Forbidden (The Djinn Wars Book 6) Read online

  “And now I am rethinking that deal.” His eyes narrowed, and she couldn’t help experiencing a small thrill of fear at the glare he sent her. For just a moment there, she’d almost forgotten he was a djinn, and so she’d forgotten her own fears and pushed too hard. She needed to remember that he could blast her into next week if he wanted to. Not that she really thought he would.

  But she also didn’t want to find out for sure.

  All the same, she refused to let him intimidate her. He’d already called all the shots so far, and she was damned if she was just going to sit there and take it like a doormat. “I suppose that’s typical of you djinn, isn’t it? You can twist things any way you like, just because you think you have all the power.” A particularly loud burst of thunder crashed overhead, and she couldn’t keep herself from wincing. Way to look tough, Jillian, she thought, but she wouldn’t let that momentary hint of weakness prevent her from adding, “And maybe you do have all the power. But that still doesn’t mean I’m going to play your games.”

  “Jillian,” Aldair said, her name a clear warning, but she ignored him, and instead took the napkin from her lap and laid it down on the table, then stood.

  “Dinner was lovely,” she told him. “But I think I’m going to bed now.”

  “Oh, are you?” he inquired, his tone silky.

  She began to take a step away from the table — and realized she couldn’t move at all. It was as if an invisible barrier had been erected all around her, one she couldn’t push her way past, no matter how much she tried.

  “Stop it,” she gritted from between clenched teeth.

  “Stop what?”

  “You know exactly what,” she retorted. “Whatever it is you’re doing right now. All you’re doing is proving me right — throwing your weight around, using magic on someone who doesn’t have any of her own to defend herself. That doesn’t make you strong. It makes you weak. A bully.”

  As soon as she spat those words, the barrier around her vanished. Because she’d been pushing against it, she stumbled slightly, then regained her footing with as much dignity as she could muster. Although she really didn’t want to look at him, she forced herself to lift her chin and meet his angry stare. Those blue eyes glaring at her were so hot with anger, they might as well have been the cobalt-tinted center of a welding torch.

  “You know nothing,” he growled.

  “Maybe not. I do know one thing, though — I’ve had enough of you tonight.”

  And she stalked out of the dining room, back taut with worry the entire time, certain that he would throw another of those barriers in front of her, or call the winds to swirl around her and make her stumble and fall. Or even that he would come after her and grab her by the arm, force her to return to the dinner table. If he tried anything physical, she knew there wasn’t much she could do about it. After all, he was a djinn, and she was only human…and a very ordinary human at that. She had never taken any kind of martial arts, or even the sort of self-defense classes that used to be offered for women at the local community college.

  However, Aldair didn’t do anything of the things she feared. She felt his angry stare beating on the back of her neck, but he didn’t stop her as she made her way to the stairs and headed to her room. Neither did he stop her as she went inside the bedroom and slammed the door. Hands shaking, she turned the lock. No, that probably wouldn’t do much to keep him out if he was really determined to get in, but at least it made her feel as if she’d done something to protect herself.

  And then she sat on the bed, her trembling knees finally giving way so she actually dropped onto the edge of the bed rather than lowering herself with any kind of grace. She couldn’t believe she’d just gotten in a djinn’s face and practically yelled at him. That wasn’t like her. Not that she couldn’t get damn angry when pushed, but she’d never been one for confrontations. And to act like that in front of someone who could erase her existence as if she was nothing more than a gnat…well, she must have been drunk. Or seriously tipsy.

  As she sat there, shaking hands clasped around one another, she wondered what on earth Aldair was going to do next.

  He remained at the table for a long moment. It was the only thing he could do, because he feared if he went upstairs and confronted Jillian over her insolence, he would lose his temper completely, and that would not be a good outcome for either one of them.

  How dare she? Who did she think she was? Only a mortal, only a foolish, pestilential woman whose entire existence was little more than a single breath to a djinn. She had no right to say such things to him. She knew nothing at all.

  Scowling, he waved an angry hand at the table. Immediately, all the dishes and silverware crashed to the floor, including the platter that had held the chicken. Patches had been hiding in a corner of the room, doing his best to avoid the conflict between his two people, but as soon as he saw that chicken carcass fall onto the rug, he leapt into action. His mouth had just begun to close on one of the drumsticks when Aldair came to his senses and realized the dog could hurt himself badly if he crunched down on one of the chicken bones.

  At once the entire mess disappeared. Patches took a startled step backward, then let out a disappointed whine, his big brown eyes staring imploringly upward at the man who had snatched such a tasty treat right out of his mouth.

  Aldair let out a curse and all but fell on the chair where he’d been sitting previously, his hands hanging at his sides. At once, the dog came over and laid a head against his knee, and Aldair began to stroke him behind the ears, letting the reassuring feel of his soft fur help to calm him down, bring him to his senses.

  How many times had he let his anger get the better of him?

  Too many to count, he feared.

  A few more breaths, and Aldair began to feel something more like himself. “No fears, my friend,” he told Patches. “I think I can give you something better than a chicken carcass.” He extended his hand, which now held a large meaty rib bone. The dog’s tail began to beat frantically, and he took the prize from Aldair’s hand and settled down in a corner so he could work on the bone in earnest.

  Well, I have mended one bridge, Aldair thought. Unfortunately, the other one will be far more difficult to repair.

  He got up from his seat and went out into the hall so he might look upward, toward Jillian’s room. All seemed quiet enough up there, although with the way the thunder continued to crash and roll, he found it difficult to tell for sure. This was quite a violent storm, one of more strength than he might have imagined. Would it continue to rage all night, or would it finally die away once its energy was all spent?

  An elemental of the air, he could sense something of a storm’s patterns, of what the wind and the rain might be doing. However, all he felt now when he reached out into the atmosphere was utter chaos. The storm would do as it willed, and would not tell Aldair anything of its intentions.

  Since there seemed to be little else he could do, he ascended the stairs, slowly, one at a time. Usually he would never notice such a mild exertion, but now it seemed as if those stairs had doubled in height since the last time he had climbed them.

  When he came to the landing, he hesitated for a long moment. Perhaps it would be best if he went directly to his own room and left Jillian alone. After a night to sleep on her rage, perhaps she would not be as angry in the morning. On the other hand, he did not wish for this tension between them to fester. He knew all too well what long-simmering resentments could do to one’s soul.

  So he went to her door and knocked softly. “Jillian.”

  No answer.

  Well, he should have expected as much. It would have been highly unlikely for her to appear quickly and be all smiles, an apology on those lovely lips.

  He tried again. “Jillian.”

  Again he heard nothing. It seemed she intended to freeze him out. But if she was going to turn this into a contest of wills, she would soon discover that she had chosen the wrong opponent. Djinn knew all about patienc
e.

  To his surprise, however, the door opened a few seconds later. Jillian stared at him, face nearly expressionless — except for the too-bright glitter of her gray eyes. No, it didn’t appear that she had been weeping, but she did seem to be on the verge of losing what little control she had left.

  “What do you want?”

  Her question took him aback. What did he want? Not to be at odds, for one thing. And to have his freedom again — true freedom, not the spurious sort he had achieved by hiding himself away here in Madrid.

  But Jillian could not do much to help him with the second matter. As for the first, well, he would have to offer her the olive branch. Doing so went against everything he believed about himself, but although he disliked admitting that fact, he was the transgressor here. Perhaps she had overreacted, but she would have had nothing to react to if he had not reneged on his promise in the first place.

  “I want to apologize.”

  Her eyes widened. “You — what?”

  “You heard me.” Anger rose in him again, but he pushed it down. He had already allowed it to master him once this evening, and that was one instance too many. “Do not make me say it a second time.”

  Her gaze seemed too sharp as she studied his face. Then she nodded. “That’s hard for you, isn’t it? Apologizing, I mean.”

  “Possibly.” That was as much of an admission as he was willing to make.

  A little silence then while she continued to watch him. He did not much like being subjected to such scrutiny, but he did not look away. At last she said, “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Why you were exiled.”

  His jaw clenched, but he forced himself to reply. “Yes. But not tonight,” he added quickly, when he saw her open her mouth to speak. “Let me come to it in my own time. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Improbably, she offered him a smile. “We’ve probably both had enough tumult tonight. Whenever you feel like you’re ready, Aldair.”

  So gracious, like a queen deigning to bestow upon him a great gift. But no, he should not think of her response in such a way. Truly, he hadn’t detected anything of condescension in her tone. She was trying to be reasonable.

  Why was such a thing so hard for him?

  “Thank you, Jillian,” he said. “I will say good night, then.”

  “Good night,” she echoed, and closed the door to her room.

  He let out a breath and made himself go across the hall to his own bedroom. While he had been speaking with Jillian, Patches had come up the stairs and settled himself a few feet away. He followed Aldair into the room, then jumped up and curled himself into a ball at the foot of the bed.

  “Please, be comfortable,” Aldair said, his tone wry. Despite those words, he did feel oddly comforted by the presence of the dog. At least Patches would not call him to task for his bad behavior.

  He thought of the short distance that separated this room from Jillian’s. So very close, and yet she might as well be a million miles away. She did not approve of him at all, that much was clear.

  Unfortunately, he knew that her disapproval would only increase a hundredfold once she learned precisely why he had been sent into exile in the outer circles.

  Chapter Nine

  Jillian lay awake for a long while, staring up at the ceiling. Yes, the storm had proved itself to be both ear-splitting and long-lasting, and yet she knew that wasn’t the real reason why she was so wakeful. No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to keep Aldair al-Ankara out of her thoughts.

  In just about every way, he was the exact opposite of Jack. Her late husband had been kind, thoughtful, the sort of person who didn’t think twice about offering to help a friend move, or to stay extra late after school to give one of his students some unofficial tutoring. Friendly, too, able to strike up conversations with just about everyone he met. Even the frostiest of strangers generally succumbed to his charm, but there had never been anything of a player about Jack. He just genuinely liked people and wanted to be there for them whenever he could.

  Then there was Aldair. Rude, condescending, secretive…right then, Jillian was pretty sure she could come up with an extremely comprehensive list of negative adjectives to describe him.

  And yet….

  He’d come up here to apologize to her. She could tell from his stiff manner that such behavior wasn’t exactly familiar or pleasant for him, and yet he’d done what he could to patch things up between them. What his motivations truly were, she didn’t know for sure, but he’d seemed almost genuine right then.

  The weird thing was, she had the impression that many of his actions were driven by some kind of long-buried hurt, the sort of thing he didn’t want to admit even to himself. She somehow doubted he would admit such a weakness to her, either.

  She wouldn’t push. Right then, she wasn’t even sure whether he’d carry through on his promise to tell her the story behind his exile. She hoped he would, because she wanted to know the truth. However, she also knew that she didn’t have a great deal of leverage. Really, she didn’t have a single thing he could possibly want. She’d done him the service of getting him here and away from the hell that was the outer circles, but now all she could really offer was some local area knowledge, and that had been pretty much tapped out as well.

  So she was here on his sufferance. About all she could hope was that he wouldn’t decide she was a liability, something to be disposed of because she presented too much of a risk.

  No, he wouldn’t do something like that. At least, she very much hoped he wouldn’t. There had been more days than she wanted to count when she’d found herself on the verge of wondering if life really was worth living, but at the same time, she didn’t want to have that life snatched away from her.

  If you’re trying to make yourself fall asleep, you’re not doing a very good job, she told herself in some irritation, then rolled over on her side. Aldair isn’t going to do anything to you. Look how angry he was tonight, but nothing happened.

  Well, nothing except being pinned in place by a weird invisible force field. She guessed he must have used the air itself against her, forming a barrier that was impossible to break through. And if he could do that, he probably could do a great many other things as well.

  Not helping, she thought, and punched the feather pillow to make it plump up a little beneath her cheek. She’d always hated the damn things because of the way they went perpetually flat. Good thing she didn’t have allergies on top of everything else.

  She knew she was distracting herself. Or at least trying to. Because the one thing she didn’t want to face, didn’t want to admit, even in the darkest depths of her soul, was that while Aldair frightened her in some ways, she also found herself oddly thrilled by him as well. It wasn’t just his looks, although they were probably part of the weird attraction. Never in her life had she ever met anyone remotely like him. Which made sense. He was a djinn, after all.

  He was also trouble. She knew she had to stay on her guard around him. If she played this right, maybe she’d survive and make it back to Los Alamos.

  Somehow, though, that prospect didn’t seem quite as appealing as it had just the day before.

  They tiptoed around each other the next morning. Oh, Jillian was being very polite, thanking him for the coffee and breakfast, being careful to fill Patches’ water and food bowls, but Aldair could see how on edge she was. She hadn’t forgotten his actions of the previous evening, that much was certain.

  As though the thunderstorm had never been, the day outside the windows was bright and clear and sharp, the sky a perfect cloudless blue. The only evidence of the rain that had pounded down on the house were a number of puddles in the newly cleared area just beyond the front porch.

  Although the weather didn’t exactly cheer him, Aldair was glad to see the storm had passed. He wished to do some more exploring this morning — more to get out of the house than because they actually had need of anything — and suc
h an activity would have been complicated by another downpour.

  He watched Jillian from beneath his lashes as she blew on her coffee and drank some, then broke off a piece of her biscuit and handed it to Patches, who’d been waiting patiently under the table for any choice morsels that might come his way. Aldair wanted to raise an eyebrow at this indulgence, but after all, he had provided a bone for the dog the night before, so he wasn’t precisely blameless when it came to spoiling the animal.

  During their mainly silent meal, he kept wondering whether Jillian would press him to talk about his exile, even though he had told her the night before that he would not bring up the topic until he was ready to. However, she seemed to understand that she should hold her tongue, because she said nothing except she hoped the storm might have helped to cool things down a bit.

  “That would be good,” he said, then swallowed the last mouthful of eggs on his plate. Jillian need never know of the destruction he had caused the night before, as he had made sure all the broken plates and glasses were repaired and returned to their proper places in the cupboards before she even came downstairs. “I think I will look around the town a bit more.”

  She nodded but didn’t reply. Her expression turned somewhat thoughtful, however, and he wondered what she might be thinking. Was she pondering her chances for an escape? No, he somehow doubted she would take such a risk, especially after their confrontation last night. She had had a little taste of what he might do when provoked, and he doubted she wished to explore that subject further.

  Very well. He did not much care for the brittle courtesy which now lay between them, but he had no one but himself to blame for that. Or rather, he might believe Jillian had led him to that outburst because of her questions, and yet he could have prevented himself from losing his temper, if he so wished.

  He rose from the table and set his dishes in the sink. Later, when he had a mind to it, he would clean them up and put them away, but for now he only wished to be out of the house, away from Jillian’s presence for a while. Some fresh air would clear his head.