by Mima
Willow shook her head, her tower of salt-and-pepper hair swaying. “No, my queen. We had a no fraternization policy before, but there is nothing to lose by meeting with them. What gains they could bring us would first be mostly in terms of safety, but I’m not sure what else.”
Nodding, Charlotte bid her to fetch their visitor.
Gjertrud clattered up the staircase from the modern lounge done in chrome and glass. Charlotte smiled. That meant she’d made him walk the long way, to show off a bit of their new burrow.
Ivor entered, and despite her resolve, Charlotte had to remind herself to breathe. He was in a dark gray suit, with a gorgeous orange tie the exact shade of her hair. She crossed her knees, forcing herself not to adjust her suddenly aching breasts in the tight corset.
Gjertrud settled at attention inside the entrance, decorated with a simple leaf motif in gilt paint. Her golden armor matched it, the full plate giving off a quiet gleam instead of a radiant shine due to its intense age. Her gaze stared off into the distance. Everything about her said I am not going to participate but I am not going anywhere.
Charlotte remained seated as Ivor stopped in the middle of the rust-colored rug. “Queen Charlotte.” He bowed.
She’d been trained in the nuances of bows, and this one meant he was not submitting but paying her deep respect. “Alpha.” She answered his title with another . . . and no bow.
Her nipples were so hard they’d elongated and darkened. The chain shimmered with the force of her beating heart. But she held her body still, held his gaze. His nostrils flared, his jaw clenched. This one had more than pride. He was made to rule, as she was. Too bad for him he was just a werewolf.
She didn’t want to engage in a dominance stare. She’d like to look down at a fruit slushie and be shy, let him take the lead. But when a drugged young woman with no protector had faced down evil, she’d taken hold of power that came with responsibility. So she held his blue-on-blue stare. She held it with no intention of breaking away, even if they stood here like scarecrows for a month. Her magic coiled between her lungs like a silver snake, ready, awakening.
It didn’t take that long. Perhaps ten minutes later, Ivor tucked his head in and clicked his heels. His fingers brushed his brow, and he went down on one knee. “The Euro Wolf Pack seeks a truce, Queen Charlotte.”
His posture was a significant compliment. But a truce with a group they were not at odds with was a mere formality. Something that could have been done via Skype, really.
“Sure.”
He lifted his head. His face was carefully blank.
She liked that. He was a strong man and a good ruler. Standing, he seemed to not know what to do, so she helped him out. “The Fairy Kingdom agrees to a truce with the Euro Wolves.”
He stepped forward, and Gjertrud rattled in her corner. Since she stood a half foot taller than he, the rattle wasn’t that quiet. He stopped. Grimaced. “I’m glad the present is our focus. The past need not live on.”
Yes, he was being so careful. How mad was she that he’d tossed her aside and punted her at that cloaked bitch? She toyed with her chain, winding it around her finger. She’d been afraid. He hadn’t been patient. He’d found someone to escort her, when he actually hadn’t needed to. He’d been so big and beautiful, dangerous and strange in his passion. Charlotte decided she would forgive him.
She wasn’t that woman anymore, flopping awkwardly under freedom and fate. She was a queen who had had too many lovers to count . . . if one counted only those who touched her as opposed to those whose pleasure she triggered. On that first trip to Ireland, she’d lost her virginity with a leprechaun who modeled for Calvin Klein. Her court had given her a base knowledge of pleasures of the flesh in Sedona. She’d experimented with several races in Maine. The vampire Ryder had finished her tutorials on the warm Floridian sands of Captiva.
Licking her lips, she let her gaze roam down Ivor’s massive form, contained so cleverly in that fitted suit. Rick had had a mate, and she hadn’t yet had a werewolf. Standing, she sauntered past him to the liquor shelf, where she poured a generous Grand Marnier. She spun to see him appreciating the way the flat-fronted corset presented her ass. She walked up to him. Making sure she held the glass in her left hand as she sipped to feature her ring, she rolled the rich taste on her tongue. His gaze admired all of her, direct and confident.
“Will you stay for dinner?” she asked softly.
His lids lowered as if she’d offered to fuck him . . . which she supposed she had. “The Queen must be advised that I have commitments that prevent me from settling in New York for a sustained visit.”
He certainly thought a lot of his prowess. “I asked you to dinner, not to move in.”
Charlotte walked over to Gjertrud, tracing one finger down the center of her breastplate. “Go to dinner, my friend. Tell them we’ll be eating in the harem.”
The Valkyrie left after one warning glare at the Viking. Maybe after she was done tasting him she’d send him Gjertrud’s way. That would be a coupling worth watching.
Paused on the stairs, Charlotte looked back at the man still standing in the center of the room. Flicking her fingers in a curling motion, she summoned him. His jaw tightened, but he prowled after her.
You’ve reached the
PURPLE ENDING.
✦
Click on this link to return to the Choice Index.
Dare to decide again!
Ivor tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and continued on toward the dance floor. A couple too tall and thin for human proportions swayed past. Then a man with long, dagger-tipped fingers lurched along, the beautiful woman held so carefully in his arms moaning rapturously as if in the middle of a sex act instead of an awkward hobble.
Ivor stepped into the gap behind Edward Scissorhands. Charlotte’s hands landed in classic waltz position, one on his shoulder and one outstretched in his firm grasp. His thighs pressed into hers, and she shifted back against the aggressive stride. His grip on her back and pull on her hand worked her like a puppet. Charlotte tossed through the air, molded to him, landed in step, found his sliding pattern, and followed his strength. It was glorious—fast, sensual, intimate, and fresh. She stared up into the deep azure of his gaze.
“What’s happening?” She was breathless, because he never slowed for a minute, and she needed all her strength to keep up with him.
“I’m showing you your world.” He pulled her in tight and spun with her, pivoting perfectly in a whirl. “I think for the first time, yes?” His face was serious, that big Viking jaw tight. “Did you really not know what you were, where you were, young Charlotte?”
She realized her jaw was gaping open and snapped it closed. “This is not a drug.”
“It is not. You are a fantastical.” He dipped their arms and moved them into the flow of another set of couples. Round and round they went, bodies swaying perfectly. “We are magic.”
The word fell like a chain around her neck. Gram and her stories. All her stories, all her whispers about her own grandparents who had made her promise to stay off the water, to never sail, never even glide in a canoe. “What is a foxfire?”
“You. A siren. A dark fairy. A lure and confusion. Your power comes from the moon and the water.” His hand at the small of her back flexed. “Your power of suggestion borders on mind control, but you’re strongest when you seek sex. Your kind has been luring men to their doom for centuries. People of the marshes story your skills, while travelers are your typical prey.”
She looked off to the side, saw a woman in the crowd talking seriously to a nodding, shaggy black pony. “So, when you said you were a wolf . . .”
“I’m a shapeshifter.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I have excellent stamina. In all things.”
A woman burst out in raucous laughter next to them. Charlotte caught only a glimpse of a tangle of snakes writhing o
n the woman’s head before she said firmly, “Stop.”
He didn’t, instead maneuvering them through the lanes of dancers. When they exited the intricate crowd, he dropped his hold. She stood at the edge, hands pressed to her aching sides, chest billowing. A line of sweat formed under her braid, and her heart thundered harder instead of steadying.
Everywhere her gaze landed, there was some strange thing, some fantasy image, some too-perfect-for-Hollywood bizarre scene. She turned on him. “How did you know I was one of you?”
He laughed that soft, sexy, confidant chuckle again. “How could any of us not know upon seeing you glowing, beckoning, ripe in the moonlight? You put out a call of sex, and even though Ryder noticed, too, I was the lucky one chosen.”
“Ryder? The black rascal?”
His lip curled on one side in a very canine way. “Yes. A good description. The better question is why didn’t you know? And who sent you here?”
“I was orphaned young, but Gram loved magic. She had so many stories. I know she would have told me if she knew. I chose this cruise at random, to celebrate her love of adventure. It’s just blind luck.”
Giving a European shrug, he murmured, “Luck is not to be discounted, but then there is the magic. Only fantasticals can find this deck. The rest of the ship is full of commons. Perhaps you were called.”
She thrust her hands into her hair. Pulling at the braided strands hurt, but she didn’t stop. Turning, she scanned the room restlessly. A woman with antennas. A young boy with angel wings. An old woman licking the hand of a man while he stood bored, drinking from a golden chalice that smoked.
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut tight. She was here to have fun. She was here for a small, pleasant adventure, along the lines of finding a pretty shell and trying a climbing wall. This was why Great-Great-Grandpa Josef told Gram to stay off the water?
“Here, now. Lovely foxfire, don’t cry.” His hand snaked around her, guiding her, protecting her from touching anyone else, over to a corner formed by a planter and the wall. He blocked the view of the room, bracing one hand on the wall, leaning in and nuzzling her cheek. His body smelled so good, his touch and attention so sweet. She angled her face up to his.
“I can’t do this.” The words were said from her mouth, but surprised her. She blinked up at him with wet lashes. “Can I?”
He drew back. That mental wall came down between them again. He didn’t approve, she knew, but he said mildly, “Only you can decide.”
She studied him. There was a small scar on one cheek. “You turn into a wolf.”
“I do. Gladly. Often.” He cocked his head. “But not during sex.”
The word doused her with cold. She shook herself, shivering.
He pushed off from the wall, sighed. “Are you leaving the ball, Charlotte? Are you not willing to test the magic, to taste the night as you wanted up on deck?”
Biting her lip, she willed her rubbery knees to lock. The crazy-good evening had turned plain crazy. But real. She thought perhaps the best thing would be to get away, alone, and think it all through.
But here was Ivor, the wolf-Viking, willing to be her partner. If she wanted to dance amid snake-haired, razor-fingered, purple-winged, sparkly freaks. The lily pad lounge had been so promising, normal and welcoming. Everything had been possible—but now the impossible had come true. She could go back there and take a breather.
Was she leaving or staying?
“The jet ski is so much faster!” She sat on the dock and hurled herself onto it with as much balance as she could muster.
He climbed on behind her, and the machine sank a bit but held. He turned a key, grabbed the handlebars, and twisted them.
“Ayeeeeee!” Her hair was braided for the day of sea and sun, but they went so fast her eyelashes threatened to blow off. She squinted toward the huge cruise ship in the distance, barely able to focus in the wind.
They bounced over the water like a skipping stone. A supersonic skipping stone. Her head rocked hard with each landing, then jerked back with each takeoff. It was too fast.
“What exactly do mermaids do to people?” she screamed back over her shoulder.
His answer was lost between his deep voice and the motor’s roar. He aimed straight for the ship. They were gaining on the slower tour boat. Then something wet and heavy hit them hard in the side.
The water closed over her head in a slap of surprise. The surface was a shimmer of light, but no matter how she struggled, something pulled her down. Twisting, she pried at the thing gripping her wrist. It was a gray woman with a dolphin tail.
A few yards away, Ivor fought like a, well, a wolf. His hands glinted with claws, and blood bloomed in the water. A new shadow zoomed out of the depths and ripped him away. Nothing was left but a puff of red, quickly dispersing, fading as the creature continued to pull Charlotte down.
Her first burst of panic faded into her second. Ivor! She stretched out a hand toward the distant surface and screamed for help. That’s when she realized she was breathing. She shook her head, amazed at the clear bubble of air that hovered around her face.
Prying at the claws that sank into her wrist, she worked with all her strength at loosening the creature’s grip. When she succeeded in shifting one finger, the woman paused, turned, and screamed in her face with a high-pitched series of squealing clicks. It wasn’t the scream that made Charlotte go limp with fear. It was the double rows of dagger teeth behind the woman’s lips.
A mermaid was supposed to be a gentle, shell-wearing songstress, not this furious gray-skinned bitch. She was supposed to have long, pearl-strewn hair, not a puff of otter fur, and she was supposed to have a shimmery fish body, not this muscular powerhouse of a dolphin fluke.
“Ivor . . .” The whisper seemed to make the woman swim faster.
The surface was a mere shimmer of color now, and pressure built into piling pain in Charlotte’s ears. Even if the woman let go, she’d never make it to the air.
Another dark gray body rushed past with a mesmerizing undulation, then another and another. One woman held a man’s leg. Another clasped an older woman whose arms were covered in deep punctures, trailing ribbons of black blood.
From below came a glow of shimmering white. It was like the moon had sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Choking on her fear, Charlotte moaned, her body pulled along by one hand, the water growing colder on her bare skin. They swam full force into the light. It was like being dragged through a shop window. Physical and sharp, her skin throbbed as her body resisted for a moment. Her head snapped back, and then they were in a dome. The water was lit as if day. Little fishes swam in cheerful schools among carved coral passages. She caught glimpses of rooms, furniture, even some sort of alien garden.
The mermaid slowed and stopped before a shadowed hole. With incredible ease, she thrust Charlotte in and slammed a metal grate on top. She locked it with a very normal-looking padlock. Thrusting her hand in between the bars made Charlotte cower back.
The water began to ripple and pulse, and she slowly understood the room was draining. Charlotte patted her hands around the wall. The coral was rough, like pumice. When her feet stood in a few puddles and the grid-door shone with silver squares like murky windows, the mermaid pulled her hand back, smiling in a wretched, evil way.
“Welcome, pet-t-t.”
Charlotte hugged herself, shivering deeply. “Where is Ivor?”
“The blond wolf?” Tossing her head back, she laughed, exposing her gills. “He’s in Leeani’s stomach, I’m sure.” Her smile wiped away. “This is where he belongs for invading our territory.”
Her knees folded, sending her crashing to the floor. “No!”
The creature shrugged, her sleek breasts uptipped with dark gray nipples. “A werewolf that powerful wouldn’t have made a good slave. Do as you’re told and perhaps we’ll free you in a year and a day. A little cleaning, a l
ittle physical labor, and you’ll earn a dinner.” With a snap of her clawed fingers, she swam away, shouting over her shoulder, “Pray for good hunting. Slaves are easy eating.”
Charlotte bowed her head, hands clutching at her aching ribs. Clenching her teeth against a deep cry of loss, tears burned down her cheeks.
A rusty voice came out of the darkness to her left. “Cry now. You’ve sunk into a hell that drinks every tear you have.”
She flinched back, landing on her ass. Half a gaunt face was revealed in a gap in the coral. Another person in the next cell. “What—w-where—” She broke off, unable to complete a thought, choking on her terror.
The face nodded. “A mermaid city. And you a slave, dependent on them for your air, your food. I saw them take away the last wave of slaves when I first came and knew to expect more since it was coming close to my time. Either they tell the truth and will take me back to the island, or I’ll be part of a feast.”
“You don’t know?”
The face disappeared. “I know many of the people I was taken with didn’t make the year. They’re harsh mistresses. And they like to play with their food.”
Sitting in the puddle, Charlotte rocked, clutching her elbows. Her eyes stung. “No. Ivor.”
“Yes,” rasped the voice softly. “Cry now.”
Charlotte did.
You’ve reached the
GRAY ENDING.
✦
Click on this link to return to the Choice Index.
Dare to decide again!
Her hands left his hair reluctantly. Bowing to his experience despite the powerful yearning, she sighed, stepping down beside him. “All right.” Then there was the issue that she wasn’t entirely sure how her magic worked, anyway.
Dabbling her fingers down the diagonal of his straining arm, she studied his erection. His hips were full of sculpted hollows where his molded abdomen met the strength of his thighs. His bush was wet, the hair doing nothing to hide the thick ridge of flesh that surged up and out.