Wedding by Ann Herendeen Read Free Book Online Page A

listening,” Dominic said, his
voice rising with the beginning of anger. “It’s not the weapon
keeping us apart; it’s me. If I hadn’t wanted to hurt you on some
level of my consciousness, I could not have done it.”
    “But that’s just it!” I shouted. “You didn’t want to hurt me then. All that happened is we didn’t form
communion, and you didn’t know when to stop.” I blushed, his
self-control having the perverse effect of making me uncomfortable
with saying these things aloud.
    “Oh,” Dominic said, “you’ll make any excuse
for me, say anything rather than admit—”
    “Admit what? That I love you? That I want you
physically? I admit it.”
    “Cherie,” Dominic said, “so do I want you.
But you don’t seem to recognize the danger. Our communion was
blocked, and you may not have been aware of what was in my
mind.”
    I laughed. “Nothing. That’s what was in our
minds, yours and mine. Nothing except sex. And it wasn’t in our
minds, but in our—”
    “Yes, Amalie, I understand.” Dominic shook
his head at my coarseness. “And what makes you so sure we can try
it safely now?”
    “Because,” I said, “all that time in the
shelter, whatever else I may have felt, I never felt sick. The
whole time I never once felt nauseated, that I had to throw
up.”
    “That’s wonderful,” Dominic said, giving a
harsh laugh. “A real testimonial. I can honestly say that I don’t
make the woman I love vomit.”
    “No, Dominic,” I said. “You don’t know what
this means. Every other man or woman, no matter how attractive they
are or how much I like them, I always feel sick when they try to
make love to me. It’s something to do with my gift, I think. That’s
why I rejected Tomasz Liang and Matilda Stranyak at La Sapienza.
You’re the only person who ever touched me without nauseating me.
And that night, all the time we– fucked,” I stumbled over the word
but forced myself to continue, “and didn’t form communion, and it
was too much for me—I never felt so much as queasy. Not once.”
    “My poor love,” Dominic said. “No wonder you
couldn’t enjoy the Midwinter Festival.” He was tempted to comfort
me, thought better of it, and stood looking helpless.
    “Don’t you see?” I said. “If anything had
been seriously wrong between us, I would have felt sick. But it was
just our bodies acting without our minds. Now that we’re away from
the weapon’s influence, able to form communion, everything should
be all right.”
    “It may not mean that much,” Dominic said.
“It might prove only that we share a physical communion, not that
we can control it.”
    I approached Dominic while he spoke, reaching
up to put my arms around his neck, but he backed away. “No, Amalie,
don’t do this to me.”
    Whatever happens, I love you , I
thought to him, staring into his eyes. He tried to retreat, to back
out the door, but there was still some communion between us, and I
held him in it while I wriggled out of my nightgown at the
shoulders and pushed it down, freeing my breasts, then my hips,
stepping daintily out of the shimmering puddle of silk when it
reached the floor. As I had hoped, Dominic became instantly erect,
could not contain his reaction to the sight of me.
    “No, Amalie.” It was barely a whisper.
    I took the chance to inch closer, until we
were almost touching. “Put your arms around me,” I said.
    Dominic didn’t move. He stood very still,
only his deep breaths betraying the strain he was under. He
resisted as well as he could, but I used my newly-acquired skills
and forced him. It was funny, this tall, powerful man, and small,
delicate woman, in a kind of mental wrestling match. Eventually I
won a partial victory. Dominic’s arms moved, in the jerky, awkward
way of something done involuntarily, and he held me—too tightly. He
relaxed slightly, able to laugh as I used my crypta again to
loosen his grasp.
    “You see?” I said. “I’m not completely at
your mercy. I