Jayne Castle: Obsidian Prey

That bone-deep certainty had intensified with each hour they had spent together and with each scorching kiss. Three months and a futile lawsuit later, the psychic bond had not weakened one bit. She was pretty sure that three years, three decades, or the rest of her life could pass, and still a frisson of knowing recognition would alert her if Cruz suddenly showed up anywhere in her vicinity. You were supposed to be mine .

"Don't look now, but I think he's spotted you," Nancy said. "He's coming this way."

A cascade of tangled emotions slammed through Lyra. Anger, frustrated desire, the yearning for revenge, and a fragile sense of hope all snarled together in a chaotic mix.

"Looks like he's expecting you to make a run for the ladies' room," Nancy said. "He's circling around through the crowd, cutting off that route."

That did it. Adrenaline, hot and bracing, surged through Lyra. If there was one thing that was sure to make her stand her ground tonight, it was the knowledge that Cruz thought she might try to bolt. She was a Dore, damn it. The last of her line. She had a family tradition to uphold. Dores did not run from anything. Most definitely they did not run from a Sweetwater.

She did not need Nancy's wide-eyed expression to tell her that Cruz had invaded her personal space. She could feel him directly behind her.

"Hello, Lyra," he said.

His voice was low, dark, infused with power, utterly masculine.

She turned coolly to face him, amazed that she was able to maintain a degree of self-control now that the confrontation was upon her. She even managed an icy bright smile.

Nothing had changed, especially not his hunter's eyes. She had seen those eyes night after night in her dreams. Like the black stone in the heavy ring he wore, they were obsidian dark with green fires burning in the depths.

His hair was just as black as she remembered it, still cut close and short. The roughly sculpted planes and angles of his hard face were just as thrillingly feral. An intimate excitement swept through her.

Down, girl.

"Good evening, Mr. Sweetwater," she said, giving him smooth surprise for all she was worth. "I wasn't aware that you were interested in picking up antiquities at gallery auctions. I was under the impression that you preferred to acquire whatever you wanted with more direct methods."

"Such as?" Cruz raised one black brow, politely quizzical.

"Oh, say, by crushing the competition," Lyra said sweetly.

Nancy gasped and choked on her champagne. "For heaven's sake, Lyra."

Cruz looked at her. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Cruz Sweetwater."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Sweetwater," Nancy said. She coughed a couple of times but recovered quickly. "I'm Nancy Halifax. Halifax Gallery in the Old Quarter? I'm sure you've never heard of it. I specialize in modern art."

"A pleasure to meet you, Nancy. Lyra mentioned you several times."

"Back when you two were seeing each other, you mean?" Nancy asked.

Cruz looked at Lyra. "Yes."

"Back when I believed that Mr. Sweetwater was a legitimate client who wished to engage my professional services," Lyra said evenly. "Back when he was using a phony name."

Nancy looked vaguely horrified.

True to form, Cruz did not take the bait. That was the thing about Cruz Sweetwater, Lyra thought. He never lost his cool. He was probably just as controlled in bed. Not that she was likely to find out.

Cruz was all about control. She was no para-shrink, but she had a strong suspicion that powerful self-mastery was a direct result of the psychic side of his nature. He had never confided the truth about his psi senses to her—one of the many secrets he had kept three months ago—but she would had to have been incredibly dim not to have realized that he possessed a lot of raw power.

Anyone endowed with a high degree of talent required an equally high degree of control. Those who wound up with the former but not the latter generally spent most of their lives in nice, quiet parapsych wards knitting scarves and taking little pills.

"I was out of town at the time," Nancy said, trying to paper over the awkward moment. "I always close the gallery for a couple of weeks in early summer. Mandatory family gathering at the lake house." She made a face. "You know how it is with family."

"Yes," Cruz said. He looked amused. "I do know how it is with family."

The two of them exchanged a smile of mutual understanding. If there was one thing most people could bond over, it was the subject of family. After the Curtain had closed, stranding the colonists, the First Generation settlers had understood that their very survival depended on the strength of the family unit, the basic building block of any society. They had set out to shore up family ties with every legal, social, and moral tool at their command.

The Founders had achieved their goal. Family was all on Harmony—except when you did not have one of your own.

Lyra took another sip of champagne and made no comment, her customary response whenever the subject of family ties arose. Her grandfather, who had raised her after her parents had been killed in a mining accident, had died four years earlier, leaving her alone in the world.

"And then I decided to tack on a buying trip to Resonance and Cadence," Nancy continued, evidently feeling pressured to carry the conversation. "That took another week. By the time I got back. . uh. ." She broke off, reddening, and she darted an uneasy glance at Lyra.

"By the time you got back it was all over," Lyra said, amazed by her own calm. She flashed another polite smile for Cruz and swept out a hand to indicate the artifacts on display. "Which of these lovely things brings you here tonight, Mr. Sweetwater?"

"You," he said.

She felt as though the floor of the gallery had fallen away beneath her feet. He really had come back to apologize and make amends. The weeks of amethyst orchids had been an effort to pave the way, just as she had hoped.

But she had to be strong, she told herself sternly. There was a lot of groveling left to be done. If she let him back into her life too quickly, it would set a very bad precedent. She had the edge in this relationship now. She had to maintain it. Cruz Sweetwater had a bad habit of getting whatever he wanted. That had to stop. Boundaries had to be established.

"I'm confused," she said with just the right amount of bewilderment. "Did you want to hire me to tune some amber or consult on an amethyst artifact?"

"No," he said. "I'd like to talk to you."

"Certainly." She assumed an expectant look.

"In private," Cruz added.

"Oh, look," Nancy said before Lyra could respond. "There's Mr. Fitzburn." She smiled at Cruz. "You'll have to excuse me. I need to have a chat with him. Fitzburn is a potential client. He missed out on the first three Chimera paintings that I had in my gallery, and he's afraid I won't give him a chance at the next one."

"I understand," Cruz said.

"Are you interested in modern art, Mr. Sweetwater?" Nancy asked.

"It's not really my thing," Cruz said. "I take it this Chimera is popular?"

"He's a hot new talent. Just on the brink of being discovered by the art world, according to the critic at the Frequency Herald . But he's very reclusive. Won't do interviews or promotion of any kind. He'll only display in my gallery."

"I see."

"You're welcome to visit my gallery," Nancy said. She whipped a card out of her little black bag. "It would be an honor."

"Thank you," Cruz said. He took the card and dropped it into the pocket of his black jacket.

Lyra frowned at Nancy. "I think Mr. Fitzburn is waiting for you."

"Right," Nancy said. "Bye."

She hurried off, pausing briefly behind Cruz to wink at Lyra over his shoulder and make encouraging motions with her hands. Lyra pretended not to notice.