Kay Hooper - The Wizard Of Seattle

When he finally opened the front door almost an hour later, she didn't move or greet him. She just watched as he set an overnight bag on the floor, shrugged out of his raincoat, and hung it on the coat tree by the door.

His lean face still, the handsome features composed, he turned and looked steadily at her. After a moment he said calmly, "You found the switch."

It didn't surprise her that he knew. He had sensed her power from the first time he'd set eyes on her, so of course he could sense that she was now able to completely contain that power.

Serena rose slowly and stepped down to the bottom of the stairs. "That's not all I found," she said, and she could hear the strained note in her own voice contrasting sharply with his utter self-possession.

Rachel came into the foyer before he could respond. Whether she saw or sensed a problem, all she placidly said was, "You're home. Dinner in half an hour."

"Thank you, Rachel," Merlin said, still looking at Serena.

As the housekeeper retreated to her domain, Serena felt a stab of real panic. It was now, she realized. The confrontation she had shied away from loomed between them. There was no way to stop it now, not for her or for him. And no matter how it ended, their relationship would never again be the same.

"Richard-"

"In the study. Not out here." Leaving his bag there on the floor, Merlin crossed the space to his study door and opened it.

"That's a dandy lock you made," she said as she followed him into the room and dosed the door, leaning back against it. She didn't look around at the book-lined walls, or at the very old scrolls placed on several shelves, and she didn't notice that his big desk was unusually cluttered with several opened books and a number of scrolls.

He didn't reply or react to her faintly accusing statement, merely walking to the front of his desk and then turning to face her as he leaned against it and lightly gripped the edge on either side of his hips. Serena wondered vaguely if they both felt the need of support. No, not Merlin, she thought. Surely not Merlin.

"Who is she, Richard?" The question was blurted without tact or grace.

Very quietly, impassively, he replied, "Who she is doesn't concern you, Serena."

Once Serena might have heeded the warning in his tone and backed away from what he dearly had no wish to discuss, but that time was past. Her stormy emotions were clawing at her, demanding an outlet, and she could no more stop her falsely bright, brittle words than she could stop breathing.

"Well, I'm reasonably sure she isn't a wife. A mistress then? She was surely no stranger, I know that."

"You know nothing about it."

"I know it wasn't the first time you were with her. That was obvious. I know what she looks like. Boy, do I know what she looks like. Head to toe."

"You had no right to be there," he said slowly, giving every word a terrible weight.

Stung, she said, "I didn't try to be there, dammit. I have no idea how I got there. I was asleep, Richard, and so far you haven't taught me a thing about controlling my sleeping mind."

"I will, never fear."

"I'll look forward to that. It wasn't exactly pleasant to find myself in some kind of bordello."

A faint sound came from him, an indrawn breath that was muted evidence of growing strain, and anger flickered in his black eyes. "It was not a bordello."

"No?"

"No. But whatever it was is none of your business. I don't have to justify myself or my actions to you, Serena. Aside from teaching you what you came here to learn from me, I have no obligation to you. None."

She was glad the door behind her lent some support, because she definitely needed it. Every clipped word he uttered stabbed at her. It had been bad enough before, but this was so hurtful, she could hardly breathe. No obligation? And no interest in her, his tone said that, as well.

The nine years they had spent together apparently counted for nothing.

"I see." The words were hardly more than a whisper, and she fought to shore up her composure, to save a bit of her self-respect. "You'll… have to forgive me. It seems I'm guilty of presumption, at the very least."

She felt behind her for the door handle, and held on to that for balance as she straightened and turned to leave.

"Serena."

Looking at him right now was impossible, but she went still, waiting.

"I didn't mean that." His voice was low.

She was very much afraid he had meant every word. "No, I needed the reminder," she said as evenly as she could manage. "You're right-your only obligation to me is what I asked for in the beginning, what you agreed to. Anything else is… anything else is completely inappropriate. I know that; I've known all along." She told herself fiercely to shut up, to stop making her pain so damned obvious .

"Serena, there are things you don't understand. Things I can't explain to you." His voice was unquestionably strained now. "Some boundaries mustn't be crossed; the penalties are… too great. What we are, you and I, is precisely defined. It has to be."

She turned her head slowly and looked at him. Even through her pain she could sense his tension, see it in every line of his body. And there was something leaping at her out of his eyes, some intense emotion she couldn't interpret and that she had never seen before. She didn't completely understand what he was saying, but the gist of it seemed clear enough; the barriers separating them were not to be crossed.

"Yes, of course," she said almost politely, still clinging to the shreds of her dignity. "Everything has to have a clear definition; I know that. Because control is so important when dealing with power. Vital, really. So you're a Master wizard, and I'm your Apprentice. And that's all."

A muscle tightened in his jaw. "Anything else… anything more is impossible, Serena."

After a long moment she repeated, "Yes, of course," then added gravely, "I apologize for intruding into your personal life. It won't happen again." Quickly, she slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.

Merlin drew a slow, deep breath, trying to ease the constricted sensation in his chest. It didn't really work, which didn't surprise him; he had been conscious of that odd tightness for a long time now. It had been an ever-present feeling for months at least. Before that it had been an erratic thing, something of which he had been aware only occasionally.

He remembered clearly when he had first felt a hint of the strange sensation. Serena had been with him about three years then, and they had been totally immersed in study most of that time. But he had taken her out to dinner one night, and looking at her across the table, he had been jolted to realize she was wearing lipstick.

Such a small thing, and the sudden squeezing inside his chest had been fleeting, easily forgotten. Until the next time he had glimpsed some sign that the ragged urchin he had taken into his home and his life was becoming a woman. Was, actually, reveling in being a woman.

He hadn't lied to her just now, he told himself. There were precise lines dividing Master and Apprentice, and because of the power involved, those boundaries really did have to be respected. Serena knew that, as her words had proven. But he hadn't told her the whole truth, and he had allowed her to believe he was far more emotionally indifferent to her than he was.

Indifferent? Christ, if she only knew…

Merlin pushed himself away from the desk and went around behind it, where his chair was pulled back. He didn't sit, but put his hands on the smooth oak of the desk and leaned forward, staring down at an old, old book lying open. Like so many of the books in this room, its fragile parchment pages were hand-lettered in a strange language that would have baffled even the most erudite linguist, but Merlin read it easily because it was the language of his kind.