Heart Search by Robin D. Owens Read Free Book Online

don’t know. I’m feeling—” She noticed her door was cracked open and she hurried up the porch, into her mainspace.
    “Darlin’ girl!” a voice boomed. She was crushed in a hug, meaty fingers clenching her ribs too tight, the scent of hated clove smothered her nostrils like the chest she was against. And she knew something , some Flair, some instinct had warned her.
    She struggled away from the big man, turning her head. Hadn’t this day been emotionally difficult enough? Tears stung hard against the backs of her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
    “Is that any way to greet your beloved father after nearly two years?” He stepped back, looking far too large in the small room, too clumsy, too dramatic. His face was still square and florid, just beginning to show the excesses of drink and the lines of selfishness. Just as his waist was starting to thicken with belly fat. As always, his eyes were small and sly—and the same gray as her own.
    She calculated how much gilt she might have had in the house, whether he would have found it. He might not have, but she sensed her uncle here, and he would have taken it. “What do you want?”
    “Just to see my darlin’.”
    “Don’t lie to me.”
    He put on a hurt expression, raised his hands palms out. He still wore blousy sleeves cuffed tight at his wrists but that didn’t mean much. The material would be just stretchy enough to slide paper money under, the sleeves large enough to hide it. “I’m not lying.”
    “How much?”
    “How can you treat me like this?” He flung himself into her favorite cushioned chair, which creaked under the sudden onslaught of his weight. His hurt face morphed into false disappointment. Camellia glanced around the room, didn’t notice any small valuables missing.
    This is the Sire of My FamWoman? Mica’s perky mind-voice projected.
    A gleam came to Camellia’s father’s—T’Darjeeling’s—eyes. He stood and glided forward, reaching a hand large enough to encompass the cat’s head, and stroked her with a thick finger. “A Fam, a real Fam. You found a Fam?” His voice was nearly as smooth as the young cat’s purr.
    I am from D’Ash, Mica said.
    “Oh.” T’Darjeeling dropped his hand.
    “Yes. She is valuable. But you can’t steal her because she is in D’Ash’s records.”
    His brows lifted, his lips curved in an easy smile, but his gaze had hardened. He set a hand on Camellia’s shoulder. He could squeeze there and bring her to her knees, from force and pain and the bludgeoning of his Flair against her.
    She wrapped her own hands around his wrist. “You just do that. I’ve been practicing. I’m strong enough to ’port us to the local guard station.” She cast her mind toward the nearest guardhouse, the emergency teleportation pad was busy, so was the next, but the third in the network she’d studied was free . . .
    His fingers clenched tight, pain bit. She inhaled and he released her, flicked his wrist hard, and broke her grip. “I don’t think so.”
    But he’d shown her the trick he might use in the future. Information gathered. She lifted her chin. “I will. I’ll take you to the guards and report assault. I’m a responsible adult.”
    His gaze veiled, his smile grew lopsided. “A responsible adult.” There was an almost mocking lilt in his tones. “A successful businesswoman.” Scorn.
    He didn’t think much of people who worked for a living. One of his brows rose as he looked around her mainspace at the pretty knickknacks. “Nice place. I’m sure you can spare a couple hundred gilt for your father.”
    She took a step back from him but kept her voice level. “I could report you for extortion, too.”
    “Your own father.” He paced forward, crowded her. “You try—”
    “Now, now, Guri, don’t pester the girl,” another genial voice said as a man as large as her father strolled into the room.
    Camellia flinched. “Uncle Takvar.” She glanced at him. His gray eyes were worse than