Dreamwater

by Chrystalla Thoma

***

 

  Mara pulled Azer out into the cobbled street, his hand in hers burning hot. Maybe Riffa was dead — or maybe Riffa was alive and stronger than ever and would call Mara back to punish her for leaving.

  But for now there was only Azer.

  They needed a safe place to consummate the bond, skin on skin.

  As they walked, his flesh knitted, and his white skin flowed over the wounds, leaving no scars. Trying not to stare, she led him in the narrow streets of the city centre. A mortal leading a naked person by the hand was by now so normal nobody would even look twice. Anyone seeing them would know he was a shifter and she his keeper.

  Tenderness, lust and anger raged through her. “Why me, Azer? Don’t you know what I am?”

  “I do, I know. But the bond pulled me.”

  Gods of the underworld, she loved his voice. It trickled down her skin, inside her veins, made her warm in places she didn’t know were cold. “What do you mean?”

  “The bond was there before I met you. It called me to you.”

  “Nonsense.” But she wasn’t sure. Even incomplete, the bond had been stronger than her tie to the world of shadows, so strong she had broken free from the dead and rescued him. As if the bond had been growing inside her for a long time, not just a few days, the threads weaving, knotting, filling her. “How can that be?”

  “Anything is possible.” His hand tightened around hers. “Maybe you are more human than you thought.”

  Was that the answer? She entered the courtyard of an inn, got a room, and found it to be acceptable. The bed creaked when she sat down. “Riffa will shred my soul for this.”

  “Riffa isn’t above everyone.” He sat, placed an arm around her waist, and drew her close.

  For a lone wolf, he seemed quite fearless. “Who are you?”

  His lips branded her. She sought his mouth, kissed him. He tasted of blood. His hands reached under her blouse, pulled the knives out of her belt, the scimitar from its sheath across her back, laid them on the floor. He winked and tore her blouse off, leaving her in her leather straps. He cupped her like water, drank her like firebrand.

  The bond pulsed in her whole body, a need beyond physical. She needed to meld with him.

  When he tugged at her clothes, she slipped them off like old insect skin. Things were slipping out of her control. She had never had a man. But she needed him, would die if she didn’t have him.

  He pressed his pale body against hers. His ice-blue eyes found hers as he filled her up, making her sigh.

  The bond tightened like her body, tingled and throbbed, spilling from her mind to her chest to her belly. The mind link to Riffa began to ache like an old scar. The pleasure built inside her, feeding the bond. She trailed her hands on his naked chest, so white and strong.

  He growled. She looked up to his face and gasped. His hair rose in a blinding crest, and his fangs lengthened like some saber cat’s, arching down toward her.

  “Azer?” Her body shivered and cramped, then began to lose solidity. “What in the Shadows is going on?”

  Azer leaned over her, his oversized fangs inches from her face. “Feel the joining?”

  The bond burned and spread like burning liquid, filling her up. “What are you doing to me?” She knew she should panic, but he felt so good, like a part of her she hadn’t know was missing. She clutched at his hips. “Gods.”

  He laughed then, softly, and moved faster inside her.

  Mara gasped as her body broke into particles, losing solidity, and flowed against the sheets. Her link to Riffa buzzed. The pleasure still built inside her. How was that possible?

  He threw his head back and howled. She saw it then, the mark appearing on his chest, the crown. “You’re not a lone wolf.” She knew now who he was, and anger filled her. “You used me. You tricked me.”

  But she wanted him, wanted this.

  The king of the werewolves said nothing as her body flowed like a cloud around him, half-solid, half-liquid. His eyes closed. He pushed deeper, and the pressure inside her rose to a towering crest. She cried out when it broke, and she splashed like a wave, dissolving into pleasure.

  She had lost all control.

  And so did he. His essence spread inside her, hot, imbuing every particle.

  She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened. Her body tried to solidify again, to reform.

  But he was still inside her, and she couldn’t pull together.

  As he stared down at her, his eyes narrow, she realized she didn’t want him to leave her alone inside her body.

  He smiled then, as if he knew her thoughts.

  The bond filled her up like a glass, spilling over the edges. The pack’s will, the pack’s thoughts filled her mind. She smelled wet earth and rotten leaves and small animals burrowing in the ground. The full moon sent energy through her, made her skin tingle.

  Her link to Riffa and the Shadow world resisted, but the pack’s will was strong, their leader’s will was overwhelming, and it enveloped the link like a velvet sheath, quieting it.

  “You are mine,” he said and she knew it to be true. Relief, fear and anger warred in her.

  He left her body, and gave her a hand up.

  She sat, solidifying, not sure what she was now or what to do. “Why did you do this?”

  His fangs receded until his smile looked almost human. “Don’t you feel it? You are stronger now. I have woven my power within your body.”

  Mara stared at her hands, wondering if he told the truth. “Again, why?”

  She sought her connection to Riffa, and instead of the familiar ache, she found a window through which she could reach out, observe, and maybe… Maybe even control Riffa. She tugged her mistress’ link, then recoiled. Swallowing hard, she slammed the window shut.

  “You feel it, don’t you?” Azer bent over her. “You are stronger than Riffa. You can make her obey you.”

  Mara blinked. “Can I? She’s a ghoul queen now, she rules any shifter she chooses.”

  “Yes. And through you, I control her, and with her the shifters of the world.”

  Oh hells. He’d let all shifters loose, had even killed others of his pack, to lure her in, to reinforce the bond, to win total power. Twisted.

  “Riffa never thought I would come out to play the game myself.” He smirked. “Now I’m at the top.”

  Was Riffa now his pet? Laughter bubbled through Mara at the irony of it. “And what about my soul? What about my contract with Riffa?”

  He stroked her hair, a possessive gesture. His eyes flashed with amusement. “Your soul is safe. Your soul is mine.”

  That wasn’t reassuring in the least. “Wait.” Anger flared. “Am I your pet now, too?”

  He leaned closer until his lips all but touched hers. “Would you like that?”

  “Hells, no!” She’d been Riffa’s pet for far too long.

  He chuckled. “You are a conduit, and you are bound to me.”

  “And you to me, so what’s that supposed to mean?”

  He licked her cheek. It was only then she realized tears spilled from her eyes. “What would you rather be? A slave to the ghouls?”

  She shook her head, fought against despair and anger. Not a slave, no, not again. “It was a good plan, Azer. But you can’t control me. Let me go.”

  “I cannot do that, Mara.” He frowned. “I must control Riffa. The shifters are my subjects, I am responsible for them.”

  She should have known he’d refuse, but it had been worth a try. “I won’t be your slave.”

  “I promise I won’t make you do things you hate, Mara.”

  Not good enough. She took a deep breath, let it out. “You forced this on me.” He had toyed with her, had bonded with her, and, no matter how handsome he was, how warm, no matter if this bond freed her from Riffa’s contract, damn it, he had taken things out of her hands and way too far. Not again.

  “I’m strong, Azer, stronger than a mortal. I don’t trust you, I’ll fight you eve
ry step of the way, and you don’t want that from a shadow. Unless…” She looked straight into his ice-blue eyes and took a gamble. “Unless you wear my collar. I may trust your word then, work with you to control Riffa.”

  She waited, nails biting into her palms. Would he agree to have her as a keeper? He’d have to obey her to a certain degree, depend on her — a counterbalance to his control over her.

  He frowned. “The werewolf King wears no collar.”

  Mara balled her hands into firsts. “He will, now.” She wasn’t going to let him dominate her. Yet his strength drew her, she wanted to be his equal, nothing less. She had to try.

  He must have seen the determination on her face, because his eyes widened. “You are serious.”

  “You bet.”

  “You think you can control me?”

  She forced confidence she didn’t quite feel into her voice. “Watch me.”

  He snorted, then licked his lips and snapped his fingers. The bond tightened inside her, pushed her to her knees, then to her belly, to sprawl before him.

  Mara pushed back, grunting. The bond pressed her down like a hand of steel. She had to resist. The cold power of the dead gathered inside her. She sent it through the bond, pushed, and the pressure fell away. She jerked, and sat up. “My turn.”

  Ignoring his gasp of surprise, she reached out through the bond, and pulled him down before her.

  Azer’s eyes widened more. He pulled away, but his resistance was short-lived, and he knelt, bent forward until their noses touched. A touch of fear entered his clear gaze, then a spark of anger. “I cannot believe you are doing this.”

  She wanted to shout it out with joy, but her voice wheezed from the strain. “Believe it.” That was as far as she could bend him; his will, his power was just too strong. A stalemate.

  “I’m not a mortal, remember, I’m a half shadow. I’m not your pet, Azer.”

  His gaze softened, then amusement filled it, and pulled his lips into a grin. “No, I see that now. A half Shadow, keeper of the werewolf King. It is fitting.” He became serious, but his eyes still danced. “Yes. I shall be yours.”

  Mara let out a long breath. Through the bond, she felt the truth in Azer’s words, and something more, something warm like a caress. Not freedom, not independence, not dominance, but equal power, even affection. And that was more than she’d ever hoped for, dead or alive. “It’s a deal.”

  About the Author

  Greek Cypriot with a penchant for dark myths, good food, and a tendency to settle down anywhere but at home, Chrystalla likes to write about fantastical creatures, crazy adventures, and family bonds. She lives in Cyprus with her husband and her vast herds of books. Her stories can be found in Alienskin magazine, Lorelei Signal, the Shine Journal, Encounters Magazine, and Bards and Sages ezine i.a. She is also an author for MuseItUp Publishing where you can find her YA Urban Fantasy novella Dioscuri and has just published her YA science fiction novel Rex Rising.

  Here is the link to Chrystalla’s writing blog where you can find short stories, samples and link to other longer works:

  Blog: https://chrystallathoma.wordpress.com

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/chrystallathoma

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Chrystalla-Thoma/117863861560579

  I hope you have enjoyed Dreamwater.

  You may want to check out Chrystalla’s YA science fiction novel Rex Rising as well:

  Rex Rising

  Book One of Elei’s Chronicles

  In a world where parasites create new human races, Elei leads a peaceful life as an aircar driver — until a mysterious attack on his boss sends him fleeing with a bullet in his side. Pursued for a secret he does not possess and with the fleet at his heels, he has but one thought: to stay alive. His pursuers aren’t inclined to sit down and talk, although that’s not the end of Elei’s troubles. The two powerful parasites inhabiting his body, at a balance until now, choose this moment to bring him down, leaving Elei with no choice but to trust in people he hardly knows in a mad race against time. It won’t be long before he realizes he must find out this deadly secret – a secret that might change the fate of his world and everything he has ever known – or die trying.

  For links to Rex Rising and the other books of the series, click here:

  https://chrystallathoma.wordpress.com/rex-rising/

  Sample from Rex Rising:

  Wheezing, Elei took a faltering step before his knees gave way and the sidewalk rushed up to meet him.

  Hands grabbed him just in time. Still blinking at the cracked cement, he was lifted from the armpits and dragged into the building. Disconnected images teased his vision — doors opening into squalid interiors, red-rimmed eyes curiously staring as they passed, and then he was pushed through a double door. Elei tripped on the step, but the guards’ momentum carried him inside into a dark lobby.

  “Customer, Mr. Timmy,” announced one of them and Elei was deposited on a metal bench. The world blurred and pitched, and he gripped the edge of the bench.

  “Gods in the deep!” Timmy stood behind a scratched counter — a well-fed young man with rounded cheeks and belly. A lit ama cigarette hung from his lips. He wore a white, button-down shirt that looked expensive, despite the yellow stains on the collar. Business was good. “Damned brigands, shooting my customers on my own doorstep. Very bad for the image.”

  Elei looked down at his blood-drenched pants and didn’t bother to correct him. Let him think he’d just been shot. A moment of respite, of safety, that was all Elei wanted. His pulse beat in his head, in his throat, in his fingertips. If he felt safe, cronion would relax too and release its iron claws from inside his skull.