Free Heart Journey by Robin Owens

actors made entrances. It got so she watched to compare their styles. The rushing-I-am-late-but-so-cute of one young actress; the hauteur of the man who played the villain in Raz’s mystery; the intense virility that preceded a large man with rough features whom she recognized as Klay St. Johnswort, a leading man about the same age as her HeartMate.
    The food was good and so was the wine. She nibbled and sipped and observed. There was social jockeying and deals being done off the dance floor.
    On the dance floor her HeartMate moved with a grace that stirred her. Straif T’Blackthorn, tracker and noble, didn’t move that well. Cratag T’Marigold, a warrior, didn’t move as well.
    Del wasn’t quite sure she could define what set Raz apart, but it was there. Charisma? The man had that and she’d never valued the trait. He wouldn’t be at a loss speaking to anyone and that baffled her.
    She retreated again to near the arbor; the light wasn’t as bright here and she liked the natural scent of the flowers more than any of the perfumes people wore.
    She watched Raz in one of the least intimate dances of their culture and ached with desire. Taking another swallow of wine, she wondered if she could bring him to her in another erotic dream that night. Heat flooded her.

Six

    R az danced in between conversations with those who could advance his career. He enjoyed the party and interacting socially, but that wasn’t as important as work.
    He still wasn’t sure why Del Elecampane had come and that continued to pique his curiosity. He kept an eye on her and was amused to see that some people gravitated to her simply because she was different. Occasionally she became animated, her hands expressive, her dimples winking as she spoke of . . . maps.
    A satisfying septhour passed before he gave himself another break from business.
    Trillia walked up to him with a sloppy grin and a drink he knew was over her limit, another one of those pink foamy things most of the women were guzzling. She wobbled and he steadied her. She came from an acting Family and had worked most of her life, knew the inside of the business and all the gossip for two decades past. She’d been the first to welcome him on the stage of his first show and a very sweet lover. They’d remained friends after their affair had ended. Both of them had a policy of staying friends with their lovers.
    Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him with a damp smooch on his cheek, looked up at him with wide blurred blue eyes, and gave a little hiccup. “Got the part of Fern Bountry in Gael City. I am hoping it will make my name, separate me from the rest of my Family.” A loud sigh escaped her. “Gael City.” She shrugged soft, round, white shoulders. “Well, we’ve never played there for long; it’s time.” Trillia tried to straighten but leaned against Raz instead. “I’ll miss the Thespian Club and you.” Her smile held deep humor. “Would love to see you with your HeartMate.”
    “That’s me,” Morifa Daisy purred. She was a socialite Raz had broken up with the week before. She slipped her arm between his biceps and his side, giving his muscle a squeeze.
    His stomach sank. He had hoped to avoid a scene, especially here. He made sure from the outset that his casual partners knew he was uninterested in just one woman for the long term. Hell, everyone in Druida knew that from the newssheets’ social columns.
    Trillia hauled herself up, and this time she stood, not even swaying, her gaze sharp on Morifa. Trillia shook her newly long and dark curls. “No, you aren’t his HeartMate. You don’t have the stamina to keep up with him, not to mention the heart.” As the woman gasped, her nails digging into Raz’s arm, Trillia walked away and was scooped up by her current partner and left the party on a laugh.
    “That bitch,” Morifa said.
    “Trillia is one of my oldest and dearest friends.”
    “Were you making love to her at the same time you were me?”
    “No. I