rest of the gardens.” He nodded. “It is important that the roses heal and thrive. They are the foundation of our realm and its strength. It is dangerous for them to be unwell.”

“Can you tell me what it is in the forest that you're so worried about?” she asked quietly.

“Dream Stealers.”

“That's what Hecate called them, too, but I have no idea what that means. All I know is that you and she, and by the way the women who went into the forest stayed quiet and frightened looking, everyone in this realm believes they're dangerous. I get that, but I don't get what they are.”

“Dream Stealers take different forms, depending upon their victim. That is one reason they are so dangerous. The face they would show you would be different from the one they would show one of your handmaidens.”

“So they're physical beings?”

“They can take physical forms, yes.” He paused and studied her carefully. “In your old world, there must have been Dream Stealers. Perhaps they just chose to personify yet another form there.”

She thought about the young gang members who were regulars in the ER until they inevitably ended up in the morgue or the state penitentiary—about the statistics that reported Oklahoma as one of the states with the largest number of teen pregnancies, as well as reports of child abuse—and about the ridiculously high number of Oklahoma women who lived in poverty.

“You're right. There are Dream Stealers in my old world. Young men throw away their lives; girls repeat cycles of abuse until they can see no way out; terrible things happen every day.”

“And what causes those things to happen? What is at the heart of those tragedies?”

“Hatred, ignorance, apathy,” she said.

“Exactly. And those are just some of the Dream Stealers that lurk in the forest of the crossroads between worlds. If they would enter our realm, they would be able to not simply destroy people's lives, but the dreams on which generations survive.”

“You'll keep them out, won't you?”

“I have sworn a life oath to do so.”

“You should have told me all this earlier.” Mikki shivered, feeling sick at the thought that she'd insisted he open the gate and let the women go into the forest. “No, it's not your fault. You tried to tell me that it was dangerous; I should have listened to you.”

“You did what you believed was best for the roses. No harm was done; I was there to guard the gate. I will always be there to guard the gate.”