"Fuck."
I panted so loudly I barely had breath for the word. My chest heaved and
when it did, Ithiel's knife cut my skin above the heart. His eyes,
the pupils mere dots in the attentive irises, flickered down to the
blood starting to well up. He stepped back, only a shadow space.
"Your mind is too open," he said in a low voice. "If I
were a human you could probably still kill me. A Gelaming, you'd be
putty. Or dead. Block me!"
With the speed of a lashing snake, I grabbed his wrist, the one holding
his dagger, and leaned into the keen edge. His eyes widened comically.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"If it were a Gelaming, I'd push myself onto the knife. A
straight pierce to the heart, and it would be over."
He jerked his torso back, but with deadly grace, had the knife on me
again, this time at my throat, grazing my jaw. I stiffened, my own
dagger having been knocked to the ground. I'd struggled with mind
control to try and retrieve it, but I was nowhere near strong enough.
"Don't you ever be a Varrish martyr, Swift," he rumbled.
"I'm teaching you how to survive, not die some needless,
romantic-seeming death. We're done for today."
I eased away with extreme caution, unsure as to whether or not he'd
take me by surprise one more time, but his entire demeanor and carriage
had changed. He always held himself at the ready, his body poised to
defend those he served and cared for. I'd now spent enough time with
him to pick up on the ebb and flow of his energy and focus. Ithiel had
relaxed, physically, but his mind was pulling apart my words as though
they were thick taffy.
"You've been spending a lot of time with Calanthe."
It was a statement, not a question. I didn't know why it mattered.
"Yes. And?"
"Did he put such ridiculous ideas of self-sacrifice in your
head?"
"Cal?!" I laughed, dark and knowing. Since Terzian and his
forces had gone and I'd been in training, I felt as though I'd
aged a decade or more. Of course Cal was an influence; it was like
asking if the sun affected growing things. But he'd never said
anything about sacrifice and honorable death. "No. I'm sure
I'd fight to the bitter end, don't put too much stock into what
I said. I spoke in the heat of the moment. If I found myself in combat
with any of the Gelaming, I'd lock down my thoughts and let them
taste the flavor of my blade."
Ithiel exhaled a labored sigh. "You have too much of your hostling
in you. How can I make a proper warrior out of you with Cobweb's
blood in your veins and Cal, the Uigenna cast-off breathing words of God
knows what into your ears at night?"
"I guess you're stuck doing what you're doing," I said
good-naturedly as we cleaned up our weaponry before heading back to
Forever.
"You are improving," he admitted.
"Don't sound so enthusiastic." I jabbed my shoulder
against him in a playful manner.
"We'll see how you do hand to hand tomorrow."
Our boots crunched against the crust that had hardened on the snow; a
waxing moon blazed brightly in the sky, casting the familiar environment
into an eerie, noctilucent otherworld. It made me feel reckless and
strange. Wicked thoughts of Cal in my bed began crowding my mind, the
visions delicious and also highly improbable. Vainly I tried pushing
them away by busying myself once we were in the vast house. It still
echoed with the fevered pulse of Terzian's absence and the deaths
I'd caused. Dinner was nearly ready so I set the table, hoping to
receive a smile in reward from Cobweb. He continued to wear his mourning
with the elegance of tailored, supple leather and his thoughts were
scattered. Until Cal entered the room, that was. Did Cal truly wander
through life unaware that planets realigned, hearts turned to
battlefields full of rotting corpses of hope, that the air sang with
fire, all due to the violet storms of his eyes or a flippant, but
earnest remark that spilled from his tongue?
He was master of my soul, bittersweet keeper of my heart and exquisite
torturer of every bared secret of my body. For him it was just another
evening in We Dwell in Forever as he sat down at the table and engaged
in casual conversation with Ithiel. I tapped silent messages against my
woolen trousers with my fingers and realized that, in fact, he was truly
unaware of the wreckage he left in his wake. It didn't cause me to
desire him any less; if only loyalty to my hostling had prevailed, but
Cal's sway had been far too powerful for a mere har like me. A har
who was mostly ignored at this meal, so I ate quickly, lingering in the
kitchen afterwards with Yarrow until he said I was being a nuisance.
Beaten, I went to the room of one who wouldn't turn me away.
"Come here, Tyson," I crooned, and he ran to my lap, laughing.
I played with him, with wooden blocks that served as toys, and then
parchment scraps and colored inks. My mind was meandering along
different paths not suitable for young ones after not too long, however,
and Tyson grew impatient. He tried to keep me interested in his own
pursuits, but we grew frustrated with each other. I left him to
entertain himself until Cobweb came to get him ready to sleep. I'd
just left the room when Cobweb swept past me in the corridor to bathe
the harling and get him ready for bed. He paused, and seemed to see me,
clearly and with the speed of an arrow shot by a skilled archer.
"What's troubling you?" he asked, his eyebrows knit with
concern. The comment was tossed out as though he'd not set eyes on
me all evening.
"I don't think I live up to Ithiel's expectations." It
was the truth, but skirted my discombobulation.
He shook his head, placing a strong but gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Rubbish. You've only been training in earnest for a few weeks.
Ithiel is a har who knows war, and he knows well how to instruct you in
self-defense."
Curiosity burned in me. "What about you?"
"What about me, child?"
I was too feverish with the turbulence under my skin to contradict being
called a child. The flames from my Feybraiha licked at me with
insatiable tongues; it was they that scorched me. I'd experienced
enough now to know these things.
"Your military training. You would never depend on Terzian to
defend you, would you? Or Ithiel?"
He looked down his regal nose at me, though we were nearly the same
height. "Not everyone needs to fight with weapons in hand."
The conversation appeared over. I suddenly wanted some sheh, and to be
alone with my rampant thoughts. I turned on my heel and made my way back
down to the kitchen with Cobweb's baffled thanks for looking after
Tyson ringing in my ears. There was a bottle of sheh in the pantry, one
from a batch Yarrow had brewed a few weeks back, so I took it and a
glass back to my room. Once there I poured a half-glass, tossed back a
mouthful, grimaced, and set to trying to find some oil for my sore
muscles. Training with Ithiel was no walk around the grounds; he put me
through my paces.
I'd lit a small fire, taken off my shirt and started to rub the
fragrant salve into my forearms when I heard my bedroom door shut.
He'd come, summoned by the soundless, greedy calls my body had
shouted through the house. A part of me rejoiced that I had even that
modicum of power. Cal didn't say anything, simply pulled off his
wool sweater, drank a fair amount of the sheh in my glass and gently
prised the vial out of my fingers.
"Why don't you go lie down on your stomach," he suggested.
As I stood up, he let his fingers skate down the middle of my chest and
gazed at me. Embers of desire glowed in his dusky eyes; a frisson of
anticipation jolted my ouana-lim. "You've put on some muscle.
What's Ithiel doing to you, really?"
I huffed a laugh and sprawled facedown on my bed, arranging myself like
a banquet to be feasted upon. "Proper training in weaponry—
knives, guns, both pistols and rifles, archery, and a regimen of
stretches, sit ups and pushups. Thankfully he's not forced me to go
running. It's too cold, anyway."
He made a non-committal, appreciative noise as I heard him go around the
room— I eased onto my elbows and watched as he lit several large
candles and a thin taper of incense before turning off the main light. I
sank back down onto the bed while he situated himself atop my backside
and started to knead at my upper back. Low sighs and contented purrs of
happiness burbled out of me in a stream.
"Where do you do all of that?"
"Near the stables. One of the storage houses."
His questing fingers and strong palms worked healing magic on my back
and shoulders. I was buzzing with questions, and loved to hear his
voice, so I asked about his past and who'd taught him self-defense,
if anyone.
"Not so interesting," he said blithely, and I couldn't
help but snort in response. "I was a street rat; I learned my
survival skills in the dying city where I was incepted. We were a wild
gang, not glamorous, really. I'd rather not think about it
now." He paused, leaning up a bit to massage his fingers into my
scalp. I let out a soft gasp of pleasure. "You should turn over.
And take off your pants."
I didn't need to hear that suggestion twice. I was down to my
underwear, my famished skin craving Cal's touch. He was a potent
drug; I knew why Cobweb hated him so much, but here and now all thoughts
of my hostling were banished. Cal was a fierce jungle cat, crawling up
my legs before sitting carefully on my groin. He poured more of the
sage- and clove-infused unguent into his palms. There was no subtlety in
my body's wishes; my erection strained up, teased mercilessly as Cal
shifted and arranged his thighs before settling into his task, massaging
my chest and tight muscles where bicep joins pectoral.
My eyes had adjusted to the dim light; I was mesmerized by the flex and
stretch of his own arms as he worked, having taken off his undershirt to
reveal his still thin and wiry frame. I felt just brazen enough to tilt
my pelvis, rocking between his legs to find out if there was an
answering hardness— the heat there wasn't on display. This
part of him was the most puzzling, a key enigmatic and seductive-colored
flicker in the kaleidoscope of Cal's personality. He was often
soume; his power radiated with it. If ever there was an antithesis to
the simpering passivity that many more ouana Varrs preferred, it was
Cal. When soume, he ate me alive; I sank into his moist earth and at the
end was reborn. This was his preference tonight, apparently.
"I have plans for you, pure-born," he said. His husky voice
caused my heart to thump a resounding beat of 'yes' and
'please, god, now,' against my ribcage.
"Oh?"
I'd meant for that to sound suave, but the way my nerves were
howling, it was more of a yelp. A sultry smile glided onto his lips, and
I was gutted.
"I like my bruises, and the bite marks," he said, forthright
and strangely earnest. "But tonight you'll keep your hands to
yourself."
My brows furrowed. I loved to grapple with him, to stroke and grab and
fondle. What sport was there if I couldn't even hold him, rake my
fingers down his back, or entwine my fingers in his hair? As always
I'd underestimated him, somehow forgotten since the last time
we'd collided souls and slaked our arunic thirsts with each other,
that he'd been singing these erotic duets since before he even
became har. I'd only just had my Feybraiha— he was a master, I
a novice, a shuddering, babbling, shaking mass of limbs; his supplicant
and devotee.
His leather bonds on my wrists that held me to the bed frame were sweet
agony. With lips and tongue he forged all across my body, finding
delights that caused the waves of passion in my groin and thundering in
my blood to crash and roil. He was the sun and my aching ouana-lim
reached toward his light. When my language had shattered to nothing but
begging cries and actual tears shimmered in my eyes in frustration, he
at last took pity on me. It was relief for him, too, as he angled my
shaft, glistening in full flower, and sank down on it, sheathing me to
the hilt. He tossed his sweaty hair back from his face, a dark
satisfaction dancing in his eyes. They were dilated by desire; only a
sliver of violet ringed the black when he leaned forward and breathed
across my face.
"Cal
"
The word was prayer and need, scraping its thorns across my
over-sensitized skin. The hints of sharing breath were toxic addiction;
he hovered over me as I struggled. He slid up and down on my ouana-lim
while exhaling his visions over my unblinking eyes, his flames and
fields of gold, his burning suns. I strained and pulled, arching up to
capture his lips, to kiss him, to taste the faint apple of his tongue.
At last he relented, his inner muscles of that masterful soume-lam
grasping my ouana-lim while we shared breath. He bequeathed a torrent of
scalding sands, grains of lavender visioncraft swirling between our open
mouths until his pulled back.
"Cal! God! Take us through it!" My hips were snapping as I
filled him, this demon sylph with his old soul and scent that pulled me
like the demands of gravity.
"What? You're not enjoying yourself?" he teased, but he,
too, was panting with exertion, barely keeping himself in check.
"Fuck, Cal," I whimpered, thrashing my head from side to side
on my sweat-dampened pillow, my eyes closed against his luminous
presence.
"We are."
I barked a short laugh at his vulgarity, my eyes still squinched shut.
My blood pounded. Through the rushing wind of our release, Cal guided us
to a precipice and then flung us down with a throaty growl. I was
wracked with blazing auroras, the blinding ecstasy at last settling to a
less dangerous ring of azure flames. Cal uncoupled us— I kept my
eyes shut, captivated by the shadow sparks behind my eyelids. A few
moments later, two fingers were teased along my lips until I opened
them, licking his fingers clean of a tangy, lemonbitter fluid.
"That's how you taste, dragonling."
My eyes flew open. I was mortified with shame.
"Cal! You! What?"
My inelegant staccatoed words flew past tainted lips as he untied me and
draped himself along my side. Heavy-lidded, he regarded me with the
fierce beneficence of a well-fed mountain lion, sprawling down to lick
its claws and curl up to sleep.
"Don't be such a prude."
I couldn't help but lick my lips again, they were so dry, and the
faint flavor of my own release still lingered there. I burned with
embarrassment; I knew so little about myself. Cal showed me how little,
again and again.
"Stop thinking so loud," Cal chastised me without real rebuke.
In a rare show of his caste practices, he got up on an elbow, kissed me,
and then waved his arm lazily at the candles, which were snuffed out.
"I don't want to cause an accidental fire and have Cobweb come
banging on the door. Threesomes are really quite a rush, but even as
Wraeththu, hostling and son together might be a bit taboo."
I shuddered with crazed horror. "You're unbelievable!" I
said, decorating his face with chaste kisses. "There'll be a
special place of torment for you when you die." The laughter in his
face metamorphed to one of more serious quiet, and I berated myself.
"Sorry. That was a shitty thing to say."
"Don't beat up on yourself," he said, his voice warm but
his eyes tinged with melancholy. "Let's sleep. I'm
exhausted. That pure-born body of yours, you take a lot out of me."
"Me?" I asked, incredulous, making space under the turbulent
mess of sheets and covers so he could spoon at my side. "You're
the demon. Aruna with you leaves me bloody half the time."
A secretive smile meandered onto his lips as I carded my fingers through
his hair. "Yes, but you don't really mind, now do you?"
His voice was tinged with sleep. I nuzzled into his collarbone, wishing
he'd stay up for a time; I saw this side of him so infrequently, it
was the most precious gift I knew. "Besides," he continued on,
"you inspire me. You're a chosen one— of what, or whom, I
have no idea. But you're fearless and beautiful and you bring out my
wild side."
I was flabbergasted, proud and full of disbelief. "Cal," I
murmured, "You scare me. I'm not fearless at all! I can't
bear to stay away from you. I want to breathe you in me, and keep
you
"
"Hush. Let me sleep."
He kissed the top of my head, eased an arm over my ribcage, and relaxed
against me, completely boneless. Though my mind was still turbulent with
questions and my chest was bruised with adoration for him, I, too, soon
joined with him in sleep. My dreams were of incense and violet sand
dunes, of Cal's lips on my forehead and the beating of dragon wings.
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