“I think like a mother.”
“Mother is mortal and you are neither.” Armond took no heed in his comment, aware that he was insulting his queen. But he was becoming annoyed at her improper behavior, and had no need to listen to such maudlin nonsense. He would never accept a free roaming human within their domain.
Gwyndolen’s head snapped to the side and she narrowed her eyes at Armond. Her body shook with obvious irritation as she pressed her lips into an angry pucker.
“I can not inoculate what seizes control in here.” The queen pounded a fist to her chest. “It is what it is.”
Armond sighed. “You are aware of our bylaws, Gwyndolen. No mortal may enter our midst unless invited.”
“Then I will bid her to come.”
The king’s lips twitched with amusement as he swiveled toward Gwyndolen. Cupping her beneath the chin, he tipped her face upward while at the same time bending his head toward her.
His tongue darted out and he ran it across her lips.
“And make her your paramour, Gwyndolen?” he murmured, a mocking edge in his voice. “A mortal is only invited to become a faerie’s lover.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m her mother!” Gwyndolen shoved Armond away, her action drawing a boisterous laugh from him.
Armond’s eyes sparkled in anticipation as the queen’s aura turned red. She was angry, but still aroused. Now, if only he could provoke her anger further, their love play would be delightful this eve.
Anger always incited the queen’s lust and she was quite a vigorous lover when she was in this state of mind.
“It wouldn’t be unheard of amongst our kind,” he said. “You might enjoy your daughter as such.”
Snarling, the queen lunged toward Armond and pressed her body up against him. She dug her fingers through his silky white hair, intent on ripping it from his skull. But instead, she curled her fingers around the back of his head and drew his mouth toward her, kissing him ravenously.
And then she jerked back her head, lifting suspicious brows. “You purposely rile me for a reason, don’t you, Armond?”
Her essence turned to a mix of pale yellow and gold as her emotions began to abandon her. But underlying that, a red glimmer still shone through, a mere wisp that peaked like a struggling flame, flaring and dissipating with her changing mood. “Now why might that be?”
Slipping his arms around her, Armond grasped her bottom and pressed Gwyndolen to him. Intent on fanning the flames he ground against her. He would take advantage of her amorous anger to satiate his carnal appetite.
Gwyndolen’s lids drifted shut.
“My king.” Throwing her head back, she arched in his arms, reveling in the hardness that was between his thighs.
Armond suckled her throat, and a subtle chiming sound emanated from Gwyndolen’s body as the auras of passion radiated around her.
She moaned her delight.
When next she opened her eyes, Gwyndolen saw that they were no longer alone. Someone stood behind her, the image upside down in her line of sight because of the position of her tossed back head.
It was human flesh, she could tell, by the skin exposed through his sandaled feet. And as her gaze stretched along his bare legs she stopped to appreciate his sinewy thighs before realizing that the figure was completely nude. Regardless of this, the queen continued to peer at him, taking in the luscious shape of his lean hips and the deliciously formed masculine gem between his legs.
She knew that gem. She knew that body well.
“Aori?” It was the name given to the seventh born of an Olympian god.
Armond stilled. “He is here?”
“Completely in the flesh.” The figure flashed a snide grin. “Well, almost completely.”
“Moros!” the king growled as he lifted his face away from Gwyndolen.
“May I join you?” Moros leered. “Looks like you’re having immense fun.”
In the most lewd of manners, he grasped his shaft and jiggled it.
Armond was peeved at the intrusion coupled with his annoyance for the fae known to wreak havoc wherever he stepped. Aside from that he had no need to see the Greek wiggling his cock. “What are you doing in our midst, fae?
Moros tipped his head askew his expression turning annoyed. “You still call me fae, Armond. I’m a god.”
“In your own mind, Aori. You are no less or more than we.” Armond stood upright, bringing Gwendolyn with him. Releasing her he stalked toward Moros. “On second consideration let me rephrase that. You are lower than we.”
“If you say.” Unbothered by the king’s taunt, Moros strolled to one of the chaise sofas and reclined to his side. “Though I’ll never agree.”
Drawing up a knee, he draped an arm over it, his presentation showing every bit of the arrogance he possessed. “How are you this millennium, Gwyn?”
He made no attempt to further acknowledge the king.
Beaming a smile, Gwyndolen sauntered to the chaise. “What brings you to us this time, lover?”
She lowered herself to the floor in front of Moros and then let her fingers run the length of his flesh from his calf to the crease at his thigh. “So warm, so mortal.”
Licking her lips, Gwyndolen turned a lustful eye on his face.
“You always did have a fetish for the human form.” Moros grazed his knuckles along her glowing cheek and then frowned when a linen loin suddenly appeared from nowhere and wrapped around his hips. His gaze snapped toward the culprit, Armond of course.
“Should you not be living a mortal life somewhere and causing misery to some poor, unfortunate human soul?” Armond said, now that he had the Greek fae’s attention away from Gwyndolen.
“The Olympian Origins have given me temporary reprieve from my chastisement.” Moros stretched his arms and yawned before resting them behind his head. “The faerie realm is a good place for a holiday. Don’t you agree?”
“No I don’t agree, at least not for you.” Armond rubbed his chin, wondering why the Origins would consent to such a retreat.
Moros had a penchant for continuously disrupting harmony in the universe, and the Olympian council found it necessary to hand down punishment to Moros by stripping him of his ethereal body and his magic. Though in essence he was still immortal, his life’s eternity was confined to that of human flesh, sentenced to be born, live and die as a mortal creature, over and over again in various dimensions, in various times. It was an existence none of their kind wished to endure, for death was a torturous experience for a fae—or a god, so they were called in some domains.
“They took pity on you?” Gwyndolen looked at him with surprise. It was a rare occurrence by the Olympians to allow respite for one put to shame.
Sitting upright, Moros’ demeanor became obviously tense. “Even the Origins cringed at my last human death endeavor.”
“Tell me,” Gwyndolen asked with utmost interest, ignoring Armond’s grunt of disapproval behind her.
“I was drawn and quartered.”
“A horrible death!” Gwyndolen pressed her finger to her chest bone.
“Likely a deserving death,” Armond snorted.
Gwyndolen ignored the king. “What did you do to deserve such a thing?”
“You need to ask, Gwyndolen?” Armond returned. “Obviously it was for treason.”
“Damn king. Not much of a sense of humor, that one. His daughter, however….” Pausing, Moros smirked as he scratched his temple. “Ah, never mind. Let’s just say it was no great enjoyment watching my own entrails being cut from my body and burned.”
“Ghastly!” Gwyndolen sucked in a breath. “Such barbaric, human behavior.”
“Ah, well, I can never predict what lot in a particular mortal life will pour down upon me. I do my best.”
“I would think by now you might’ve become wiser in the behaviors that have earned you such a fate, Moros.” Armond reclined in a chaise on the opposite side of the room, his demeanor emitting a nonchalant pose. With a wave of his hand
, a human appeared at his feet.
“I am who I am, Armond. How can I change that which is innate?” Moros studied the woman who sat submissively near the king. Clad in nothing but a sheer wrap, Moros took note of her lackluster eyes, her pretty face and her perky little breasts.
Humans invited across the veils eventually became mindless beings, though it appeared to be a contented state. Nevertheless, it was a detail all fae ignored when deciding whether to return the mortals home or keep them in the faerie domain.
But Moros believed it was better to live with blissful insanity in the faerie world than to be returned to earth and shunned by your kind as a mental basket case. This woman had obviously chosen to stay or wasn’t offered the choice. Nevertheless, her witless destiny was permanently sealed until she would come to meet her last day.
Sometimes it was good, Moros thought, that humans failed to live overlong and that death for them was a forever thing. Thinking about his own predicament, Moros sighed at the lack of permanence with each of the deaths he’d experienced. Always he was judged by the Olympian Origins and sent to live yet another mortal life and suffer yet another mortal death.
It was rather unappealing.
Moros watched as the pretty female smiled blandly and lifted her hand obediently to give Armond a drink she’d poured from the decanter at her side.
Taking the drink from his human lover, Armond focused on the sparkling liquid in the cup before sipping it. He then set it aside, his attention returning to the Greek fae.
“Are you still here?” the king said with annoyance. Gwyndolen was caressing Moros’ cheek, and seemed quite engrossed in the deed.
Armond’s lip twitched slightly. Maybe he was a tad bit jealous of his queen’s fancy with the creature. But it was more likely that he was irritated with Moros’ mere presence, for he was sure that the Greek faerie would somehow manage to disrupt the serenity in the faerie.
The king wanted Moros gone. “Here is not the place to seek your reprieve.”
With a swirling of his hands, Armond began the chant that would cast Moros away, but Gwyndolen interceded.
“Wait!” she said, standing abruptly. Stretching out her arms, she stepped in front of Moros as to shield him. “I have a thought.”
Armond halted his banishing spell and winced. Gwyndolen’s thoughts were typically not thoughts at all, but plots—plots that would bring him grief. “Gwyndolen, what scheme is churning in your mind now?”
Looking at Armond, Gwyndolen’s lips turned up into a grin and her eyes gleamed with a satisfied sparkle.
The king waited apprehensively for her to complete her so-called thought, knowing without a doubt he was going to object to it.
“My daughter, Fallon, she needs to come home.” Gwyndolen turned toward Moros.
Groaning, Armond shook his head. Truly, he thought the subject was closed.
“How does that involve me, my favorite queen?” Scratching the back of his neck—damn human flesh, it always seemed to itch somewhere—Moros wondered how Gwyn’s idea would include him, for it was acutely apparent by the manner in which she was gazing at him that the queen intended on his participation.
“Armond has made it perfectly clear that Fallon, who is of mixed breed, must catch the eye of a fae to be brought to our realm.”
Moros bolted upright. “Surely you don’t mean me, fair queen?”
Whether she was half-blooded or not, he lacked the desire for a human lover. After tasting plenty of females in the many mortal lives he’d been ordered to exist in, Moros had grown quite bored with human women. He had come to the midst to enjoy the lusts of the fae.
“Do you listen with only partial hearing, Gwyndolen?” Armond asked. “As I have told you, her human half would suffer amongst our kind.”
Gwyndolen smiled. And in a near float, she glided across the palace floor.
Keeping her back to both of them, she stared at the now thinning veils to the human world and said, “Not if Moros keeps her while she trains. My daughter would then be safe from becoming prey to our others. He could forbid all from touching her.”
“No,” Moros protested. Training a faerie properly could take centuries, if the half-breed lived that long, and he refuse to be shackled to a female for such a lengthy time. It would ruin all of his holidays.
A bellowing guffaw burst from Armond’s mouth, knowing the Greek would never agree. At his mocking laugh, the queen spun to face him and glowered. After only a short moment, however, her expression softened and again she smiled, her gaze shifting to Moros. “You are handsome and enticing.”
“Yes, I am,” Moros agreed. “But the answer is still no.”
Gwyndolen ignored him. “And though it’s contrived, being part in the human flesh as you are right, Fallon would be more at ease in accepting your offering.”
“No,” Moros repeated once again, this time louder.
As if he had said nothing, the queen continued. “I can think of no other who would be more appropriate to bring her home to me.”
Snorting, Moros reclined onto the chaise again. He decided on a different approach. “And what makes you think I would concur?”
“Immortality, my handsome, Greek fae,” Gwyndolen answered. “The complete return of your ethereal body.”
Armond’s eyes widened. “No.”
If Moros agreed, the king would be doomed to be in his presence for eternity hereafter. Trouble would abound. His life would become miserable.
With limited interest, Moros smirked. He didn’t believe Gwyn was capable of superseding a spell cast by a Greek deity. In fact, he knew she wasn’t. “And please tell, Gwyndolen. How would you accomplish such feat?”
“Demeter owes me a very large favor.”
That caught Moros’ full attention. Demeter was the Origin who convinced the Greek Olympians that the horrible spell he’d been despising for centuries was a fitting punishment for his offenses—not that Moros thought any of his actions could be viewed as misdeeds.
What did it matter that he let loose the dark spirits in the Alderian galaxy which resulted in one of the solar system’s sun imploding? The inhabitants on the nearby planet were nothing but disgusting, brainless little cretins anyway. And he was justified with his attempt to overpower an entire world, bringing down the demise of thousands of peoples. The planet belonged to him. It said so in their Book of Edicts.
“You believe that in your name, Demeter might concede?” Moros finally asked, his interest peaking.
“No,” Armond answered, standing to his feet.
“I am completely certain.” Gwyndolen ignored the king. Well, she wasn’t completely certain, but it was a possibility. “Let me repeat, she owes me.”
“No!” Armond started forward, but there was a pull on one of his legs that stopped him.
“I would have my ethereal body returned?” Moros questioned to verify the queen’s previous offering.
“Of course.”
“No!” Armond said a bit louder.
“And my magic?” Euphoria arose in Moros at the thought.
“I would plead for all of it,” Gwyndolen answered. “In fact, I can grant you limited magic while you’re tending to my requested task.”
“Will you allow it to remain as long as I’m on reprieve?” This was getting better and better.
Gwyndolen tapped a pensive finger against her lips. “Yes.”
“I’ll do it!” Moros agreed.
“No, you can’t!” Armond looked down at his leg. His human lover was gripping his limb. He attempted to walk forward, but she didn’t let go.
Moro’s snorted at the king’s limping gait as he attempted to drag the clinging female along the floor. Somehow it diminished his typically formidable persona. “I can and I will.”
“Off!” Armond flapped a hand at his human slave as he bellowed his command.
The woman vanished.
Beaming with faerie delight, Gwyndolen’s aura sparkled around her. “Superb!”
�
��Gwyndolen, you must reconsider,” Armond begged her.
“The deal is done!” With an upward swing of Gwyndolen’s arms, Moros began to fade.
He disappeared within a cloud of glimmering dust and all Armond could do was groan with worry. This surely couldn’t bring any good.
Chapter Three
“Aimin’ on catchin’ a fae’s eye, Kane?” Cullen snickered at his friend. He leaned back on his elbows trying to get more comfortable on the grassy hillock where they sat.
Always a man to challenge danger or fate, Kane held the whitethorn in front of him and examined his weave. “Nay.”
He returned Cullen’s snicker.
“Then why do ye fashion the whitethorn wreath instead of the rowan, which repels the faeries away?”
“‘Tis me favorite wood,” Kane stated simply. “The flowers are one of the first ta bloom during the growing season, and ‘tis said the boiled leaves make a tea that brings peace to a man’s soul. ‘Tis also the best wood for the fire, burnin’ hot and bright.”
“Aye,” Cullen agreed. “But also attracts the fae who seek mischief during Bealtuinn.”
Kane smirked. After witnessing the horrors of battle, no simple faerie could shiver his bones. “I will save it for Samhuinn then, when the faeries are more biddable.”
“But ye look through the sprig now. A dangerous thin’.”
“‘Tis still the light of day, Cullen. The fae will no’ seek prey until the eve hours arrive when the fires have been lit.”
Stretching out his arms fully, Kane continued to gaze through the wreath’s opening, framing the various villagers in the market area below as they scampered about, making ready for the Bealtuinn feast. He smiled at some of the antics going on—woman and men in flirtatious teasing, children playing their pranks. There was even a rhymester reciting his doggerel, entertaining the crowd that gathered round.
Moving the ring to the edge of the village, Kane caught sight of the two pyres being prepared for the season’s sacred rituals.
Suddenly his view was obscured.
Kane’s lips parted, his heart thumped as he blew out a slow breath. He was unprepared for the vision that stepped into his sight.
Passions of the Flame Page 2