The Necklace Read online

  Flexing her shoulders, she tried to release the tension humming inside her body. Raucous energy remained pent inside her soul, refusing to rest.

  Screeching loudly, the harsh noise echoing in the private chambers, she rose and threw the book across the room, uncaring about the fragile tome.

  She felt like a shark, hungry and tantalized by the smell of blood.

  Pacing, her body thrumming like a shylin, she walked toward the large vaulted entrance of her chamber, throwing open the xerilon doors with the power of her mind.

  The thick metal crashed against the walls, and several sentries jumped to attention, their eyes turning to her in fear.

  “Healer, is-is there something amiss?”

  Baline stared at the brave guard, knowing not many of her kind would attempt to speak with her when she was so obviously angered.

  Her eyes raked across his tall, lean frame, figuring by his dress and obvious rank he was the leading warrior present.

  “Yes, Captain. There is something wrong. Clear your men from the hallways. I wish to have peace and quiet in my chambers.”

  The guard blinked at her, and Baline sensed his confusion.

  The only noise made thus far had been the noise she, herself, had made.

  Nevertheless, he bowed his head respectfully, and motioned to the men lining the walls. “As you wish, Healer.”

  Baline watched the guards leave, most of them falling in a single line behind the Captain. Shaking her head, unconsciously counting the men, she cursed inwardly for sending them away. The young, virile warriors could have been useful in helping to banish the sexual excess rioting through her body.

  Eleven hard, eager men might be just what she needed.

  Sighing, Baline grabbed the roots of her hair, jerking her head to the side, hoping to loose the strident feelings inside her brain and body.

  It didn’t work, however, and she exhaled deeply.

  Running her tongue across her lips, she could still taste the essence of the Queen, still picture herself caught between the rapture of the two mates. In all her nearly three thousand years of existence, Baline had never felt anything like the emotions teeming from the two of them, and she realized, probably never would again.

  A successful Am’an was a rare thing, the last time she witnessed the sacred event had been over two thousand years ago.

  Most Eritreans would let their mate die, rather than risk their soul to save them. There were few who had the love and trust in their heart to attempt such a perilous deed, and many more who not true pair bonds.

  Of course, the Healer would never participate in a union. The risk to her person was too high. During the long years of her life, Baline had seen numerous Am’ans end in painful and excruciating death. She’d seen souls sucked from the body, seen the flesh wither to ash within moments.

  It was her responsibility to stand by and observe. But intercession was highly discouraged. The Annals of her order fully advised against it, though the actual writing didn’t forbid intervening.

  Baline had taken a risk bridging between Marissa and Tylan, but she did so because she felt assured of the mate’s love and trust in one another.

  The two had to be a true match. She couldn’t see the Fates bring them together if they weren’t. As the Healer, she felt a responsibility to bring their love and harmony to ultimate fruition. And if she had been wrong, so was the destiny of her life.

  The Healer.

  Baline frowned, pausing in her tracks. She’d been born that way, and there was no use in blaming the Gods for her lot. But tonight she wanted more, a part of her hoping the King and Queen might still need her services.

  The Am’an wouldn’t be finished until both of them gave fully of their souls, completely trusting in one another. Baline had sat in her room for many hours, brimming with anticipation and hope. But when the surge of power settled away, fading into oblivion, she knew it was over.

  Snarling.

  Snorting.

  Sighing, and upset with the world, Baline continued to walk, alone like always.

  Calling upon the rigorous training she’d received as a youth, she controlled the desires of her body.

  It would do her no good to feel like a horny adolescence eager for her first coupling.

  Striding slowly along the hallways, barely glancing at the ornate holographs and sculptures scattered through the palace, Baline found herself inside the throne room, the inner sanctum of the royal house. The glistening blue and silver hall was a sight of reckoning, and the most intimidating sign of Eritrean might and power.

  The symmetric balance of color, light and design, ironically, included some human touches of style. Including, Sumerian mosaic work, Persian designed pieces of art, Egyptian technique and flourish, and Greco-Roman sculptures.

  Baline grunted, the sound echoing, as her eyes roamed the eight Corinthian arches evenly spaced throughout the huge hall. She was probably the only person in Eritrea, aside from the King, who would recognize the legacy of the designs. Although Tylan wasn’t nearly as old, he made it a point to listen, learn and study all histories, including that of the humans.

  She smiled wistfully, remembering the many times he had plagued her for knowledge. The young man she’d known as a boy had grown to be a fine king, and a fit ruler. The flashes of intuition she sensed at his birth predicted a long and fruitful reign. The kingdom would indeed prosper under his guiding insight. Even through the darker hours yet to come.

  His mate, Marissa, however, was a surprise, a most delightful surprise. But still unseen. Baline didn’t know what to make of the young queen.

  Well, aside from the fact that she tasted excellent.

  She wished the feckless gift of foresight were a bit more controllable. The damn power liked to come and go as it pleased.

  Rolling her eyes, her sight stopped on a picture of a mernia frozen in time, and captured by the colorful mural lining the wall.

  Inexorably, she was drawn closer, her feet moving without conscious thought.

  Tracing her fingers against the stylized outlined of the woman’s flesh, a powerful vision seized hold of her mind, squeezing her heart in a deathlike grip, blackening her senses to she felt herself falling down a hole of despair.

  “Healer, are you alright? Are you in danger?”

  The voice sounded far away, and Baline had to struggle through the fog inside her brain. Staring up at the dark-haired warrior, she blinked at the handsome young man, wondering why he looked so familiar.

  “I-I fine, Captain. I just-just fainted … I think?” she murmured, recognizing the face as the same young guard from her chambers.

  “Allow me to escort you back to your room, Healer. You don’t look well.”

  Baline stared at the young captain, smiling at his heartfelt expression. “Why don’t you escort me to the bed, Arvlin?” At his stunned expression, she lifted one corner of her lips, dropping her chin to look at him seductively through her lashes. “That’s your name isn’t it?”

  “Yes … it is.”

  Rising, using Arvlin’s arms as leverage, Baline stood on her feet, her legs still a bit shaky. Grabbing hold of the large, firm-bodied warrior, steadying the dizziness, she peered up into his handsome face.

  He was young, probably no more than a hundred years old, but he would do for the night, or the next day after that.

  She needed some cessation to the terrible visions plaguing her mind.

  Cursing herself as a fool for settling for one hard body, when she could have had eleven, she said, “Come, young Captain. Let me heal you of your doubts, and you can try to heal mine.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “This is becoming a very bad habit.”

  “What is, sena?”

  Marissa turned toward Tylan, shifting in his arms, wiping away a speck of sleep from her eye. “Waking up not knowing where I am. Lately, that’s all I’ve been doing.”

  “Not a lot of stability in your life, huh?”

  “It doe
s appear to be a recurring motif,” she yawned. “So, you won’t be surprised if I ask where am I, right?”

  Tylan laughed. “You are in the main province of Eritrea, leethil.”

  “And where exactly is the main province of Eritrea?”

  He shrugged a shoulder, lifted his eyebrow and winked at her. “Twenty thousand leagues under the sea.”

  “That would put us in the mantle of the earth, Tylan.”

  “I knew you were smart,” he chuckled, running a finger along the indentation of her jawbone. “Let’s just say we’re a long way underwater.”

  Marissa shook her head, smirking at him, before turning her gaze to the room’s interior.

  Larger, grander, and more spacious than most houses, the unique style and opulence felt modern but reminded her of the medieval chambers of old. The ceiling rose nearly thirty feet high, while the room was painted with swirled colors of blue and silver. A six-foot vaulted frame encased the largest fireplace she’d ever seen, the width stretching nearly seven feet in length. Examining it closer, she realized there was no wood serving as kindling. Instead large, green stones radiated with flames shooting out in all directions.

  Marissa’s lips pursed with confusion, and she blinked a couple of times, before looking away to peruse the rest of the room. The distinctive design of the interior, right down to the extraordinarily large bed, matched Tylan’s personality.

  Hell! Even the colors coordinated with the shade of his eyes.

  But the most exceptional features were not the unusual and decorative furniture scattered about. Seven detailed and strangely life-like pictures hung on the surrounding walls, highlighting large aerial overviews of intricately designed metropolises. Seemingly pulled straight from the imagination of Jules Verne himself.

  One picture in particular seized Marissa’s attention, and she frowned wondering why the vista looked so familiar.

  Turning back toward Tylan, she exhaled a long breath, attempting to calm her nerves. “Twenty thousands leagues, huh?”

  His lips lifted in a brief smile. “Not quite. It’s probably more like six or seven.”

  “How-how is that possible? The greatest depth known is only eight miles.”

  “With all that has happened,” Tylan said, his hands running across her legs, “you still find it impossible to believe there’s more to the world than what has been discovered by human history books?”

  Marissa looked down, flexing her toes, happy to see her feet instead of a fish tail. “No, I don’t find that difficult to believe, but I don’t understand this, and I'm trying to. I need some explanations. I need to understand this … me … us.”

  “If I can answer, Marissa. I will. But, don’t be surprised if you don’t like what I have to say. First, before we begin all that, let’s get some sustenance. I know you’re hungry, and I can’t handle any serious questions till I’ve had something to eat.”

  At the mention of food, a very unladylike sound emerged from the region of her stomach. Marissa grimaced, placing a hand against the offending organ, silently telling it to quiet down. Tylan grinned at her before rising from the bed, unconcerned with his obvious lack of clothes.

  Marissa tried not to look at his butt, but it was really difficult, especially considering it was the best ass she'd ever seen. It even beat out the illustrious behind of Brad Pitt.

  Thank God for Troy, that was the best part of the movie.

  She wondered where he was going, at least that’s what she told herself, but when he disappeared into an arched entryway located a few feet from the bed and the unmistakable sounds of a urinating male returned, she figured it out real quick.

  The calls of her own body responded, and Marissa waited for Tylan to finish, trying desperately not to twitch.

  He returned a few moments later, walking up the few steps leading to the bed. Marissa shook her head, trying to think of a dignified way to excuse herself without calling attention to her own obvious lack of clothes.

  Finally, deciding it didn’t matter ‘cause nature was ringing the phone off the hook, she jumped from the bed, running toward the room he'd just left.

  She would have taken a moment to admire the opulence, complete with an Olympic size pool, wall length mirrors, and sculptures like something from a Roman collection at a museum, but her eyes fell on what had to be the commode and she plopped down unceremoniously.

  Finishing her business, she walked to the sink and frowned. There were no handles, just a golden spigot that actually looked like real gold.

  Staring for a few moments, Marissa almost decided against doing the prudent, sanitary thing, but remembering numerous lessons from school about germs and where they lived, she placed her hand underneath the faucet, hoping the dang thing worked like the electronic sinks at the movie theaters. She was grateful when water just the right temperature, not too hot or too cold, poured over her hands.

  Thankful that the dire needs of her body and the sanitary questions were solved, she dried her hands on a nearby towel made of the softest material she’d ever felt against her skin. Walking back toward the entryway, the clothing issue, again, became a thing of importance. But Marissa decided, lifting her head, unclothed dignity was still dignity.

  She took no more than five steps into the bedroom before realizing she and Tylan were not alone, and all dignity went out the window.

  No less than five people, three females and two males, milled about. Two of the women were setting up the long dining table, one man standing near a cart loaded with large golden domed platters. And the other two just seemed to be standing by.

  All the while, Tylan’s long frame sprawled on the bed. He didn’t even have the decency to put a sheet over his privates!

  “Your Majesty, do you wish to eat at the table or in the bed?” One of the women asked, her tone deadpan.

  “We want to eat in the bed, Meija. Just leave the plates on the table. I’ll get them myself.”

  “As you wish, Sire.”

  Marissa remained dumbfounded. She didn’t dare move and cause any attention, but she wanted to run and hide. Taking a step back, giving serious credence to the scenario in her mind, she stopped when Tylan’s heated eyes fell upon her.

  “The food’s here, sena. Come, we’ll eat and talk.”

  “My Lady, do you have any requirements you need fulfilled?”

  Turning her head slowly, Marissa looked at the woman in charge of the gathering—apparently so because the other four had yet to say a word.

  Tall, thin, and beautiful, with long whitish blonde hair, the woman was outrageously dressed in a skintight, silver lycra-looking body suit, with a long blue sash around the waist.

  Marissa could only shake her head in denial, words truly failing her.

  “That will be all, Meija. Thank you,” Tylan interjected, rising from the bed, his glory swinging as he walked toward the dining table.

  Marissa watched the woman closely. Her own embarrassment with nudity vanishing as prickles of jealousy crept up her spine. If the lady was interested in the sight of a sans clothes Tylan, she hid it real well.

  “Enjoy your meal, my Lord,” the woman said, before turning and nodding toward Marissa. “My Lady.”

  The tall blonde moved toward the door, which swung open on its own, and the crowd finally departed.

  Marissa blinked several times, trying to clear the incredulous feelings from her mind.

  “Come, sena. Let’s eat.”

  “What the hell just happened here?” she asked, feeling a bit hysterical.

  “Nothing, my sweet. They just brought us some food.”

  “And, you didn’t see a need to put on some clothes first? Or for that matter, give me a little warning, so I could put some on?”

  “For what, Marissa. I told you Eritreans do not have a problem with nudity. It’s natural,” he said, staring at her with a really funny expression on his face.

  “I don’t know about natural. Perverted maybe, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say natur
al.”

  “I can see I’m going to have my work cut out rehabilitating you.”

  “Rehabilitating me? I don’t think so. You’re the one with the issues. And why did they call you a majesty?”

  “That’s what one normally calls a king, right?”

  “King?”

  Tylan laughed aloud while grabbing two plates and some cutlery from the nearby table. Flatware in hand, he walked close to her, clasping her wrist in his large palm. “Eating first, questions later. Come, sena.”

  Marissa smirked at him, wanting to give him a piece of her mind, but the delicious smells coming from the cart snagged her attention. Vowing to give him his comeuppance after she was properly fed, Marissa walked with Tylan toward the dining tray.

  The two ate in relative silence. Marissa too starved to do more than grunt between swallows. She’d never eaten crab and lobster in the morning, but she could definitely get used to the idea. The potatoes, eggs, cantaloupe, and freshly squeezed orange juice weren’t bad either.

  Full, and pleasantly sated, she turned toward Tylan. “Okay, I feel better now. A lot better, thank you.”

  “My pleasure, leethil. Now, what questions do you want to ask?” Tylan asked, nodding his head, leaning back to rest on his elbows. His powerful muscles flexed as he settled into a tranquil repose.

  Marissa stared at him, bemused. Even in his relaxed posture, intimidation, and sexiness, rolled off his body.

  “Well, for starters, are you really a king?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Marissa couldn’t help but look at some of that flesh, before she quickly averting her eyes. “No wonder you act they way you do.”

  “I think I should be offended by that comment.”

  Marissa nodded. “Probably. So, if we are supposedly in the ocean, how is it that I just had eggs and potatoes for breakfast?”

  “The food is brought from the surface,” he answered easily.

  Swallowing, she sucked in a draft of air, letting it out slowly. “So, why aren’t we surrounded in water?”

  “The xerilon dome acts as a barrier,” Tylan stated.

  Marissa nodded sagely, not having clue what any of that meant. “O-okay. How are we breathing?”