Wiley drew in a shocked breath of protest, but choked on her own saliva. While Jayems thumped her on the back, Keilor regarded her intently. "Strip poker?"

Jasmine looked down and tapped her finger on the table, her nerves jangling a warning. And whether she liked it or not, a dangerous thrill of anticipation. Would it be so bad to lose?

Mentally chastising herself for daring to think such a stupid thing, she said, "I'll tell you after the cards are on the table." If things went as planned, it wouldn't matter anyway, because she wouldn't be in a position to pay up.

He looked skeptical, but one look at Wiley frantically waving, "no, no!" and shaking her head at Jasmine and his expression turned speculative. With a graceful gesture, he tipped his cards onto the table.

"Heh, heh!" Jasmine gloated as she tossed her own hand down and raked in the pot. She threw back her head and hooted. "Whoo, hoo!" Jumping up, she did a little war dance, then grabbed Wiley in a headlock and rubbed her head with her knuckles, chortling. "I win, I win!"

"Is she always like this?" Jayems demanded in disbelief, watching Jasmine dance a jig around the room.

Wiley snorted. "Only when she wins."

Breathless, Jasmine came back to the table and began raking coins and shells into the drawstring pouch. Keilor dropped his hand over hers, pinning it to the table. When her startled eyes met his he asked, "What did I just lose?"

Pinned at an awkward angle over the table, Jasmine had nowhere to hide her hot face. "Ah..." Heat licked at her from his touch, making her tongue thick, and for a moment she felt a pang of regret. Losing might have been the smartest thing she'd ever done. She cleared her throat. "Strip poker is played in private. The ante is...the player's clothes."

Keilor sucked in a breath and his fingers tightened. He slowly let her go and leaned back, contemplating the ceiling with a resigned expression. Somewhat subdued, Jasmine finished collecting her loot and then helped to clear the table. With everyone working at once, everything was quickly put away. As soon as it was done, the ladies took their winnings and left.

Keilor poured them both another drink and then saluted Jayems. "A greedy man would regret letting them win that last hand." Their people had brought the game from Earth long ago, and cards were a popular pastime among their people. The ladies should have been more suspicious when they found the cards in Jaymes' room.

Jayems smiled faintly. "Caught you by surprise with her offer, did she?" Keilor swore softly and gulped his drink, making Jayems laugh. His expression sobered. "How else am I to give them an allowance? Rihlia won't accept anything from me."

"Hm, well, she seemed to be accepting your kisses well enough at the end."

A half-smile curved Jayems' mouth. "And Jasmine yours."

Keilor took a deep breath as desire flashed through him. "Bite me, I didn't think I'd survive much more of that. The charmer had to win, and swiftly."

Jayems chuckled and poured them both another drink. "To women," he proposed, raising his glass.

"To relief." Keilor countered wickedly, and clinked his glass to Jayems'. A thought occurred to him and he cocked his head, causing the loose strands of his black hair to brush across his shoulders. "How do you intend to let the charmer spend her allowance? It's not as if she can wander through the markets."

Jayems frowned and propped his chin on his fist. "I hadn't thought of that. I suppose I'll have to invite the merchants to bring their wares here." He brushed his thumb across his lower lip, squinting. "What sorts of things do you think two women raised on Earth might be tempted by?"

"How should I know?" Keilor waved a hand in dismissal. "Females seem to wallow in silks and satins. Send for a dressmaker. Arrange for fittings. Find a perfumer and jewelers-any merchant selling fripperies should do."

Jayems shook his head at him. "Such promising husband material," he mocked. "Yet so ugly."

"Tell that to Jasmine." He preened. "That woman couldn't keep her hands off me."

Smirking, Jayems pointed out, "She was drinking. You might have been a stag for all she knew."

Keilor's smile flashed. "I certainly felt as randy. Too much more of her and we would have both disappeared under the table."

"And Rihlia would have been after you with a knife..."

CHAPTER 7.

"There is no justice," Jasmine grumbled the next morning when she entered Jayems' suite and saw her chipper poker companions. Her head felt ready to split and her mood was rotten. She felt as if she'd had ten shots instead of just three.

Wiley's lips twitched as she poured them both a cup of tea. "Pain killer hasn't kicked in yet, huh?"

Her answer was a grunt as Jasmine rested her elbows on the table and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.

"I should have warned you," Jayems told her, contrite. "Haunt are notoriously difficult to inebriate. Our liquors are made strong to compensate. I did not remember at first that you might become ill."

Jasmine glowered at Wiley. "Scruffy alien. Should have known all these years that you were cheating."

Wiley chuckled.

Slitting her eyes, Jasmine peered at Keilor, who was dressed casually in loose trousers and a dark green, long sleeved shirt. His hair was loose today, and he looked better than she could bear to look at so early into a hangover. "What's the occasion? Are all your uniforms in the wash?" she asked nastily and then winced when her head throbbed in rebuke.

He raised a brow. "Our family is arriving today, and I've taken the day off." He nodded at Wiley. "Her mother, Lady Rhapsody, will be here in time for dinner."

Wiley blanched.

Jasmine jerked upright and hissed at the crushing pain. She grabbed her head. White lights flashed behind her eyes and she grit her teeth, panting. Someone picked her up and carried her to the couch. Something sweet and cloying was waved under her nose, and then she was out.

"She's better off asleep until the medicine kicks in," Keilor explained in a business-like manner as he capped the vial of dream flower oil.

Rihlia was still pale, and Jayems touched her shoulder in concern. She knocked his hand away and turned her back on him. "I don't want to see her."

"Rihlia-" Jayems began, concerned. He hadn't seen her this upset since before Jasmine arrived.

"My name is Wiley," she snapped viciously, "And I won't see her!" Her eyes took on a dangerous golden glint.

Undaunted, Jayems tried again. "She's your mother," he said, his body tense. "She's waited almost twenty years for the chance-"

Wiley's answering response raised the hair on the back of his neck. No one should say such things about their mother. Shocked momentarily dumb, Jayems watched her storm off and winced when she slammed the door to her room. There was a moment of silence.

Keilor touched his shoulder. "She didn't mean it, surely," he said quietly.

"How can I keep Lady Rhapsody from her own daughter?" Jayems asked in agony. "She's done nothing to deserve this." He began to pace. "She's coming here tonight, thinking she's about to meet her beloved daughter, not confront a waking nightmare. This will kill her, Keilor."

Keilor said nothing. Jayems spoke the truth. Better that her daughter had never been found than to be returned to her full of misplaced hatred. Worse, who could understand such loathing?

His gaze fell on Jasmine, and his eyes flared. "Our little gem," he breathed, and grabbed Jayems. "What do you see?" he demanded, pointing to the unsuspecting girl.

Jayems frowned. "A menace, usually."

"A girl," Keilor paused significantly, "who knows Rihlia better than anyone alive. A confidant, a beloved friend. Someone with untold influence over your wife. And if need be, a bargaining chip."

Jayems studied the girl. A slow, determined smile lifted his mouth. "Perhaps the girl might be of some use after all."

Jasmine felt a great deal better when she woke up. Sure, her mouth felt like dryer lint and her head was fuzzy, but nothing hurt. She opened her eyes, feeling almost optimistic, and turned her head.

Jayems and Keilor were staring at her.

"What?" she asked defensively. She scooted up into an upright position. Keilor handed her a glass of cool water, and she gulped it down gratefully.

"Why does Rihlia hate her mother?" Jayems asked without warning, staring at her intently.

Caught off guard, she said the first thing that came to mind. "Wouldn't you be mad at someone who dumped you in the woods and never came back?"

"That is not what happened!" Jayems snapped, making her jump.

Keilor touched his arm, but he didn't look any happier. "We've told her that she was lost, not abandoned."

Jasmine shrugged. "As if that matters to a child."

"She's no longer a child," Jayems argued, looking like he wanted to jump up and pace.

She looked at him for a long moment. "Wiley never knew her mother growing up. Emotionally, when she thinks of her, it's with the feelings of a small child. She's stuck in a time warp, with no frame of reference to deal with the woman as an adult." Her thoughts turned inward. "You just don't erase all that in a day," she finished softly.

"How can I do that if she won't even talk to her?" Jayems demanded. "How can she learn to get over this if she keeps running away?"

Jasmine was silent. Mothers weren't a topic she cared to dwell on. Her own hurts were infected, painful wounds, and she didn't care to probe the hurts of others, especially Wiley's. Still, it was different, wasn't it? Wiley's mother wasn't going to drive her off.

Wiley's mother wanted her.

Feeling a little sick, she wandered over and gripped the back of a kitchen chair, very tight. Wiley's mother wanted her, and why wouldn't she? Wiley was a wonderful person. Anyone would be glad to have her for a daughter. And deep down, past the pain and the fear of rejection, Jasmine believed Wiley wanted to know her mother, too-needed to know her.

She walked over to the bedroom and knocked on the door. "Wiley." Her voice lacked enthusiasm.

There was a rustling noise inside. "I know you can hear me, long ears." No response. Jasmine slumped against the door, feeling ninety years old. She braced one palm against it and rested her head against the wood. She felt so tired. "You're going to see your mother, Wiley, because you're not a coward. If you need to hate her, at least have the decency to call her a bitch to her face."

A growl came from Jayems' direction, but she ignored it. Eyes closed, she said hollowly, "I'd do it for you, Wi, but dealing with one mother in a lifetime is all I have the energy for. Just get it over with." Utterly drained, she shuffled off to her room; not caring as much as she should've that others saw her weakness.

Two hours later, she cared.

Keilor found her wedged in a corner behind a wing chair in her darkened room. She was curled on a cushion, nursing her sense of worthlessness.

He'd feared something like this, but a sense of self-preservation and the need to keep Jayems from storming into his wife's room had stopped him from following her. Kisses were one thing, but he was not ready for emotional intimacy with her, now or ever.

The sight of her so broken pained him in frightening ways. To preserve his distance and to maintain control, he responded with callousness.

After all, it had worked so well on Rihlia.

"Lights." He folded his hands behind his back and regarded her with a cool stare. "It appears your tactics were successful, charmer. My cousin has agreed to dine with her mother this evening. She is selecting a dress as we speak, and she wishes you to come and choose your own."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "It's not my mother."

"I see. You're content to prod her into facing her demons, but too cowardly to stand at her side?" He watched with satisfaction as her lip curled.

She stood up slowly, one hand braced against the wall as if to hold her back from kicking him. "I did this once, and by myself," she told him defiantly, before her eyes clouded. "Wiley's an adult, and she doesn't need-"

Not about to let her slip back into self-pity since he'd gotten her this far, he stepped into her space. Boxed in on all sides, she had no choice but to look at him.

He let his eyes light with golden fire and spoke with contempt. Fear would serve her better than pity, would stir up constructive anger. "I order you to serve my cousin tonight," he told her with soft menace. "If you doubt my authority to do so, I will gladly demonstrate why the Haunt are so feared."

Anger narrowed her eyes, and just a trace of doubt. He could see she was thinking, considering, and that was bad. If he let up now, she'd slide right back into her depression.

"You don't know me, woman," he whispered harshly in her ear, careful not to touch her, but close enough to vibrate the fine sensors on her skin. "And you don't know what I'm capable of." He gave her a couple of seconds to dwell on that and then lied through his teeth. "It's no secret the Haunt male is excited by the sight of his lover's blood. And charmers blood..." he let his voice drop an octave, savoring her heady scent. "...is said to be the sweetest of all." Her perfume curled around him, beaconing, lulling. He lost the battle with his control and leaned in that extra fraction to touch his lips to her silky neck.

She giggled.

He pulled back, indignant. "What is so amusing?"

She caught sight of his face and clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter, but it didn't help. Instead she raised her hands and attempted to keep a straight face. "All right, O Fearsome One. Far be it from me to disobey the big scary Haunt." She brushed past him and sauntered over to her armoire, presumably in search of a washcloth for her face.

Unwittingly, she drew his eyes after her. He was still deeply submerged in her sensual scent, and it was all he could do not to follow her. Hunger curled in his belly, wound him tight. He wanted to stop her laughter his mouth. Let her be the one ensnared, he thought angrily, taking a step toward her. She shouldn't have this power over him.

A flicker of common sense stopped him. She was doing as he had asked, no, ordered her to do. A wise man would let that be enough.

He was beginning to fear he wasn't wise.

Lust was clouding his thinking. He leaned against her bedpost and watched her. He knew what she was, yet he lingered in her presence, allowing her more and more sway over his will. Knightin lusted after her, too, yet he had no trouble in distancing himself from her at every opportunity. Why did he find it so difficult?

Keilor stiffened, appalled at what he was doing. He'd given up standing around like a lovesick cadet years ago, and he wasn't going to take it up again for a human, of all things. It was time he took another lover, someone to clear his mind and satisfy his body, to give him back control.

Determined this night would not be spent alone and unsatisfied, Keilor walked out.

Wiley's eyes were glazed as she stared at the door. The late afternoon sunlight from the hall windows gave it an almost holy glow. It was covered with mother-of-pearl and inlaid with golden scrollwork, but it was doubtful she even saw the art. "I can't do it. My mother's in there."

She turned and gripped Jasmine's arms. Her hands trembled.

Jasmine wore a Grecian inspired gown of dark red with slit silk sleeves. Three tiny gold clips held the seams together, and her grip caused one of them to dig into Jasmine's arm.

"You'll be fine." Jasmine pried her fingers loose one by one and smoothed the spot the clip had bruised. Her ribs felt oddly constricted, even though the wide black sash around her waist wasn't tight. She adjusted the tasseled golden cord that was wound on top of the sash and forced herself to stop fidgeting. She looked fine. Wiley looked fine. They could do this.

She studied Wiley critically. "You're right. You're not ready." She gripped Wiley's shoulders and straightened them. With the back of her hand she chucked Wiley's chin up gently and used her thumbs to draw the corners of her friend's lips into a smile. When she took her hands away, the smile stayed, and grew. "Now you're ready."

The Haunt guards began to open the door. They flinched as Wiley suddenly slammed it shut. With her hands on the door, she hurriedly told Jasmine, "I forgot to tell you, you need to pick a male dinner partner when we go in." She backed off and the door started to open again.

Jasmine slammed it shut.

The Haunt looked at her strangely.

"What do you mean, I have to pick a male partner? What for?" she demanded.

Wiley shrugged her ignorance. "Custom. Just pick somebody. Anybody."