WandWchapter26

Smitty had this habit of bouncing into your tent without permission for some reason. And I gotta admit, it pissed me right the hell off. I mean, even if Carson had been playing checkers with me instead of practically sucking my soul outta my body with this new and deadly ear-attack method, I wouldn't have welcomed her unannounced presence.

I eyeballed the snickering fool with some worry, even as Smitty rapped out smartly, "McIntyre, you GOT pants on, last time I looked. Although that's never stopped you yet. And your buddy is killing himself laughing at you, by the way. Maybe I'll just step outside and come back in again later when your brain is working."

What the fuck!! Well, she was right, but so what? This damn woman just was just asking to be roasted like a marshmallow, then made into a No'More. "Maybe you won't! I mean, help yourself on the steppin' out idea!"

Even worse for her, at the dulcet sound of her nasal voice Carson's unusual fit of humor chopped off short; he was sitting up now, and his eyes were burning in a truly nasty fashion. I could feel the sudden thrum of his irritation at her intrusion; and lemme tell you, "irritation" in Carson is about equivalent to "killing rage" in a milder-tempered person.

She had stood inside the tent door for more damn minutes than she should have, just watching the Warchief and the wizard pawing each other. A tall lean woman in silver-belted white robes, with a pierced eyebrow and a small nose-ring of hammered silver, she was striking-looking rather than pretty. Her features were too sharp, her light brown eyes too intelligent and faintly bitter, for anyone to call her "pretty". And if anyone had been foolish enough to do so, she probably would have smacked the idiot. She knew what she looked like, and she was damn pleased with it.

Why not be? She'd come over from Earth six years ago to join the Tribe, at the age of nearly thirty. And she had barely changed in appearance since then. If she were a stupid Valley Girl type, she might have been really, really pissed that the Land hadn't snagged her at, say, twenty-one. The magic age, right? When she'd looked her best, when she'd still had a few illusions.

Having some intelligence, she was glad the Land had been in control of things. She'd been a brainless twit at twenty-one. It had taken some rough knocks and hard living on Earth to shape her into who she was today, and she thanked God for every injury, both mental and physical.

Her studies as Shaman had convinced her that the closeness of the Shadow Riders' home base to the elven lands slowed the aging process dramatically. Hell, Do'nar and the Wolf thought the Easterners were mad for the starmetal? Maybe so, but Smitty couldn't help wondering if some hint of the youth-magic soaking the far west had leaked out as well.

Not that she'd mentioned it during council. She didn't trust some of those outer tribespeople as far as she could throw their fat-butted warbeasts. Oh, she doubted they'd betray to the enemy, they all hated Southerners with a passion. And were at the least very suspicious of the magic-wielding Easterners. But they'd be perfectly capable of packing up bag and baggage and coming to squat on Rider land themselves for the sake of extended life.

Oh, these Khesh guys weren't as crazed for "youth" as your typical American idiot would have been. Thank God, World War Three would definitely have started over this one back on Earth. But they were hungry for life. And a lengthening of a useful lifetime would be irresistible to any tribesman. She supposed she really couldn't blame 'em, but damn if she wanted the plains of the Riders as crowded as New York fucking City.

Now, despite some annoyance with herself for surrendering to the sap, she couldn't take her eyes off the two sitting on the bed, wrapped in each other's arms. She watched Keith lean into Carson gracefully, kiss his bloodied lips in forgiveness.

The Witchlady's expression usually ran the gauntlet from sarcastic amusement to arrogant sarcasm and back again. She had learned to quell some pretty bad-ass barbarians with nothing more than a contemptuous eyebrow lift. Hell, in a tribe full of rowdy, undisciplined warriors a girl had to be three-quarters bitch or a warrior herself. Smitty had opted for "bitch----her stripper background gave her more training for it.

Now, though, she felt somewhat tired, a little sad. She wrapped her arms around herself unconsciously, and shivered without knowing why. She never would have gone so off her guard in public, but somehow, here in the dim light of the Warchief's tent, it seemed all right.

Even if the two of them looked up----no, she didn't fear their contempt. But she certainly didn't relish the questions her expression might bring up. Christ, she was tired! Knowledge sucked; partial knowledge sucked even worse. She could've told Jalin that, if he'd bothered to consult with her before sticking his nose into Dragon Magic like a kid reaching for a pretty fire. Now he knew maybe even more than she did, Shaman of the Tribe or not. Did it comfort him? Not from his gaunt, stunned appearance it didn't.

Kids playing with fire. And that description included these two. She eyed them with a return of cynicism. Well, if they'd just stayed best buddies she supposed they never woulda made it to Khesh. And now here they were, playing kissy face as the world prepared to shatter around them.

If they'd been involved in sexual gymnastics, she would have broken it up with gleeful derision. And without guilt----hell, the sneaky bastards had found enough opportunities to bang since they got together that it made her head spin. Even during Betrothal they'd managed to wheedle concessions so they could lay each other, the over-sexed bastards! But now, she closed her eyes in silent embarrassment as Firehawk whispered "I love you" to the staring Nightwolf. It sounded like it was the first time he'd ever said it out loud. That couldn't be, could it?

She opened her eyes and almost groaned. Oh, balls! The idiots. Sex was one thing, a necessary act to the raising of power. This stuff----it could only lead to pain. Hell, weren't men supposed to flee commitment, be appalled at romance? Why couldn't these guys be normal for once? The Chosen ones didn't HAVE to adore each other; in some realities, they hadn't even liked each other! All they had to do was screw, dammit!!

The look on Nightwolf's face. Silken-soft, as he whispered some teasing words and reeled the indignant, sputtering wizard into his arms. Although the sputtering slammed to a halt when the dark warrior brushed the fiery hair out of his way and lightly tongued Keith's ear from lobe to point, then back again. Then stuck his damn tongue in it, the moron! Did he know what he was playing with here? Hell, if he got Keith going with the ears, the war might just have to wait for a month or two as far as the elf would care!

No, the brainless twenty-one year old would never have been able to bear what the Witchlady of the Riders must face. And the first unpleasant task was, to open her mouth and break this up before it got too damn far out of hand.

Smitty wasn't really surprised when Keith screamed at her in a mindless rage. Aside from the ear thing probably having driven him half-loony, Smitty had more than once been yelled at for barging into someone's tent without shouting warning from outside first. But when stressed and in a hurry she just forgot. Well, oops, excuse the hell outta me! In her opinion, if these dumb bastards wanted privacy they should live in houses with doors and locks. And she was Shaman; when she entered a tent it was for some important reason, not to invade privacy or catch some beefy nitwit in an embarrassing situation!

She remembered that time when she'd intruded on an ill-tempered warrior who had forgotten to lace the tent fastenings in his haste to tumble his wife's sister in that lady's absence. Her discourtesy had resulted in a broken nose. Not for Smitty----for the warrior, who'd removed his attention from his struggling relative to bawl curses at the sarcastically amused witchwoman.

Hell, they shoulda given her a medal for that one. Who would've known in a tribe where sex was so easily come by there would be one moron who just had to try and rape a person who didn't want him? Men were the same in any damn world. Most of 'em, anyway.

Well, Smitty had enjoyed lecturing that quivering bastard on just what he could expect if the Warchief found out he'd tried to force a member of the Tribe to pleasure him. By then he had regained what little sense he had, was trembling like grape jelly at the very thought of the punishment he could expect.

The big oaf had fallen to his knees in a hot second and begged them to take him straight to Nightwolf then and there. The two women had laughed their asses off. Then gone off to Smitty's tent hand in hand to share with each other, in part just to humiliate the big stupid turd.

She was a little amazed at herself, for the hesitant manner in which she'd spoken this time. She wasn't usually a bit concerned about interrupting anything, in fact being a pest was something of a comfort to her. And usually it either annoyed or amused her to be yelled at by McIntyre, depending on which of them was winning the battle of wits. But now she was more worried about him than anything.

For one thing, he'd been surprisingly upset at the way the Bonding had gone, and gods knew she was sorry about that. Well, when all this shit was done they would celebrate that wedding with a lavishness that would stun the North. Even if she had to pay for it herself!

Well, maybe not go that far. But she could sure tongue-lash some wealthy bastards into providing every bit of hoopla the silly California boy could ever want.

His agony at the knife slash hadn't startled her as much as the sentimentality----well, shit, he was the bravest person she'd ever known in one sense. Look at whom he was hooked up with and liking it, for God's sake! But though never a spiritual or mental coward he sure could be a baby about physical pain. She'd noticed that before.

kinds of pain just fine! With an effort, Smitty kept her cynical eye off the Nightwolf and tried also to keep her mind off their relationship. A wonder the damn redhead wasn't permanently bow-legged if you asked her, and nobody had. Shit, he was a healer of mind-boggling talent, so what was the deal with the small stuff? Looking at the scar running down his otherwise flawless chest, it was obvious he had taken his share of real punishment. And somehow, Smitty felt he probably had sniveled far less over that killing blow than he had at his palm being sliced.

But what really got her was the way Keith had suddenly gone glaze-eyed and staggered from the council. Even if Carson was mauling him in public, he could have either stopped it with a burst of temper, or just shrugged and enjoyed it. Both more in character than his confused retreat had been. She had no doubt that the Wolf woulda backed down if his lover had gotten really pissed. The High King of the Twelve Tribes was the meanest bastard she'd ever known----and coming from Brooklyn she was saying a lot with that one. But he was a total pussy for his mouthy boyfriend and this was something that amused her greatly. Although silently; her momma hadn't raised any idiots.

In fact, both of them were acting weird today. Carson's hungry swoop on the wizard in public had been intense enough to be out of character. He didn't give a damn what anyone thought of his feelings for Keith, but he did prefer privacy for some things! And now, after Keith had snarled at her, the huge, leather-clad warchief had fallen back on the bed, knees drawn up and clutching his stomach. Laughing his ass off; she wished she had a damn camera, that sure wasn't something you saw on a daily basis!

Though it was pretty natural, considering what Keith had screamed at her. "Put on some pants?" Didn't the dingbat know he was already wearing some? Even though the light, colorful tribal cloth left little to the imagination on an aroused elf, the boy was at least technically decent. Maybe her fears were true and he'd gone slightly loony from all the stress.

She'd just had to watch them snuggle and whisper to each other for a few extra minutes before making her presence known, even though she realized she had to cut this crap short. Admitting to herself almost grudgingly, that it was a beautiful sight.

Carson seemed like a brooding god of pain and darkness in his stark black leathers inlaid with slashes of cobalt blue. The loose midnight hair, the swirling mask of silvery runes flowing like a net of cold stars down his cheeks only made him more strange and sinister. The World Wrestling Federation woulda hired this bastard in an instant----naw, they mighta been scared of him, too.

Yet look at him, cradling that smart-mouth McIntyre as if the red-haired trouble magnet were made of priceless crystal. And the wizard did look fragile, wrapped in arms big enough to snap him in two.

But he wasn't frail, not the least bit. She'd been lucky enough to steal a hug or three from the foul-mouthed elven bastard. Smitty, a very tactile person, had sucked up the feel of the wizard's body. Taut, wiry, thrumming with energy. A martial artist's body; the prettiness of his face was misleading. Oh, she bet he was agile as hell in bed all right. And she was more sorry than he was that the Bonding had needed to be performed early; now she'd never get a taste of that.

She thought of Do'nar, then, and blushed hotly. Just as she had when she'd met the man's eyes in the council room. Of course she'd glared at him warningly, but she hadn't been able to keep from turning red. Maybe that was why the big moose had smiled rather shyly back, instead of being intimidated as he ought. Elven magic gone wild was a potent force, dammit, it hadn't been her fault she'd jumped his bones! She woulda pounced on President Reagan if there'd been no one else available!

So she'd done so, opened her mouth, cut them off. And had the dubious pleasure of watching Keith pull free of Carson, stare at her unbelievingly, and scream "You mind if I put some fuckin' pants on!!!??"

Really, if time hadn't been a factor, she would've been happy to indulge them to death. Their wedding day and all. Should be going on a kick-ass three day honeymoon, having to prepare for battle instead? Oh you bet she was sympathetic! She wanted to roast these Southern scum into the ground.

What she said was, "McIntyre, you GOT pants on, last time I looked. Although that's never stopped you yet. And your buddy is killing himself laughing at you, by the way. Maybe I'll just step outside and come back in again later when your brain is working."

Human, human, human. Smitty patiently waited, while the silly wizard assessed the situation. An unfortunate side effect of waiting was that Carson had recovered from his amusement, was now nailing her with a look that would've peeled her skin if she hadn't been a New Yorker to start with.

Then Keith sighed, and looked her right in the eye. Now she had to fight off the elf in him. Those slanted eyes, green as grass, intelligent and beautiful. The Shaman's knowledge of elves, and what they were capable of, put an uneasy heat in her body. Shit! Carson was really glaring now, what she'd thought about this motormouth must have shown on her face for an instant.

"Okay, Smitty. My bad. It's the ear thing, y'know. Carson licks my ear, I go right off the freakin' planet. Felt naked, felt like we were inside each oth----ahem, anyway. Never mind." Keith coughed slightly, actually self-conscious for once, then gave her a dirty look. Nothing compared to what Carson was doing, something like filleting her with his eyes. She grinned, partly with relief, as Keith reached out almost absently, snaring his lover before he could rise up in wrath and perform any physical damage upon her. "But you came barging in here and interrupted our depravity because---why? I know we're not likely to get no freakin' honeymoon," he said in his nastiest tone. "But not even an after-council boink?"

"After council my ass, McIntyre! You left early, remember? And looking like somebody clunked you one. So you missed some important shit. And it woulda been nice if you coulda explained to that little group of baddasses exactly HOW you knew all about Easterners joining the Southerners. Although that guy Asher explained it was just one or two big houses, not the whole freaking East. Which is kind of a relief."

Instead of looking relieved, McIntyre sat up sharply, his eyes snapping into a deadly focus. So blazingly green it was painful to stare directly into them. Hell, his fucking hair almost seemed to come to life around that sassy elven face, snapping like a brush fire. "And just how the fuck does HE know anything about it?" this California boy snarled. A pirate with a knife in his teeth couldn't have sounded any meaner. Who the hell had decided that California boys were mellow?

"He's an, um, ranger," she responded, a little surprised. "Has a lot of information connections. And he can use those for us, even if he's the only one who chooses to help us in like a fighting sense." She eyed the annoying redhead with interest. He was a loaded gun, always fired up about something, but somehow the bare mention of the name "Asher" had managed to turn him almost incandescent.

"Oh, really?" Keith sneered. Carson made a quiet noise, strangely apologetic. His focus now totally away from Smitty. Keith threw a glance at him, and softened almost instantly. Now this was REALLY getting interesting.

In the suddenly burning silence between the two, she was utterly forgotten. And that annoyed her. So she barked out waspishly, "Aside from which----!"

"There's stuff I need to tell you about the Quarters War, so that frankly I'm glad you left council early. Because what I have to say would only scare the main bunch of these guys. Do'nar knows, Carson knows---the rest of these warrior boys would just freak out at the whole story."

"This is something *I* can tell him," the Warchief interrupted. Back in his heartless, chilly death-rider persona. Staring at her meaningfully with eyes like glacier ice, perched on the edge of the bed and willing her to LEAVE NOW.

She waited, again. Glanced through the soft dimness of the luxurious tent, to the carefully crafted easel on which yet another piece of the Nightwolf 's disturbing artwork rested.

The animate Keith's eyes widened on her. Then narrowed, as if coming to a decision. He glanced at Carson. Who studied her for a moment, grim as death. Then nodded. But as if agreeing to her execution rather than an exchange of information.

She thought she was ready for almost anything. Until suddenly he focused on her in that Way that he had. Eyes wide, the faintest of dancing smiles. Totally intent, as if nothing in the whole universe but YOU mattered or ever would matter. And he MEANT it. The bastard.

"You never told me how you came here to Khesh. And I was too damn, well, busy? To ask. So spill," he invited, with that smile that could have replaced chocolate in terms of addiction.

He looked at her in honest amazement. Glanced at Carson, truly baffled. And Carson had the sense to look away from him, biting his lip hard. God forbid the High King should break out laughing twice in one day!

"I have all this important political and historical shit to explain to you." She was trying again for outraged, and failing badly. "And you ask for some personal history!"

She wondered if his elfhood had a damn thing to do with that. She thought not. She thought he'd probably been the same damn way as a full human.

She wasted a few important seconds wishing she'd been able to know him on Earth. Although when she'd been Gated here in 1985, she supposed he was just then getting to know Carson on Earth, and woulda been far too busy to travel to New York to meet an aging, heroin-addicted stripper.

"Okay," she agreed softly, a faint bit of amusement slipping into her voice. "The short version. And you probably wanna know about your boy here, too, what happened when he fell down the rabbit hole. No, I'll tell this one, big guy. Gave a feeling you wouldn't do the story justice."

Now Carson really did look ready to kill her; he was a snarling pit bull straining at his leash. But Keith was nodding, and his eyes were full-throttle traffic signal green. Damn right, he wanted to hear that story too!

Smitty took a seat and settled in to enjoy herself while she still could. She wasn't too damn worried about Carson's wrath; not with the elf-boy firmly in her corner for once.