The Charmer by Autumn Dawn

this thing
she’d become.
    No one stopped her.
    Jasmine burst into Jayems’ room and skidded
to a stop on the polished wood. Eyes wild, she demanded, “How do I
make it stop?”
    “What?” He looked up from a map he and
Knightin had been studying and frowned.
    She gestured violently. “This charmer thing!”
Raising a trembling hand to her forehead and closing her eyes, she
continued, “They were all looking at me like…”
    Jayems glanced at Knightin, dismissing him.
Tossing his pen aside, he leaned back in his chair and regarded
her. “Like they desired you?”
    She threw her hand down, but could only hold
his eyes for a second. “It was worse than that! They—” She grabbed
the back of a chair for support, feeling like she just might fly
apart. “I want it to stop. Now.”
    Knowing eyes considered her. “Is it so bad to
be desired?”
    She clenched her fists and shouted at him.
“Yes! Yes . I don’t want men to look at me like that!” She
moaned in frustration and swept her fist through the air. “I was
afraid genetics would come back to haunt me.”
    He tilted his head in inquiry, and she
swallowed hard. Addressing the carpet in front of his desk, she
said, “My mother was a stripper. She...ah, when she danced,
she...stripped.”
    “Ah.” He examined his desktop as if it held
the secrets of the universe.
    “In front of people. Male audiences,” she
finished bitterly.
    “I see.”
    “Good. Then send me back.” His face took on
that stubborn look and she didn’t wait for his denial. “Listen
here, you pig headed son of a bitch! I.…” To her horror, her throat
closed on the words, and she could only stand there in humiliation,
reduced to the helplessness of a child. A single tear tracked down
her cheek.
    She bowed her head and clenched her fists.
Now was not the time to lose her composure. She might as well
concede defeat if she did.
    “It won’t be forever, Jasmine.” His voice was
soothing.
    She wanted to scream.
    “It will stop as soon as you take a
mate.”
    Bile churned in her stomach. “You think I
would…” Her world blackened on the edges. “I don’t even have a
boyfriend!” Breathe, Jas, just breathe.
    “Fallon—” He didn’t flinch when the priceless
black diamond statute of a volti splintered against the front of
his desk, nor even when the heavy crystal decanter followed. His
door crashed open, but he waved the Haunt guards back as she
insulted first his mother, his ancestry and finally himself in
graphic, lurid detail, then stormed out, rolling on her own
thunder.
     
    Jasmine started violently when Wiley touched
her shoulder.

“It’s just me,” Wiley assured her softly. She
bit her lip. “It’s getting close to dinnertime.” She paused, hope
in her eyes. “The family is eating together again.”
    Jasmine shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
    “Feign it,” Keilor told her flatly,
announcing his presence. “Jayems expects you to be there, and your
lady desires it.” He ordered the bath to start up. “I’ll be back to
escort you to the table in half an hour.”
    Jasmine jumped to her feet. “Get out of my
room, you jerk!”
    He didn’t budge. “Are you going to be
ready?”
    “I don’t think so,” she said with biting
sarcasm, and made the mistake of adding a sneer. In a heartbeat
he’d crossed the room and tossed her over his shoulder. Striding
over to the tub, he dumped her swearing self into it, clothes and
all. She surfaced, spitting water, and furiously raked the hair off
of her face. “You son of a—”
    He hefted the soap in warning, and she
clamped her mouth shut. It was tough to glare and blink away the
water spiking her lashes at the same time.
    He gave her a pleasant smile. “Now, you can
either finish this yourself, charmer, or I can climb in there with
you...” his voice roughened a fraction, and she swallowed hard,
“...and I won’t be wearing my clothes when I do.” Fire shot into
her cheeks, and he handed her the soap.