Rejar Read online

  Rejar

  Dara Joy

  LOVE SPELL NEW YORK CITY

  Unspoken Passions

  “You are wicked!” Lilac said.

  The corners of Rejar’s mouth curved upward, revealing a devastating little dimple in his left cheek. “I have been told it is my nature.”

  “To be insensitive?” she sneered. He puzzled her by laughing.

  “I can assure you, I am a very sensitive man.” Rejar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. By design, the position brought their heads fairly close together.

  “You need only test me to find out,” he whispered seductively.

  Her face flamed and she quickly looked away from his inviting posture.

  “I don’t like you.”

  Rejar smiled slowly.

  She faced him, nonplussed. “Did you not hear me?”

  “I listen to you very well.” His eyes captured hers with the methodical gleam of a predator—sophisticated beyond her comprehension and oh-so-tantilizing. “You would be surprised at what I hear.”

  To my mother, Ace: the one; the best; the only.

  “Any time not spent on love is wasted.”

  —Tasso (1544-1595)

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Unspoken Passions

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  RAVE REVIEWS FOR NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR DARA JOY!

  Other books by Dara Joy:

  Copyright

  Prologue

  He was a totally sexual creature.

  Handsome as sin, sensual as silk.

  His name was Rejar.

  He was descended from an ancient, arcane race known as the Familiars; and it was said they walked in two forms. That of human and cat.

  Shrouded in mystery, the Familiars were both revered and reviled by those that knew of their existence. Because of this they kept to themselves for the most part—except in matters of casual relations. In that regard, their alliances were legion, their reputations well deserved.

  For the males of their species were like no other.

  A singular trait of the male Familiar was his ability to completely lose himself in the sensual self. So acute were his senses that he often derived pleasure simply from bestowing pleasure.

  Adult males lived for the sensuous. Reveled in it. Became it.

  The Familiar’s erotic magnetism, once focused upon his prey, was difficult, if not impossible, to resist. Strangely, once roused to passion of any kind, he could be both ruthless and endearing at once. Intrepid predator yet rare delicacy.

  And then there was the additional element.

  The rumor—the whispered myth the Familiars would neither confirm nor deny.

  Legend had it these males possessed a special trait which was peculiar to their species; a physical trait so compelling that it had, at times, caused them to be hunted down and enslaved simply for the possibility that this enticing bit of lore might be true.

  It was believed that the male Familiar possessed the physical ability to “enhance” his sensuality during the sexual act.

  The fact that this “enhancer” was not visibly present did not stop the tales of its existence. Moreover, if the male Familiar decided to employ this unique ability in his mastery of pleasureg-iving, the effect was said to be devastating.

  Throughout time, stories continued to circulate of how some of their males were so skilled in the sensual arts that the use of this innate trait combined with their extraordinary felinelike erotica delivered an unparalleled experience.

  This was part of his legacy—

  But it was well known amongst all Familiars that Rejar ta’al Krue had been gifted with much more.

  And his special journey was about to unfold…

  Chapter One

  London, 1811

  “Driver! Driver! I insist you go faster!”

  Lady Agatha Whumples turned a harried face to her niece in the somewhat cramped confines of her coach. “Whatever is the man thinking of, my dear? The Duchess will not await us for tea!”

  Lilac Devere looked at her elderly maiden aunt and sighed. The woman was peering haughtily up at the ceiling through her lorgnette and pince-nez, as if the driver could see her disdain through the walls of the coach. Her aunt was a trial sometimes, but she loved her dearly.

  “Auntie Whumples, if you hadn’t insisted that society arrive late, we would never have been in this position in the first place.”

  Lady Whumples fluttered her fan. “Of course society arrives late—but not with the Duchess! Whatever will she think? I hope that dreadful Lord Byron won’t be there. Go faster, I say!” She whacked the roof of the carriage with her cane. “That driver has always been the most inconsiderate—”

  “He’s been in your employ for fifty years!”

  “Be that as it may, my child, his impertinence will not stand. It will not stand!” She thumped the seat for emphasis, dislodging several beads from the bodice of her day-dress. “And another thing—the man has beady eyes. I don’t like beady eyes!”

  As usual, Auntie had gotten completely off subject. Lilac patted her hand. “Calm yourself, Auntie Whumples, surely—”

  Without warning a brilliant flash of light filled the coach.

  It was followed by a low, deafening rumble.

  There was a loud thump! and the carriage shook.

  Lady Whumples was tossed against the window. Lilac braced her hands against the sides of the coach to prevent herself from falling forward.

  “What was—” Lilac started but never finished.

  At the same time both Lilac and her aunt stared wide-eyed at the opposite seat.

  A great black cat sat there, gazing speculatively at them even though his feline demeanor implied that this was his coach and that they were intruding upon him.

  The strange animal had two different colored eyes.

  Lilac’s mouth dropped open.

  Auntie Whumples’s pince-nez fell off.

  Then Auntie screamed—a high-pitched, extremely loud wail of pure terror. “It is a beast! A great beast which will surely kill us where we sit! I shall faint! Driver! Driver!”

  The driver, with fifty years’ experience driving for Lady Whumples, ignored her and kept going.

  Composing herself, Lilac tried to calm her aunt. “Hush, Auntie! Remember—we are women of logic. The poor thing probably jumped into the coach to get out of this chilling drizzle. It must have been here all the time, hiding under the seat and was just now frightened by the lightning. It’s just a cat.” A rather large cat. And those eyes…

  “It’s a lion, I tell you! It will ravish us!”

  As if it understood her words, the cat stared mischievously at Auntie Whumples and slowly licked his chops.

  Auntie started screeching again, but Lilac laughed out loud.

  It was a lovely trilling sound that pleased the senses. The young woman leaned forward closer to the cat, unknowingly displaying a goodly portion of bosom. “You have beautiful fur, kit, long and thick. It looks so silky. And you’re quite the adventurer, aren’t you? I like that. Perhaps I should take you in…”

  Auntie Whumples gasped. “What are
you saying? You can’t take that cursed beast into the house!”

  The cat focused on Lilac, blinking slowly at her with those beautiful dual-colored eyes and Lilac made up her mind.

  “I can and I will. You’re coming home with me.” Then she made a motion which sealed her fate: she softly stroked the fur behind its left ear.

  The cat angled his head into her hand as if her touch was ecstasy itself.

  “What do you say about that, cat?”

  The Familiar known as Rejar closed his eyes and purred.

  He was on a different plane of existence.

  His senses told him that much. But where? One instant he had been hurtling through the Tunnels, cast about the eddies and currents; the next, a portal seemed to open beneath him (if beneath had any meaning in the space he was in), and he fell headfirst through the opening. In an attempt to protect himself, he had metamorphosed into his cat self.

  The conveyance he was in rolled to a stop and the two females exited, with a great deal of fuss from the old one. She banged her walking stick several times, her face turning a fiery red. When the driver opened the door to let her out, she rapped him smartly on the side of his leg with her stick, screeching her way past him.

  Oddly, the man only smiled.

  The lovely younger one shook her head, muttering something under her breath, before following after her.

  He distinctly heard the older one adamantly exclaim that the “beast” would not be in the coach on their return. The younger one firmly replied that if it was still in the coach when they returned, she was taking it home.

  The “beast” would be here. At least until he learned where here was.

  Thankfully, he could understand their language—at least most of it. Similar to the language of his brother’s wife, it had differences in cadence and syntax that puzzled him. Was he somewhere in Adeeann’s universe?

  He closed his eyes as he remembered exactly how he had come to be in this predicament.

  It had all started with the Shimalee, an ancient Charl icon which had the power to bend space and time. There were twelve Shimalees total, nine of which were linked throughout existence to form the matrix known as the Tunnels.

  Now, thanks to him, there was a matrix of ten.

  He had willingly sacrificed himself for his brother Lorgin’s happiness and would do so again. Lorgin had a right to remain with the wife he so loved.

  Insistently, he had taken the icon from his brother, entering the Tunnels with it. He released it into the continuum so that it might be absorbed back into the matrix where it belonged.

  A violent cosmic storm had resulted and he was flung helplessly about the corridor, lost in space and time…and maybe dimension as well.

  What would be the effect of this new matrix he had created?

  Would it open up more passageways, hitherto denied to them? Was that how he had come into this place; had the additional Shimalee opened up a new portal?

  Not being a mystic, Rejar did not understand much in the way of the Tunnels, but, like everyone else, he knew they were a means of transport from world to world.

  Provided one had use of a mystic who could call forth the opening.

  Unfortunately, he did not have such abilities.

  He sighed mournfully.

  How long would he have to remain in this unknown place before the great mystic, Yaniff, found him? A week? A year? Fifty years?

  There was little help for it.

  He knew what he was doing when he had entered the Tunnels in lieu of his brother. At present he would have to bide his time and make the best of the situation he found himself in. For however long, this strange new world was his home.

  Best that he see what it looked like.

  Sitting up on his haunches, the large, black cat peered over the edge of the open window.

  It was raining.

  Not a very good sign for the likes of him.

  He looked further. Trees! Flowers, grass, and shrubs! This was acceptable. The conveyance he found himself in seemed to be at the end of a long walkway. At the other end of the walkway was a large stone building reminding him slightly of his family home on Aviara.

  Rejar decided to investigate further.

  Gritting his teeth, he leaped from the coach, scampering quickly through the light rain to the side of the house. Like most Familiars, he detested getting his fur wet—although in his natural human form, he was fastidious about bathing. His kind could not abide uncleanliness. Besides, there was something about the feel of water sliding down his naked skin…

  His attention was caught by laughter coming from beyond the window just above him. Particularly one soft, lilting laugh, which so pleased his senses.

  He effortlessly climbed a nearby tree, lithely balancing himself on a limb close to the window. Several people were sitting in a very ornate room, drinking out of the most fragile-looking cups he had ever seen. It looked as if they were engaged in some kind of social ritual.

  His feral gaze immediately sought out the women of the group.

  What would he have done if he had come to a world without women? The horrid thought made him shudder. He tried to bolster his flagging spirits. Yes, it could have been worse. Much worse.

  Women always had a soothing effect on him.

  He observed the ones in the room now. They were all dressed in odd costumes. Some of them, a few of the older ones, he noted, wore fake hair upon their heads. Others had unnaturally white complexions. A few were quite stunning.

  This looked promising!

  His feline sights shifted to the young woman who had been in the conveyance with him. The one who said she would take him in.

  He smiled slowly to himself. Mayhap she would.

  Lilac. The old woman had called her Lilac.

  To him, she stood out from the rest of the women in the room. There was a uniqueness about her he had immediately sensed. This one intrigued him.

  Minutely, he examined her, fascinated by the little qualities which often go unnoticed by most men, but never by Familiars. The graceful way her hands moved as she spoke. The lambent shine of her eyes when she laughed. Her heightened senses which he knew were arousing as she became more and more interested in the topic being discussed…

  The siren song of the pulse-flow of her female energy drew upon the Familiar like a magnet.

  Here was an extremely sensuous being, he decided. Just like him.

  Yes, she definitely would be taking him in.

  Lilac sat down before the dressing table in her bedroom and began removing the pins from her hair. The long strands fell to her waist in a soft tumble.

  Picking up her silver-handled brush, she pulled the bristles through the tangled mass in slow, meandering strokes, closing her eyes to the calming feel of the gentle tugging. AH, it felt so—

  An odd feeling suddenly came over her.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Someone was watching her.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  In the large, gilded mirror that graced over half of her bedroom wall from floor to ceiling, she caught sight of the cat sitting square in the center of her favorite chair. He was making himself quite at home!

  He stared at her intently with those strange dual-colored eyes of his half shut.

  How had he gotten in here?

  He certainly wasn’t in the room when she had gone into her dressing room earlier to change into her night rail. In fact, she hadn’t seen him since they had returned from tea at the Duchess’s. As soon as the coach had stopped, he had leapt down, disappearing into the underbrush.

  At the time, she was certain she had seen the last of him, which saddened her. Lilac had been so happy to see the animal still in the coach when they returned to it. No matter how her aunt fussed, she had been determined to take the poor beast home.

  Lilac had always wanted a cat.

  Unfortunately, Auntie had always vehemently refused.

  She suspected her poor aunt negated her desire for a ca
t as a last-gasp effort to prevent her niece from having the trappings of “old maid” hung upon her. After all, she had just turned twenty. An unmarried woman with a penchant for cats often spelled the term “tabby” to the ton—a “no-hope-for-her” old maid.

  For some odd reason, today had been different. Today, for the first time in her life, she did not let Auntie have her own way during one of her fits. She had held firm in her desire to keep the cat.

  Shrugging her shoulders, she smiled. So, did it really matter how he came to be here? Here the puss was. She turned on the stool to face him.

  “You have the most interesting habit of suddenly showing up, cat.” She grinned at him.

  The cat, of course, did not reply.

  Lilac observed the regal black feline, who was sitting on her chair as if he were upon a throne deigning to command his loyal subject! I guess that would be me, she mused.

  He swished his tail.

  There was something about this particular cat that struck a chord within her. Probably its sheer bravado. No one with an ounce of intelligence would dare waste their breath trying to tell this cat what to do. It was obvious he would do exactly as he pleased.

  Not like unmarried misses who had to bow to the dictates of society and gossipy women!

  The recurring dismal subject depressed her anew. Lilac worked her big toe into the thick pile of the Turkish carpet beneath her feet, sighing wistfully.

  She didn’t care what her aunt said—what dire prophecies of gloom and doom she claimed would befall her if she stayed on the shelf. She had no intention of ever putting herself on the marriage mart!

  And why should she?

  As far as she could tell, the woman had nothing to gain and everything to lose. Her property. Her money. Her independence. Her intelligence.

  When a woman entered into the blissful state of holy matrimony, she became nothing but chattel. Indeed, men often referred to women as “baggage.”

  Well, she had no intention of becoming anyone’s baggage—even if the alternative was becoming a dreaded “Ape Leader,” the charming verbiage used to describe an unmarried woman. So what!