Color tinged his cheeks. "It's a s.e.x Ritual."

Heat infused her. She'd never done anything like that. She didn't think anyone in her family had ever done such a Ritual, though Danith and T'Ash . . .

"Please." His voice was even huskier. He held out a hand not quite steady.

She burned, touched her fingers to her throat, and thought she could feel hot blood racing beneath her tunic collar.

"You're dressed fine. Lovely. Beautiful. Woman." His eyes were bright blue as if he burned, too.

"I don't know how-"

He smiled. "I've drawn most of the circle around the pavilion, charged it with spells. We need only to complete the circle together, say words as Lady and Lord. Mate to infuse the spells with energy and initiate them."

A hot, red cord of desire, pulsing with golden sparks, snaked between them, easy to see.

"I don't think I've ever felt so aroused in my life as thinking about performing a s.e.x Ritual with my lovely Mitch.e.l.la."

She couldn't help standing, going to him, placing her fingers in his and feeling a jolt of pa.s.sion between them. He grasped her other hand, and she swayed from the s.e.xual punch. Her s.e.x dampened. She yearned for him. For Straif.

He teleported them to a level place halfway down the river stairs, and it didn't seem instantaneous, but flying through bands of colors, of heat, of need, to a place that would be only their own.

Tangles of brush lay outside a small circle of short gra.s.s that surrounded the remnants of a small circular temple. The marble flooring was no more than twelve feet across. A meditation place, then, or a site for intimate Rituals.

Fluted Greek columns lay broken. The dome was in three pieces. A tiny part of Mitch.e.l.la's mind wondered how they could repair such damage, but there was no doubt. She thought the s.e.xual energy sizzling between her and Straif rivaled that of the sun. She wondered if ecstasy's fire would consume her and shuddered in delight.

Straif had arranged an altar, only large enough to hold the minimum amount of instruments. He led her through the small opening of the circle he'd drawn in the ground, set her hand around the athame knife that still had clods of earth on its shining blade. Her fingers curled around the knife, and her breath caught in her throat. It was like a living thing, powerful with Flair. She trembled, wanted to fall to the soft bedsponge Straif had set just beyond the altar.

His hand closed over hers that gripped the knife, his body brushing her back, and he was a seething, dark pillar of energy in her mind, one ready to take her to the limits of desire. He urged her to the unfinished circle, curved her under his body, directed her on what words to say with him as they completed the circle. Golden flames of Flair danced high above them.

They straightened, and Mitch.e.l.la moaned at the feel of his hard body behind her, male primed to take. His breath came ragged in her ear.

"Please," she whispered, dampening her lips.

His chest vibrated with a low groan. Waves of pa.s.sion radiated from him, sensitizing her skin. Her lips were swollen, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s full, her core empty. She craved him.

But he led her back to the altar, and they plunged the athame into a deep goblet full of golden wine. His hips arched into her b.u.t.tocks, and she thought she'd go mad with aching, unrealized pa.s.sion.

She pa.s.sed through the ceremony in a sensual haze. He murmured the Lord's words. She didn't know scripted responses, but replied from her heart, her soul, her aching womanhood wanting to be filled. They fed each other honey cake, his fingers traced her bottom lip, his tongue flitted out to taste her fingers. They twined their hands around a goblet of crisp wine and took turns drinking. She thought she'd give him anything in that moment, and his eyes held promises she dared not believe.

Slowly, every touch a caress, they undressed each other and stood in white-golden pillars of sunlight. Straif picked her up, took her to the bed, and placed her on it. He stared at her as if she were a treasure. Again he looked like a G.o.d.

He fell upon her, making a place for himself between her thighs.

His fingers twined with hers. "Join with me. Now!" He plunged into her. She rose to meet him. His tongue took her mouth. And a white hot force melded them together, pulsing between them.

They began to move . . . slow, steady, carefully stoking the mounting pa.s.sion. Just at the moment before all thought fled, Straif flung back his head-neck sinews straining, he shouted, "Build!"

The world became vibration: the mattress beneath her, the thrumming air, the beating sunlight. Mitch.e.l.la knew this was how the little temple had been built.

Then Straif let his head fall to her, bit her on the neck.

They went wild. Her fingernails sank into his back. He pounded into her. She moaned in response.

Finally, she shrieked her ecstasy, splintering brilliantly. Straif shouted with her, pumping into her. The heat of the sun vanished, replaced by cool shade. Straif's trembling body kept her warm.

A few moments later she opened her eyes to see a dome overhead, tinted the light blue of the ancient Earth sky. Turning her head, she saw the fluted columns, glowing white gold where the sunlight caught them. There were no dirt-encrusted cracks in the smooth, white marble floor.

"We did it," she whispered.

Straif moaned, shifted, and all her nerve endings clenched in a tiny climax. She forgot everything except him.

The sun dipped lower than the dome and streaked into the folly. The atmosphere changed from wild pa.s.sion to deep contentment.

His lips feathered over the curve of her cheek. "Marry me. We can make a life together with strong children. The Clover genes will augment the Blackthorn."

She recoiled. All the heated pleasure drained from her. All the joy. Into the cool marble pavement beneath her. "I deluded myself into thinking you knew," she whispered. She'd ignored the signs of his ignorance, wanting to prolong the easy loving between them-not only the s.e.x, but the tender companionship. Now she'd hurt them both.

His head jerked up until his deep blue eyes met hers. A frown knit between his brows. "What?" he said harshly, as if prepared for a blow.

Cowardly, she couldn't watch him as she told him, couldn't see the change in his now wary eyes. It would be enough that she'd have to feel his body. She closed her eyes. "I had Macha's disease as a child. I'm sterile."

He flinched, then a deep shudder racked his body.

Heavy silence weighed between them until he finally said, "I'm sorry." And the words echoed through him, through her, through the folly. She opened her eyes, and a mask had fallen over his features. Through their bond she felt anguish. Pain for them both. His smile was empty as he held out a hand.

She put hers in his. He was so strong, to live with what he had-the deaths of all he loved. She was strong, too, to live with the knowledge that men wouldn't want her since she could not give them children. She smiled wistfully. "So," she said. "We have this in common. We cannot or should not have children."

"I'll find a cure for my flaw." The statement was steel.

Mitch.e.l.la dipped her head, summoned control when she wanted to scream with pain and grief, squelched bitterness.

With a gesture, he clothed them both. He circled her with his arms. His body was stiff as they 'ported to the Grand Hall.

"I must work," Straif said.

"Of course," she said.

Before she reached the top of the stairs, her eyes were blurred with tears, and as she turned down the hallway, she heard Antenn's startled voice.

"Mitch.e.l.la? What's wrong?"

"Let's go into your suite," she said, her voice thick. It was the closest.

Her chin quivered. She hated that.

When they were alone, Antenn's words were savage as he paced his sitting room. "He hurt you. I knew he would." Fists balled, he looked up at her for confirmation.

"We hurt each other. He didn't know I was sterile."

Antenn snarled.

"Apparently he thought the Clover genes might mend his own."

"Fligger."

She didn't correct his language. Managed not to agree. "Every person has points in their life when they're a fligger."

The boy vibrated. "What are you going to do to him?"

"That's how a gang member would talk," she snapped.

Antenn paled.

She crossed to a chair and let her weak knees fail, fell into the cushioned depths. "I'm going to love him."

"How could you-"

"He's hurting, too. I believe he loves me, too. I'm going to love him." She smiled, and tears began to trickle down her face. "I'm going to love him for the duration of this project, then I'm going to put him away in my memory and live my life. But I still want him now."

"How could you?"

Mitch.e.l.la shook her head. "I don't know. I never thought love could be this deep, this painful. This wonderful. I want it for the little time we have." Since her time with Straif was so short, so doomed, she wanted all the glorious, agonizing moments she could greedily gather.

"Some man will marry you, someone who doesn't care if you can't have kids," Antenn said.

"I can have children. I have one now," she said, opening her eyes wide. "I know you're too big to be held, but I need to hold you, need you to hold me."

Antenn was on her lap in a flash. Pinky trotted into the room and jumped onto Antenn, draping himself over them both. For several moments the only sound was the cat's purring and Mitch.e.l.la's weeping. She held Antenn tight.

Finally, when her tears were all gone, she kissed Antenn on the top of his head. Scowling, he went to his desk and his grove-study a.s.signments, but she thought she'd distracted him from his learning and sighed.

After her emotional storm, Mitch.e.l.la gathered herself together and for the third time that day, washed and changed clothes. She shoved away her pain and let a little natural optimism seep through. She'd get through this time, meantime she'd win back the man. Could she act breezy, casual? Yes. Just the way to keep him off balance.

But she didn't see Straif or Drina as evening fell into darkness, as Antenn and she ate dinner, as she kissed him before he slept, and she walked to her own suite.

A glint caught her eye from one of the corridor's end windows, light she'd never seen. She drifted to it, realizing what it was just as she neared the window. A glow came from the vicinity of the small pavilion. She didn't know how long the effect would last. Until Straif found his HeartMate? What would that woman think of the Summer Folly?

Fierce possessiveness rushed through Mitch.e.l.la. She'd left her mark all over the Residence, and for this short while Straif was hers.

She wanted him still. Despite all the pain, she wished to continue the affair until the very last moment when she had to walk away.

Or he left to track his HeartMate.

Twenty-two.

Straif went to the HouseHeart to recover from the blow Mitch.e.l.la had dealt him. Somehow he survived the agony. Perhaps he should have known she was sterile, but he'd been away from Druida a long time, and most gossip he heard was about the First Families. He meditated deep in the Residence and recalled Vinni T'Vine's words about the price for his cure. Drina kept close to him, now and then licking his face, and she was a comfort. But he wanted Mitch.e.l.la's arms around him, Mitch.e.l.la to hold him while he hurt.

He didn't sleep with her that night or invite her to his bed. In the weeks they'd been lovers, they'd missed an occasional night of loving, because one or both of them had been exhausted, or they'd indulged in pa.s.sionate s.e.x during the day.

When he awoke, he reached for her and she wasn't there, wasn't close and warm and soft in the huge generational bed. He was alone. In the bed. In the room. In the suite.

The last Blackthorn. His throat ached. His heart was torn-he could have his woman and turn his back on his duty to his line. Or he could follow ingrained responsibilities to his Family, to those who'd come before, those who'd sacrificed for him, and reject the woman he loved. Almost inconceivable. His Family line would die, the great Flair of the Blackthorns would die.

The faces of his lost parents haunted him. He'd already failed-in his quest, in abandoning his home, in nearly losing his estate. How could he selfishly turn his back on his heritage again? He couldn't. Not now.

Scowling, he corrected himself. He was the last Blackthorn with great Flair, the true blessing of tracking talent. That qualification didn't lift his spirits, but darkened his mood. He was still alone, craving the sweet loving he'd become accustomed to, the woman's inventive hands, her soft body, which he could sink into and forget all his problems. More, her cheerful optimism, her laughter, her gentleness. He'd been starved for affection and connection, and she'd given it to him, withholding nothing. So he'd filled himself with her, ignoring the quest that had kept him sane and purposeful for all the years of his adult life. It had felt as if she could cure his genetic flaw with her loving, just as she had made his emotions, his heart, whole.

But she couldn't.

And she'd known all along that she couldn't, but loved him anyway. He was sure of that. She loved him. He thought he might love her, but that notion opened a dark chasm of pain, so he set it aside. Recalling the night before, he realized that she had never taken their sleeping together for granted. He had always asked her to come to his bed, or had followed her to the guest suite-something that hadn't registered. But he hadn't asked her last night.

How strong she must be to love a man who couldn't take her as his wife.

He rubbed his face. He didn't know if he had her strength.

The afternoon before, in the stunned grief of realization that Mitch.e.l.la couldn't give him what he most longed for, a healthy child from his loins, he'd rescheduled his appointment with the colonist Ship, Nuada's Sword. Perhaps now the Ship was running, his ancestors' technology could mend what Celtan Flair could not. Captain Ruis Elder had done what Straif himself was attempting, had found and restored a home for himself-but rehabilitating an ancient Ship must have been much more difficult than bringing a GreatHouse back from more than a decade's neglect.

A p.r.i.c.kle of hair rose on the back of his neck, then Straif heard the running footsteps of the boy, Antenn. Straif hadn't made much progress in making friends with the boy. Had that meant Straif hadn't accepted Mitch.e.l.la completely in his life? He was confused, and thinking about it hurt, so no more pondering. He headed for the waterfall. He'd skip breakfast.

Straif reached his ResidenceDen without meeting Mitch.e.l.la or Antenn. As usual, Mitch.e.l.la's updated models were on his desk. He glanced out the window and the view of the Great Labyrinth annoyed him. Yesterday he'd hired a ma.s.s of low-paid workers to clear the land, had marked bushes and trees that would stay, or be donated to the Clovers for their Family grove. He wanted to see the progress.

Knowing more about decorating and holowindows than he had before, he strode over to the sill and plucked two imaging b.u.t.tons from under the slight ledge and deactivated them. The shortened gra.s.s of the gliderdrive and the emerging gra.s.syard and gardens beyond sprang into view. The sheer green startled him. It was the green of upcoming summer.

With the Ritual, he'd strengthened and protected the Residence, set shieldspells. But to restore-or relandscape-the grounds would take much more Flair-energy than he had, than he could spare. Or he could become indebted to FirstFamilies who he didn't count as allies.

A holocalendar ball appeared and said, "Time to leave for your appointment with Nuada's Sword," then vanished. Straif grimaced. Time to prepare himself for hours without Flair. Drina decided to accompany him to play with her sister, Samba. Straif sensed his Fam wanted to boast. If Samba was anything like Drina and every other FamCat, Samba would turn the tables on Drina, and Straif would leave with a Fam with wounded pride.

A couple of septhours later, Straif lay naked on a medical bed and listened to the Ship.

"We will work on the problem of your genetic code," Ship said cheerfully. Straif ached all over after the intense examination. Ship had taken "samples."

Ship continued, "If you allow us to keep the samples, we can store them in our banks with all the other code."

The idea was too intriguing to disregard. "Other code?"

"There are many animals and plants from Earth that aren't currently alive on Celta. Many that didn't survive during the generations that we Ships were in s.p.a.ce. Many that the colonists didn't revive. Many that didn't flourish on Celta.

"As the planet becomes more civilized and the Healers and scientists such as the Heathers and Culpeper grow more knowledgeable, as well as Ourselves, it might be possible to grow and release more adaptable Earth species."

Straif grasped the kernal of information. "You could keep my DNA and, uh, other samples-"

"Your sperm," Ship said helpfully.