To Seduce An Assassin (The Omaja Series Book 2) Page 15

  She was studying his face with those enchanting eyes of hers. “Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever seen or heard one?”

  “Yes, once, when I was ten. Yajna and I were playing in the forest near our house late one afternoon and wandered away from our farm a little farther than usual. As it grew dark, we saw a woman walking in the woods. She was glowing white, floating along the ground. We followed her to an abandoned cabin in the woods, where she disappeared right before our eyes.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “No. She never gave any indication she noticed we were there.”

  “Weren’t you scared?”

  “A little, but we were too curious not to follow her and see where she went.”

  “Did you ever go back to the cabin later, try to figure out its history?”

  “Yes, many times. It was leaning over, about to crumble to the forest floor. There was nothing inside but for a few broken pieces of furniture and a half-rotted rag doll that we found under some old moth-eaten clothes. We wondered if the woman had lived there, and if she’d perhaps had a daughter she was searching for.”

  “How sad,” Graciella murmured.

  “Yes.” He turned his gaze to his plate, avoiding looking at her as a feeling of intimacy surged in his chest. That feeling arose in him often when they talked, he realized. She was easy to converse with, and since they shared similar sentiments on a variety of topics, he felt a natural kinship with her.

  Which didn’t make it any easier to avoid leaning across the table and kissing her delectable-looking lips.

  “Anyhow,” he cleared his throat and served himself another salmon cake, “if you hear anything else, let me know. I won’t think you’re foolish or imagining it.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  A sudden thought occurred to him. “Did you see or hear something strange in your bedroom last night?” Maybe that was why she’d gone to his room.

  “No. Last night all was quiet.”

  He kept his gaze glued to his plate as he cut off a bite of salmon cake. “Did you…sleep well, then? Last night, that is?”

  “Yes, perfectly. The bed is so comfortable and warm now with the filstoc fur.” She ate a roasted sprout, her expression one of pure innocence.

  Why were you in my room? he wanted to ask. And why did you leave? He clenched his jaw and washed down the salmon with a long drink of wine, willing his thoughts to take a different direction besides how desperately he’d wanted her to join him in his bed last night, and all the things he would have loved to do to her once she was there.

  Kitran brought out dessert, which looked like some sort of glazed cake.

  Graciella looked startled when she saw it. “Oh, no, Kitran. This is the wrong cake. Take it back.” She turned to him before getting up. “Excuse me a moment.”

  He watched as she followed Kitran back to the kitchen, then returned a moment later with a cake that looked the same to him.

  “What’s wrong with the other cake?” he asked as she set it down.

  “Oh, that one didn’t have enough spice for my taste, so I made another cake with more. I hope I didn’t overdo it the second time.” She chuckled nervously and seated herself. The scent of fragrant spices in the freshly baked cake filled his nostrils pleasantly as she cut and served him a large piece.

  He picked up his fork, noticing she didn’t take a piece for herself. “Aren’t you having some?”

  “No. I tested so much of it while I was baking, I’m just not hungry for it anymore.”

  He ate a mouthful. “It’s delicious. I think you got the spice just right.”

  “Oh, good.” She sipped primly of her wine and watched him eat.

  The cake was moist, deliciously sweetened with honey, and redolent with cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and other unidentifiable spices. He quickly finished it off and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

  “More?” She held up the plate of cake, flashing him a charming smile.

  “Yes, I suppose I have room for more. I haven’t had this type of cake before. What do you call it?”

  “I call it Spice Delight Cake.” She deftly cut him another huge piece.

  “Delight, indeed.” He put a forkful in his mouth. “It’s wonderful. I think you could open a bakery with this recipe. This cake, plus your delicious breads.”

  She tried to serve him a third piece before he finished the second, but he shook his head no. He was starting to feel full, and a little strange. Warm, and drunk. Fuzzy around the edges. Had he really drunk that much wine? He picked up the wine bottle to examine it.

  “What’s wrong?” Graciella asked, the sexy lilt of her voice sending pleasurable chills up his spine.

  “Oh, nothing, I—do you want more wine?” He held up the bottle.

  Her thick black lashes seemed to move in slow motion, fluttering prettily over her mesmerizing hazel eyes as she blinked. “No, I still have some in my goblet.”

  He swallowed, staring at her face. Before he could stop himself, his gaze was drawn to her neckline. Heat crept up the back of his neck at the sight of the enticing swell of her breasts, and he went hard as a rock inside his trousers. He forced his gaze away and took another bite of cake.

  Wait—is that Tongkat Ali I’m tasting? He frowned as he chewed the bite slowly, trying to discern the sage-like flavor of the Nandalan herbal remedy for impotence.

  “Something wrong?” Her face was the picture of innocence.

  “No, I—” His erection throbbed. “I just realized how full I am. I may not be able to eat my last couple bites of cake.” Spice Delight, my arse! She’s poisoned me, the little sneak. That’s why she had to get the other cake. A slow smile spread across his face at her daring, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Are you sure you’ve had enough?”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” Blood was pumping through every sinew of his body, fueling his thick arousal. “What spices did you say were in that cake?”

  He stared at her lips as she answered. “Cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and a pinch of sage.”

  “Sage?” So it wasn’t Tongkat? No, that couldn’t be right. He didn’t feel normal at all. She was a bald-faced liar. A beautiful, enchanting, bald-faced liar.

  “Yes, just a pinch.”

  A pinch? He’d like to pinch her nipples with his finger and thumb right now, while devouring her soft, plump lower lip with his mouth and tongue. He shut his eyes and pressed his fingers over his eyelids, trying to fend off an intense wave of lust, but it wasn’t working. He needed to get away from her before he did something he would deeply regret later, but how? He was certain that if he stood up right now, the enormous bulge in his pants would be painfully obvious. He had to figure out an escape, fast.

  “Graciella, I’m not feeling well. Would you go ask Kitran to make me a cold compress for my head?”

  Her eyes widened in dismay. “Oh dear…yes, yes, I’ll get her to make a cold compress right away!” She rose from her chair and hurried to the kitchen.

  When she was out of sight, he shoved back from the table, nearly knocking over his chair, and turned to dash up the stairs before she returned.

  Safely in his own darkened, chilly chambers, he barred the door and stripped off his shirt, then freed his swollen cock from the confines of his trousers. Cold air from a window wasn’t going to do the trick. He stood before the mirror on his washstand, bracing one hand on the wall behind it, and stroked himself urgently with his other hand. In a few seconds, he grabbed his damp towel to cover the tip as he climaxed. The erection only subsided a tiny bit, then immediately returned full-force. Damn it, Graciella. As her face floated in his mind’s eye, his cock throbbed, straining up towards his belly. He massaged it, closing his eyes, shivering with the need for another release.

  There was a light tap at the door. “Yavi?” the lovely little liar’s voice came through the oak.

  “Just a moment,” he bit
out.

  “Are…are you all right?” She sounded terrified.

  “Give me just a second.” He stroked himself harder, until he came a second time, and then wiped his hands on the towel and re-fastened his trousers. He threw his shirt back over his head but left it untucked to hide his groin area, and strode to the door.

  He moved the bar out of the way and opened the door to find her standing there holding a wet compress. He forced a smile. “I’m doing a little better now.”

  “Did you—” She tried to see around him into his room, then glanced up at his face. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I think there must have been something in the cake,” he said, watching her reaction.

  “Oh…something in the cake made you…sick?”

  “Queasy, yes. But I splashed water on my face, and I think it’s passing now.” Bloody hell, Yavi, either grab her by the waist and kiss her right now, or make an excuse to get rid of her so you can breathe again. One or the other.

  She blinked, her eyes reddening a little. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t apologize. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”

  She looked even more mortified, swallowing.

  He pushed the door partially closed. “Anyway, I think I’ll retire early tonight. See you at breakfast?”

  She looked down at the compress in her hands. “Yes. See you at breakfast. Sleep well. I’m sorry about the cake.”

  It took everything in him not to throw the door open wide, scoop her into his arms, and soothe her guilt and fear with reassuring words, gentle caresses, and soft kisses. But if she’d dosed him up with Tongkat, it could only have been for one purpose, and that was exactly the purpose he wanted so desperately to avoid, for her sake.

  “Please don’t worry about it. Good night.” He closed the door and left her standing there, his heart twisting into a painful knot. He barred the door to keep her from sneaking in again, and went to pour himself a cup of cool water. Perhaps he could flush out the Tongkat if he drank enough water tonight.

  A few minutes and several cups of water later, he got a better idea. Katsuri. Drown this raging lust in sweet katsuri. Or at least get drunk enough to relax and find more humor in it. He unbarred the bedroom door, poked his head out to see if the coast was clear, then slipped into the hallway to head for his study and fetch the blue bottle.

  §

  Graciella threw herself on her bed, sobbing. She was humiliated, ashamed, and utterly horrified by what she’d done. He hadn’t gotten more amorous; he’d become physically ill, and all because she’d put too much of that wretched herb in his cake!

  Shame on you, Graciella. You’re a terrible houseguest, a scheming conniver, a desperate trollop, and a liar. She’d fibbed to his face when he’d asked what was in the cake. The poor man knew there was something off about it. Why hadn’t she just confessed right then and accepted his disdain, his anger, and his disgust?

  “Because I love him!” she cried into the filstoc fur.

  Do you? a voice accused in her head. Does true love try to manipulate a man’s emotions like this?

  “Oh, Gods.” She sat up, shocked and repulsed by that thought. “Maybe I don’t love him at all. Maybe I’m just a selfish, sexually deranged pervert.”

  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she moved off the bed and sank onto her knees on the rug beside it, folding her hands in prayer. “Lord Zehu, if you can hear me, please forgive me. Help me be brave enough to admit to Yavi what I’ve done and strong enough to accept his disappointment and mistrust.” For how could he ever trust her again once he knew the truth?

  Master Volkan’s words now echoed mockingly in her mind. Grace and light, he’d called her. Bringing hope to Nandala, he’d said. And what had she done? Had she brought anyone any hope? No, only pain. Poor Yavi was just beginning to come out of his shell and smile a bit, even laugh occasionally, and now he lay in his room, sick off the herb she’d poisoned him with.

  She pictured her utter shame at having to tell him the truth, and decided it was her just punishment. But what if he decided that she should be sent back to Villeleia right away? Her heart would break at having to part with him so soon, especially under such foul circumstances. Jiandra would be upset with her, too. And her sister would have to bear her little child without Graciella’s help or moral support.

  Jiandra has Yajna, who’s true and honest. She doesn’t need her conniving little sister here when she gives birth.

  Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks as she realized that whatever the consequences, she had to confess her crimes to Yavi. Tomorrow, preferably before her sister and Yajna returned.

  She got ready for bed, blew out her candle, and crawled under the covers to cry herself to sleep.

  §

  Father!

  Graciella sat up straight in bed. Had she dreamed the voice had returned? The room was completely dark except for the shaft of moonlight pouring in through an open window. She lowered her feet over the side of the mattress, slipped on her house shoes, and hurried to close the window and latch it.

  Father, he killed me.

  “Who’s there?” She whirled around, trying to see in the dark shadows of her bedroom. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she made out a pale figure, a boy about ten or eleven, standing by her armoire.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  He killed me.

  “Who killed you?”

  Uman.

  Graciella crept a little closer, to confirm whether he was real or imagined. “Who’s Uman?” she asked gently.

  My brother. Suddenly the boy’s face altered, changing to a leering, demonic grin with glowing yellow eyes and sharp, blackened teeth.

  Graciella screamed and jumped back.

  He laughed, a gravelly, chilling laugh, and she ran past him to throw open the door.

  She slammed the door shut behind her and ran as fast as she could down the hallway toward Yavi’s wing. There were no guards or servants in sight, so she kept running until she reached the Emperor’s door.

  She pounded on it with both fists, looking over her shoulder, praying the evil spirit wasn’t standing right behind her. “Sire, it’s Graciella. Something’s in my room!” She pounded again.

  The door opened. He stood there in his slippers and a hastily thrown-on dressing robe, the emperor’s ruby dangling against his muscular chest. “What is it?”

  “It’s—it’s the child who was saying ‘Father.’ He was standing right by my armoire. He claimed someone named ‘Uman’ killed him. Then he transformed into a gruesome demonic spirit of some sort, right before my eyes.”

  “Uman?” He stepped into the hallway and grasped her hands in his. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Here, wait inside my room while I go inspect.”

  “No! I don’t want to be alone in here either.”

  “Would you rather come with me?”

  “Yes.”

  He closed his door and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “All right. Let’s go see if he’s still there and find out what he wants.”

  She nodded, hoping he couldn’t feel her heart pounding as if it were about to break free from her chest as they walked.

  Once they arrived at her door, she hung back. “He was standing right beside my armoire. I swear it wasn’t a dream, Sire. I’m…I’m not lying.” This time, she thought ruefully.

  “I know you aren’t lying, because you mentioned the name Uman.”

  “Who’s Uman?”

  “It’s a long story.” He opened her door, poking his head in to look around. “I don’t see anything. I’ll go in and light a candle.” He looked back over his shoulder at her. “You coming in, or staying out?”

  “I’ll stay out here.” She grabbed the sleeve of his robe. “But don’t close the door, so I can see you.”

  “I won’t.” He swung the door open wide and went in to find her candle and the tinderbox beside her bed. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Hey, did you know all your windows a
re open?”

  “All of them?” The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Suddenly her bedroom door slammed shut in her face, and she yelped.

  Yavi opened it. “That was the wind blowing in. Hold the door open while I close the windows.”

  She braced a hand against the door and peered into the room. “They were all closed when I left my room just now. One blew open when the spirit came in, but I shut and latched it. Those windows were all shut when I left.”

  “These latches are in perfect shape. I don’t see how they could be working loose on their own.” He finished latching the last window and struck a flint to light the candle. He held it up as he searched all around the room. “Whoever your visitor was, he’s not here now.”

  Graciella ventured inside the room, darting nervous glances at all the shadowy nooks and crannies in the room, especially around her armoire. She bent low to look underneath her bed, then straightened, wringing her hands. “Sire, I wonder if…there is someplace else I could sleep tonight?”

  “Of course. Do you want to use Yajna and Jiandra’s room tonight, until we can prepare another suite for you tomorrow?”

  “Honestly, I don’t want to be alone on this side of the palace.”

  “I can understand that.” He glanced down at the flame of the candle. “Would you…like to stay in my room?”

  She took a deep, shaky breath. “Do you have any other bedrooms on your side?”

  “Not with furniture.”

  “Could I get a cot?”

  “A cot, in an empty room?”

  “Yes, just a servant’s cot would be fine for tonight. I’ll bring the filstoc fur with me.” She turned to gather it up from her bed. “Should I bring my own pillow?”

  “If you wish.”

  She scooped up the most comfortable one, then hurried to his side. “Can we go now? This room is making my skin crawl.”

  “Of course,” he said, and she followed him outside.

  Ten

  Yavi closed her bedroom door and offered to carry her armful of bedding for her. She gave him the heavy filstoc but hung on to her pillow, clutching it to her chest. That was just as well, because her nightgown left little to the imagination about the shape of her breasts underneath. The effects of the Tongkat had thankfully died down somewhat, leaving him in a less painful state of arousal than he could have been in at the moment. He would have suspected all of this was another ploy on her part to tempt him, but her white face and trembling frame told him she wasn’t acting. And how did she know about the name Uman? Jiandra could have mentioned it to her, but if that was the case, and Graciella had invented this elaborate scheme to be with him tonight, why hadn’t she taken him up on his offer to let her sleep in his room just now?