Page 7 of Hot Zone

He roamed the hall in tense frustration. No sign of her anywhere!

He accosted several court servitors, and none of them knew where the tall, newly arrived woman might be. Swearing under his breath, he slipped out of the orgy into a servant’s tunnel that led to the kitchens. He ducked into a dark niche, tucking his tall form into the low arch. He closed his eyes and reached out cautiously with his mind.

Ever so gently, he mentally searched the palace, seeking out that enormous bubble of power. The trick was to locate her without her becoming aware of his probing. The task took concentration he hadn’t bothered to muster in months. Damn. He was getting lazy in his accidental captivity. He must get back into the habit of exercising his mind powers.

There.In the south pavilion of one of the lesser palaces: a burst of energy that made the fine, dark hairs on his forearms stand up. He opened his eyes and moved swiftly down the tunnel.

Cautiously, he approached a small chamber, the kind allotted to minor nobles of little political importance. Odd. No guard stood at the door. What noblewoman would dare to travel alone?

He eased up the iron latch and pushed her door open. No sword dropped across the opening to bar his entry. He sniffed the air experimentally. No one stood immediately on the other side of the wooden panel. He slipped silently into the unlit chamber.

Moonlight shone through the open window, falling across the floor between his feet and a low bed against the far wall. Gauze curtains were pulled around it, hiding the bed’s occupant.

He eased forward, skirting the blue-white shaft of light. He pulled his own power inward as much as he could, minimizing his aura so as not to give warning to the stranger.

He drew near the bed. A lone figure lay upon it, not under the covers. Expecting trouble? Gentle curves and long legs announced her to be a woman, and tall, the same one he’d seen earlier. Her violet aura was not so strong now that she was at rest, but a faint lavender glow suffused the room. In its dim illumination, he made out exquisite, exotic features.

He started. This woman was not of Persian descent. In fact, she didn’t look as if she came from anywhere in this part of the world. What in heaven’s name was she doing here? His people would have sent a man after him to bring him home, not some woman. So who was she? What other heretofore unknown society possessed the same psychic power that his did?

He must find out.

He gathered himself, bunching his muscles, and sprang forward, straddling the woman’s hips with his knees, clamping one hand on her neck and the other over her mouth. She lurched in surprise, but, interestingly enough, did not attempt to scream.

Her body was slender, but strong, beneath him. She fought just long enough to test her restraints, and then subsided. Her eyes didn’t reflect the sort of panic they should have.

Oh, she looked scared enough, but she also looked determined. No, she was by no means done resisting him. She was merely biding her time.

She reached up fast and gave his thumb a good yank. With a man of average strength, she’d have ripped it nearly off his hand.

As it was, he merely tightened his grip and grunted in annoyance. But then her knee jerked up sharply, connecting solidly between his legs. Agony exploded in him, and his grip loosened. The woman wrenched free of his grasp, scrambling clear of his thighs to the far side of the bed, against the wall.

She dared attack him? Rage, white-hot and pure, consumed him. Were he not exceedingly curious as to who this woman was, she would be dead where she cowered this very instant. He gritted his teeth, rode the waves of pain and managed—barely—to hang on to his temper.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she demanded.

Lying on his side, curled in a ball, he ground out, “I might ask the same of you.”

As the worst of the agony receded, reluctant admiration for her fierce self-defense tickled at the edges of his awareness. She would make a worthy mate. And the sons they could breed—

“You’re the one who barged into my room and accosted me,” she retorted tersely. “Identify yourself.”

No woman of this place would dare be so blunt with a man like him, particularly not one in her bedroom, alone with her. She ought to be screaming for her life. Definitely a traveler from a distant land. But where?

He looked up, wincing. The woman actually looked ready to fly at him! Self-defense he could forgive. But a female attacking a male outright? Fury, still lurking just below the surface of his mind, bubbled up. She had no right to challenge him!

He gathered power to blast her, but restrained himself at the last moment. He wanted answers before he turned her brain to mush.

Surging up onto his knees, he towered over her, clearly a great deal stronger and more physically dominant than she. He felt better. The woman’s aggressive posture wilted. She crossed her arms defensively now. Apparently, she knew not to tangle with a sorcerer in his prime. But she still had the temerity to glare at him.

She said nothing, so he waited her out for several seconds. He’d never met a female who could keep her mouth shut to save her life—except for this one, apparently. The silence stretched out. How odd. He would need to proceed carefully with her.

Jaw clenched, he said, “I am called Rustam. How shall I call you?”

“Tessa.”

“What sort of name is that?”

“My name. And that’s enough.”

---