Love and Whiskers

by Olivia Myers

  “You’re not going to join me?” he called.

  Gwythn’s heart stopped dead. He’d seen her. She made no movement.

  “Stay there as long as you like,” he went on. “It’s warmer here.”

  And then, she felt a peculiar stirring in her breast as though a string had attached itself to her and was now mastering her movements. She revealed herself from behind the tree, turned, and faced Rhythion’s cold, blue stare. Those eyes. Those eyes. From some place deep and distant they called to her, summoned her from a long sleep into the realm of the living. She followed the gaze to the water’s shore, without speaking, and stopped.

  “No further?” Rhythion frowned. “I thought you were the bold type. Come a little closer, princess. I don’t bite.”

  Rhythion’s words penetrated her. She heard them not as words, but felt them like a caress on the stomach. They made her shiver, and then they made her hot. So hot, like the water itself. Beads of sweat were forming on her skin. Her dress would get ruined, she thought with horror. With one movement of her arms, she picked up her skirts and slid the soft fabric over her head, revealing her perfect, naked body.

  “That’s better,” Rhythion smiled, and baited her with his eyes. “It’s not as hot anymore, princess. You can come in.”

  Silently, she stepped into the water until it was up to her breast, and then she let the soft, lapping tongues of water carry her over to where beckoned the strange man with his penetrating eyes.

  “Rhythion,” she said at last.

  Rhythion’s strong arms tightened around her naked torso. His hands bit into her flesh and she gave a little cry although she liked his strength. She liked his roughness.

  His hair was wet and obscured his face. She smoothed it out of her way and found his lips, touching them with her own. Not knowing what compelled her, she touched her tongue to the seam of his mouth, begging to be let in. His mouth was warm and wet and opened to her tongue eagerly. Enraptured with the kiss, she slid her naked body closer to his, letting her legs wrap around his chest so that she could kiss him even more deeply. It was delicious. Nothing in the world could interrupt it—not the prince, not the promise of a royal marriage. Not even the thought of King Blethen.

  Still buried in the kiss, Rhythion began running his hands down her submerged thighs with such vigor that Gwythn opened her mouth and gave a little gasp. She loved his manly force. She loved his strength. She longed for more of it, although a part of her, a dim part of her mind was still afraid.

  “I’ve never—” she tried to say, “Never—”

  “Never what?” Rhythion whispered. His firm stalk grazed Gwythn’s belly, just above her center, tempting her. She ached with so much desire that the contact brought tears to her eyes.

  “Oh heavens,” she whispered, “Oh heavens. I want you inside. Please.”

  For Gwythn it was as though she was not even speaking, but that the words were coming from some place very deep within her, a place usually concealed by the camouflage of her daily social obligations. Now it’d revealed itself in all of its impossible power.

  Still kissing Gwythn, Rhythion drew his stalk across her belly once again, this time, letting it linger. Gwythn clawed his hair and his back, desperate for more of him.

  One hand gripping his hair while her tongue worked inside his mouth, the other plunged underwater and boldly grabbed his stalk and moved it closer. Rhythion gave a grunt and grinned.

  With him there, just a fraction of a centimeter away, Gwythn rotated slowly forward, pulling him inside her. Everything in her body seemed to open for him. Every part of her body was concentrated in the contact between them. Only once, years before while playing with a friend, had she touched a stalk, but she’d never had one inside.

  She kissed him and moved her thighs forward, working him deeper and deeper in. It was unbelievable how far he could go, and unbelievable how much of him she could hold. She could take all of him. She wanted all of him.

  Faster her thighs rotated, swirling the water around them. Her kisses became rougher, became a fight with him for control. She bit his lip and tasted blood, and his thick tongue fought her back with delicious force.

  “Oh heavens,” she arched as her body was brought to climax. She wanted to take Rhythion with her—to the pleasure she felt ricocheting through her body. She grabbed his hair and pulled to steady herself and he didn’t seem to mind. Her hands went further down, to his back where she hugged him fiercely as he pushed more inside her.

  But gripping him there, hugging him dearly, she felt a strange knot in his back, like the hollow of an old oak tree.

  Slowly her senses returned. She fell away slowly and let him fall out of her, but she kept her hands on the strange knots, probing and feeling. Now, the power of his eyes seemed to diminish and she was no longer spelled and she had control again. What she’d begun to see before she was mesmerized returned with dizzying clarity. There was something wrong with him. Something inhuman. The knots gave a little twitch. And then, they grew.

  Gwythn screamed, leaping away and swimming with all her energy towards the shore as if a serpent had embraced her. She threw herself onto the shore and then, feeling stupidly vulnerable, yanked her dress over her head, as if the garment could offer protection.

  She heard mocking laughter from behind, and then felt a cold blast of air.

  “Oh, you devil!” she shouted. “What have I done? How could I?”

  Another gust of cold air, and there was a little thump. Rhythion had come down from the air. Looking at him, Gwythn was struck with the most horrible sight in her life. There stood Rhythion, a delighted smile on his face, body hunched: a fortress of muscle, and yet from his back protruded wings. Ugly, membranous, yellow bat wings, folding themselves back into the smooth knots she’d mistaken for a cloak.

  “Why me?” Gwythn broke into sobs and collapsed to her knees. “Why did you choose me?”

  “Come on now,” Rhythion laughed, tugging on a pair of trousers. “It was fun, wasn’t it?”

  “You’re a monster! You lured me! It’s all your fault!”

  “You found me, princess,” he said. “And from your expression, I thought that you enjoyed it.”

  “You drugged me!” Gwythn covered her wet face with her hands to try and hide her sobs. “How can I marry Prince Alwen now?” Her voice was thick with tears. “It’s all ruined. Everything is ruined because of you!”

  “Here,” Rhythion gave her the shirt he was about to put on so she could dry her tears. She took it without looking at him. “Your fairy doesn’t have to know about what happened.”

  “How could I keep it from him?” Gwythn cried. “You’re a shifter! An enemy of the kingdom! I have to denounce you!”

  “You think you’re going to denounce me?” Rhythion said blandly. “As a Fugitive? With what evidence? Before what jury?”

  “I saw your wings!”

  “These things?” Rhythion looked over his shoulder where the wings had been a moment before. They’d completely disappeared.

  “Why do you want to denounce me, anyway?” he said with genuine curiosity. “Maybe I’ve been a bit sarcastic in the past, but do you think that means I ought to lose my head?”

  “Because you’re a devil,” Gwythn said. “And we need to clean the realm of creatures like you.”

  “Clean the realm,” Rhythion laughed. “Well if that’s your plan, maybe you should start where the taint is the thickest.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—kill off the most dangerous and conspicuous dragons before going after the harmless ones just trying to live their lives, if you’re really intent on destroying us all. Why, you had your chance today to do the job. He was sitting up on that stage with me the entire time.”

  “Don’t you dare talk blasphemy against The Redeemer—”

  “Oh, come on!” Rhythion said passionately. “Wake up, princess! Your hero’s a tyrant who’s worked so hard to kill off all the dragons because he doesn’t want
anyone to know he’s one himself! Why do you think he spends almost all his time locked up in that castle? Why do you think he’s been so reluctant to let his sons marry? Because they’re monsters as well! A whole family of monsters!”

  This was true. No match had ever been arranged for the king’s two older sons.

  “But Prince Alwen—”

  “The Fairy. Maybe he didn’t get the dragon seed in him when it was going around hot. He had a different mother, after all.”

  “This is all blasphemy!” Gwythn waved the issue aside. “The prophecies. The histories—they all point to the coming of the Savior. It was prophesied that he’d be sent from the Nine Heavens to destroy the infestation and lead us to salvation. He’s been touched by the Creator himself!”

  “Forgeries,” Rhythion said passively. “Not even good forgeries. I could have written them myself. The language sounds fake from the first sentence. Your king had them drawn up as an excuse to hold power over his kingdom. He’s faked his entire reign, and he’ll fake the reign of his princes too. It’s a dangerous move, princess, to mistake tyrants for saviors.”

  “He’s not—” Gwythn began, but at that moment she heard a low growl. “Fafiny, what are you doing?” The dog was growling at something a short distance away, and then it opened its mouth and howled. A form sprang out of the trees and dashed away. The prince.

  “What are we going to do?” Gwythn was frantic. “He thinks we’re together! Oh God! I’ll be denounced as an accomplice to a Fugitive!”

  But Rhythion did not see her. He stood stock still, eyes closed as though in deep meditation. Suddenly, his mouth opened and he let forth a sound that was a cry neither human nor animal. A sound of thunder.

  His wings sprang out to their full span—at least twenty feet. His head twitched and as Gwythn watched him he seemed to grow in volume like a child rapidly aging. He became twice, three times his normal size. His fingers curled, grew long and became claws. His skin glowed, became like ice, and then grew dark and hard and leathery. Horns sprang from his forehead and became at once formidable and deadly.

  Then he gave a great leap, and before Gwythn knew what had happened he was in the air, wings beating furiously forward.

  He’s going to kill the prince! She dashed in the direction of the fleeing figure. But Rhythion was there before she was. He came down low, wings swooping, mouth snarling with flames.

  The prince made a feint but Rhythion spread his wings wide, forming a wall. Alwen was on the ground a moment later collapsed to his knees and cupped his hands, supplicating the dragon.

  “I won’t—I won’t—!” he said but couldn’t get out the rest of the sentence.

  “No,” the dragon snarled. The voice was not human. “I don’t think you will.”

  Two clawed feet stomped closer to the collapsed, trembling body. Rhythion’s mouth snapped open. Rows upon rows of razor teeth gleamed.

  “No!” Gwythn screamed. “Rhythion! You can’t!”

  The dragon’s head turned suddenly and faced her, eyes fiery. “I can’t?” the voice rumbled. “I think I will.”

  Breathless, Gwythn collapsed at the feet of the dragon, hugging them to her breast without giving any thought of danger to herself. “You’re not a monster, Rhythion!” she cried. “You’re not a monster! You don’t have to do this!”

  “I want to do this.” One foot lunged forward. Gwythn held tightly to the other.

  “Then you will kill me with him,” she said through her tears. “I will die with my husband.”

  The prince scrambled back on all fours, away from the danger of the leering dragon fangs. His skin was already as pale as snow, but now his face looked like a dead man’s.

  “I don’t want you kill you.” Now the voice had changed. There was a human quality in it again. It was not the steel cold voice of a heartless monster, but the voice of a man who was coming out of his anger back into rationality.

  “Please Rhythion,” Gwythn sobbed. “Let him go. He has no other witnesses. They will not condemn you on the authority of one. Please Rhythion. Please…”

  Gwythn buried her head in the dragon’s foot and lost herself in sobs. She was unaware of any time passing around her, of any presence but that of Rhythion.

  The moments stretched into minutes. Then she felt the leg beneath her hands begin to grow warm and soft.

  And then, Rhythion was returning to his flesh. The luster of his body was gone, along with its steel-edged hardness. There was no sign of wings. Even his eyes had lost their blaze. He stood, hunched and weary, captured in her embrace.

  “Never, never,” whispered Rhythion. Gwythn still shook with sobs. “Nobody has ever done that to me before,” he said, breathless and unbelieving. “Gotten me out of the element.”

  He bent his head down and looked at Gwythn. “I just want you to know, princess, you’ve entered a world of trouble.”

  *

  By nightfall, most of the sounds of merriment had died away. Drunken revelers still paraded through the streets, the songs of the country on their wine-wet lips. But even their voices could not disturb Gwythn as she lay in bed, strange thoughts mixing in her head like storm clouds.

  Everything had been so different this morning. Her life had such promise. She had been the daughter of an Architect. Now, she was protecting a Fugitive. And yet, it was worse than that, for a strong feeling had awoken deep within her—a feeling she had never felt before, not even when the idea of marrying Prince Alwen had given her such joy. A feeling of desire. Desire for Rhythion.

  Even now she could hear his voice, could feel his hands on her, could feel the intensity of his eyes scorching her as if they were staring at her now through her open window. Almost a physical intensity, as near to her as if his presence as her own beating heart.

  Oh Heavens. Grant me strength.

  The sounds of the world swirled about her: the flap of the wind, disturbing her hair but not her thoughts.

  A thick, muffled sound came from somewhere far away. She rose by instinct, and followed where it led.

  *

  Artyr was sitting with his pipe by the dying fire when he heard the knock against the door. Revelers with no place to go, he thought as he rose to answer it.

  But it was not a band of revelers he found.

  In an instant, a hand pinned him against the wall like a doll. Three figures masked in dark armor flooded into the house. The fire threw their shadows on the walls: horrible, dancing shapes.

  “What is this?” Artyr asked, dazed. “What’s happening?”

  Dimly, he saw blazing from their breastplates Blethen’s insignia: a dragon, mouth opened in a scream and a spear piercing through from mouth to tail.

  “Artyr—Esquire,” a voice said from behind the visor of its helmet. “You are hereby under arrest for assisting a Fugitive. Justice will be done in the name of King Blethen the Redeemer.”

  “A Fugitive?” the old man stumbled over the word. “I know nothing about this. I have done nothing.”

  But the soldiers ignored him. They were a flurry of movement stripping the house, throwing over the carefully arranged furniture, ripping open his chairs, tearing the embers from the grated fire.

  “Have I done something wrong?” his voice was weak and pitiful. “What’s happening?”

  “The details of your crime will be made known to you at the trial,” the voice went on. “But now you will tell us where we can find your daughter.”

  “My daughter,” he whispered. “My daughter has done nothing! My daughter is innocent!”

  Anything more he might have said was silenced suddenly by a thick punch in his stomach. Artyr doubled over, gasping, but the hand held him tight. The man who’d struck him looked almost bored. This is impossible. Artyr thought. What world is this? How can you hit a man without anger?

  Then another voice spoke, twisted by the visor. “Upstairs, milord.”

  “My daughter is innocent!” Artyr fought a cry out from behind the hand holding him. But his prot
ests were no use. The soldiers were already tearing upstairs, and then there was a loud crash and muffled shouts.

  “She’s done nothing!”

  Another moment and the soldiers were back downstairs. Gwythn was not with them.

  “She is not here, milord,” the soldiers reported.

  “Let him go,” the man in command said. “I can sense he’s telling the truth—he knows nothing. The King would rather he be spared, for his talent is great.”

  Artyr’s head sank, partially in relief, partially in fear. Accomplice to a Fugitive, the thought sank into his mind with horrible clarity. Oh my child, what have you done?

  *

  The air was clear and cold, and the trees so dense that the blackness of the night seemed even blacker than Gwythn had ever seen it before. They’d made it to the woods, to the very lake where that afternoon Gwythn had learned Rhythion’s terrible secret.

  “I need to rest,” she tugged at the arm that led her.

  Rhythion saw the exhaustion in her face and agreed. They stopped at the edge of the lake where above the waters a dense fog curled and curtained, white as cloud. She sank to the ground and immediately wanted to sleep.

  “We cannot rest long,” Rhythion cautioned. “They will be here soon. We must keep going.”

  “I cannot take another step. I feel like I could die here.”

  “You’ve had a shock. But you must fortify yourself. You must become stronger. You will never survive otherwise.”

  “You don’t understand. How could you understand? You’re a dragon.”

  “But I can feel you,” he said. “Even now, I feel you. Your exhaustion is mine. We share it now. All that you are—your fears, your desires, your fate—they are mine to bear. Your humanity is mine.”

  “Then give me something of yours,” she pleaded. “If you will share me, then I must share you. If we are in this together—then we must belong to each other. It cannot be just me who belongs to you. Please, Rhythion.” Her voice was naked and weak.

  “Something of mine,” the dragon whispered. He came closer to her, held her in his arms. “If you have the strength, if you can bear it as I can bear you, I will do what you say. But it will not be easy. You will have to learn. Do you have the strength? Do I ask too much?”