Changeling: Prelude to the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  She leaned forward to kiss him again and was stopped by his firm pale hand on her arm, confused disappointment washed over her fine features.

  He could not believe what she was offering. A part of him cried out in sorrow that despite everything come this evening he would most likely never see Tarian again. But to be touched, to be wanted in a way that he was told would always be denied to him offered a glimmering of hope. “I – I –” he stammered.

  Understanding filled her eyes. “I trust you.”

  This time when she leaned forward, he welcomed her kiss. No one had ever said those words to him before. No one trusted him so openly, and believing her he opened himself to his growing desire for her that was unlike any hunger he had felt before.

  Tongues touched and caressed each other and then pulled away as lips trailed kisses along his jaw and then down his throat. Sensation exploded through him causing him to writhe and gasp as she teased his great vessel. The touch sparked his sleeping hunger, but it was still not supreme in his desires.

  Suddenly her lips were gone from his neck and he looked down at her. She smiled back, her hair cascading around her face as she slowly administered gentle kisses down his chest, gently teasing one nipple erect with a soft moist tongue and then the other. Lightning shot through him and he groaned wanting more, trusting her as she trusted him and closed his eyes at her ministrations.

  Gently, methodically she kissed his chest, then down to his abdomen, leaving a cool trail in the dissipation of heat. He did not open his eyes when he felt her move the blanket off of him, revealing him completely to her. He did not have time. White fire encapsulated him and he stiffened as she took him into her mouth.

  He shuddered at the touch, wanting more. He never knew it could be like this, especially since he grew up with the expectation he would never have it as no one would want to be with him in this way. Gripping the bedding beneath him he arched his back, trying in vain to catch his breath. Every time he thought he managed, Tarian did something new to send shocks of pleasure racing up and down his body.

  He wanted more. He wanted to consume her, to make him his and a small part of his mind knew that it was not just the hunger making itself more known. He wanted Tarian, as she seemed to want him. No one had ever wanted him with such desperate need and he allowed himself to fall into it, to ride it, to allow his own need to rise.

  Unexpectedly all sensation disappeared and he opened his eyes to find Tarian removing her dress in one fluid motion over her head, tossing the green fabric to the floor. Sitting beside him, her breasts large and round, she leaned over and this time he brought her to his lips, greedily entering her mouth. He was rewarded with a soft sigh.

  Tarian shifted, almost disconnecting from the kiss, until she straddled him. The sound of her racing heartbeat and her heat sent his head swimming. Her body pressed his. Sweeping her hair away from her face, she found what she was looking for and then she moved down and sat up, impaling herself on him.

  Crimson eyes snapped open as her pulse raced through his body and her soft wet heat threatened to consume him. When he thought he could not experience any more pleasure, she moved.

  Hunger for her body and hunger for her blood rode the waves as she rode him, her breath coming in short gasps. They moved together, eyes locked on each other. His pale hand reached for her breast, feeling the full firmness and he wanted to do to her what she had for him. Carefully, so not to aggravate his injured arm, he sat up, his good arm around her back and was rewarded with a gasp as he reached as deep as he could go.

  This time his lips found hers and she opened them willingly, welcoming him in. He wanted to drink, but he did not want to hurt her. Following down the front of her neck, to avoid the pulsating vessels in her neck, he leaned Tarian back, supporting her with his embrace until he found what he wanted. Her areola was large and dark. He could hear the pounding of her heart. Hungrily he encapsulated the sensitive tissue and licked, teasing the hardening nipple and was rewarded by Tarian’s cry, her nails digging into his shoulders. Sweetness exploded into his mouth and he drank. It was not what he desired. He needed more.

  They moved together, faster to the rhythm of their heartbeats. The tense need to fulfill his desires grew, meeting Tarian’s. Finding each other’s mouths for a brief moment he could no longer resist the call of the pounding vessel at her neck.

  “Yes, now,” she cried out, seeming to know his needs, and he bit. Soft white flesh separated as he pierced with his sharpened teeth. This time he was rewarded with his desire. Liquid fire poured into him with each convolution that shuddered through the two of them, feeling his own throbbing release in time with hers. Her cry rang through him as she clutched at him. He so desperately wanted to suckle the vessel but he knew that would kill her.

  The rapture of their release came to an end and he reluctantly released her neck, lifting his face away from the quickly healing wound. Worried he looked into her glazed smiling face.

  Soft hands caressed both sides of his face and then she lightly kissed him, tasting her blood on his lips. On unruly legs, Tarian lifted herself off of him and sat heavily down on the side of the bed, hand to her head.

  “Are you alright?” he asked worried that he had taken too much of her blood.

  She turned, her smile radiant. “I’m more than alright.”

  He met her smile with his own as she leaned over to recover her clothing. He enjoyed watching the way the fabric floated down over her breasts, her slightly rounded stomach, and her full hips, to cover her completely. Tarian ran her fingers through her long wavy hair and sat back down beside him.

  “You’d better lie down and get some sleep,” she suggested, gently pushing him down to the bed and covering him with the blankets. “You start a long journey tonight and I think we’ve done enough to test the bounds of your healing.” Her sad smile said what did not need to be said and with a shared kiss Tarian rose to leave. Turning to look at him once at the drapery, tears glistened on her cheeks. Mouthing a thank you, she dipped around the tapestry and was gone.

  With a shuddering sigh, he turned onto his left side. Thoughts of what transpired between the two of them filled his mind. Closing his eyes and fighting back his own tears, he was surprised that he did not want to leave. He wanted to stay with Tarian.

  Sleep was long time coming and when it did he was unaware of Notus lying awake in the bed next to him.

  He barely had time to register Eira crying out “Bronwen, no!” before the impact drove the breath from his lungs and stole the sleep from his mind. Landing on his back, he snapped his eyes open to find that the world contained the brilliant smile of Eira’s daughter, her dark brown eyes hardly a hand span away from his own.

  “Yea! You’re awake!” she cried, pushing off of his chest to lounge on him, pinning his only good arm.

  Stunned at the awakening, he tried to sit up using his wounded arm as leverage. The pain brought him back down onto the soft bed. Bronwen took no notice of his grimace.

  “Bronwen, get off of him, now,” ordered Eira as she picked through a swatch of white cloth.

  “Mama says that you’re leaving tonight,” the girl chattered, taking no notice of his discomfort or of her mother’s directive. “I don’t want you to go. Everyone in the village is here. Lots of folk think that you’re one of the Ancient Ones. Some say that you’re the Horned Lord, Gwyn ap—”

  “I told you to get off of him,” said Eira, eyes glaring at her daughter in a way only mothers could do. With a swatch of cloth in one hand and a jug in the other, she walked over to the bed.

  Bronwen, recognizing the look in her mother’s eyes, scurried off. “Sorry, mama.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re sorry, tell him. He’s the one you jumped on.” Eira walked around to the other side of the bed where a stool had been placed.

  Abashed, Bronwen flickered brown eyes that still held the hint of mischievousness at their guest. “I’m sorry,” she drawled.

  For some strange reason t
hat he could not understand, he did not believe her and thought that if a second chance arose she would take it and jump on him again. Some part of him did not mind that.

  Eira harrumphed, obviously not taken by her daughter’s performance. “Take Llyr and go outside. We’ll be out shortly.”

  “Okay, mama.” Disappointed, Bronwen melodramatically stomped across the roundhouse creating little clouds around her bare ankles. Shoulders sagging, every line of her body made it clear for all to see that she did not want to do what she was told. Before Llyr could crawl to one of the hot stones that lined the front of the hearth Bronwen swept up her baby brother and deposited him on her hip. His gurgling laughter filled the room.

  “C’mon, Llyr,” moaned the girl as she headed to the door. “Mama doesn’t want us in here right now.”

  The closed door cut off any further complaints, leaving the two of them alone in Eira’s home.

  “I’m sorry about that. Bronwen is more like her Aunt—may she rest with the Goddess— than she’ll ever know.” Eira smiled and sat down on the stool. Placing the cloth on the side of the bed, she uncorked the jug before depositing it on the earthen floor.

  “Despite Bronwen’s usual way to wake a person from a deep slumber, I’m glad to see that you are finally awake.” She smiled and reached to pull down his covers and met resistance. “You can let go of the blankets. I have to take a look at your arm.”

  Not realizing his grip on the fabric, he relinquished his hold, allowing Eira to lower the blanket just enough so that she could gently lift his injured arm from under the covers and lay it back down, exposed for her examination. The movement caused shooting pains down into his fingers and up to the side of his head causing him to suck in a breath and close his eyes.

  “It still hurts, doesn’t it?” she asked, lifting her hands away.

  Nodding, he opened his eyes and saw the concern in hers.

  “I need to change the dressing and see how the wound is healing,” she explained, folding a piece of cloth. “And to do that, it would be easier if you would sit up. You can lean against the wall if you need. Do you think you can do that?”

  Again he nodded and with Eira’s help sat up, the covers falling to his waist. Suddenly embarrassed, he grabbed the blankets with his good arm, holding them secure. He did not know why he felt this way. Maybe it was because of what happened with Tarian. Not to mention, he did not arrive in this bed this way. Notus must have had some help. The thought sent a flood of heat to his face and he dropped his gaze to his lap.

  His shyness did not go unnoticed. Eira smiled knowingly and slapped his outstretched leg. Without another hint, he crossed his legs, making room for Eira to sit before him, but also disrupting the covers so that he had to snatch them back into place.

  Scooping her long straight black hair behind one ear, she leaned forward, examining his arm with cautious probing. A hiss escaped his lips and his eyes briefly caught hers as she glanced up at him. “I’m going to remove the dressing now. It may hurt when it comes off. I’m going to be as gentle as I can. If you need me to stop for a moment, just let me know.”

  He took a deep breath to brace himself and nodded. She unwound the bandage, forcing his arm agonizingly up and down. When it came time to lift off the portion directly over the wound she found it stuck. That was not uncommon and she was prepared. Picking up the jug, she wet the portion of bandaging with the grain alcohol and pulled it back.

  Unfortunately, he was not equally prepared, and he gritted his teeth in an attempt not to cry out. As quickly as the pain came, it went with the removal of the bandage and he sighed his relief. Glancing around the roundhouse, he noticed Notus was gone. A flutter of panic filled him. “Where’s Notus?”

  “He’s outside with the others, waiting for you,” she answered, distractedly.

  He turned back to find Eira worrying her bottom lip and saw the reason why. A thick dark line, black against his pale white skin, held with blood stained sutures, ran from his shoulder to the inside of his elbow. Around the wound a ring of red inflammation smouldered. He audibly swallowed, his mouth gone dry. He had not wanted to believe Notus but even though the truth was stitched in his arm he asked, “Why? Why is it like that?”

  Eira met his terror filled eyes. She wanted to reassure him, but found that there was nothing truly she could say except, “You are Fay and the iron in the sword not only cut you, it burned you.” She cupped his face in her hand and let it fall along his milk white hair before taking her hand back. “I only pray that you will heal fully in time as I have done what I could.”

  He could not believe the words and he looked away. Notus said he was Chosen. But Auntie believed him Fay. He did not know what or who he was.

  Cold stinging brought his attention back to Eira as she began to carefully clean the wound, respecting his desire for silence. Once done, she stood up and went over to what served as her pantry and brought over a little jar.

  Opening it up, the sweet scent of honey wafted and he watched her place a dollop onto the linen to serve as his bandage. He knew from Auntie how honey helped with infections because the bees brought the blessing of the Goddess. He doubted that the Goddess would help him.

  As carefully as she could she redressed the wound until he was wrapped snugly in the white clean linen. Task complete, she stood, wiping her hands on her blue apron.

  “How does it feel?”

  He tried to bend his arm and was rewarded with another shock of pain, but not as bad as the first time. He told her so.

  “Good,” she smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Now let’s get some food into you. You must be famished.”

  Before he could refuse, Eira turned back to the hearth where a pot hung from an iron hook. The mention of food roused his hunger, but not for what she was bringing to him in the brown wooden bowl. Before Notus had come, the smell of beef broth would have set his stomach gurgling in anticipation. Now it smelled wrong.

  “Here, drink this,” offered Eira, sitting down beside him on the stool. “It will help you to regain your strength.”

  Taking the sloshing bowl of brown liquid shimmering with melted fat on the surface, he grimaced and passed it back.

  Surprised at his reaction to her broth, Eira reluctantly accepted the bowl. “Oh come now. It’s only beef broth.” She tried to hand it back only to see him retreat from it as if it would sting him. Exasperated, she stated, “Do I have to force feed you?”

  Believing she would do exactly what she promised, he accepted defeat and took the bowl back, staring at the brown liquid. Quickly glancing at Eira’s stern face he realized there was no way out and brought the bowl to his lips. The pungent taste, so unlike blood, exploded across his pallet and he spat the mouthful back into the bowl.

  “Sorry,” he stammered, giving back the bowl.

  “That’s alright,” she sighed, giving him a rag to wipe his face. “You’ll eat when you’re ready.”

  Handing back the cloth, he turned to snuggle back under the covers.

  “Uh, uh, uh. It’s time to rise. Paul is waiting for you. You know he wants to leave tonight.”

  He frowned. He did not want to leave. Not after what he had shared with Tarian. He did not want to be taken away from people that seemed to truly care and accept him. He also did not want to leave sleeping in a real bed for the first time in his life. He knew Notus’ desire to go to a place called Ynis Witrin and then to London, wherever they were, but he wondered if the monk knew his wishes. He doubted it.

  Sitting back up, he swung his legs over the bed, keeping the blanket securely around his lap and noticed that he had no clothes. As if reading his mind, Eira smiled and went to her bed.

  “I knew you would need something to wear,” she called, “and managed to grab these before Paul had your trunk packed in the cart.” From under the bed, she re-emerged holding his boots, his trousers cleaned from the blood splatter and a simple forest green long sleeved tunic. Her smile expanded at the astonished look on the young man’s
face. In her other hand she held a length of undyed cloth and laid both piles down beside him.

  Discomposed at the thought of her presence while he dressed, he shyly asked her to leave.

  Eira raised a perfect dark eyebrow. “Well, if you wish.” She walked to the hanging that helped separate living quarters from sleep quarters and gave it a tug. “But you may find it difficult to dress using one arm.”

  He watched her disappear behind the fall of multicolour fabric, relieved to be alone. He did not know why he felt so awkward in her presence. She was always kind and attentive to him, but the thought of dressing in front of her was, well, like dressing in front of Auntie once he started to become a man.

  Picking up the trousers, he flipped them out and found that getting a pant leg over one leg was tricky enough, let alone two, but he could not even attempt to pull them past his thighs. Flustered he sat there and looked up to find Eira peeking around the drapery, a smile on her face.

  “I–I think I am going to need your help,” he finally admitted. A rush of heat flooded his face and he looked away.

  “I thought you might,” she laughed and moved to help.

  It felt strange having someone help him dress. He had stopped needing Auntie’s help by the time he was four and now he found Eira’s willingness oddly comforting. With her help, they managed to fit the trousers with minimal embarrassment to both.

  “There. Now for your tunic,” said Eira, smiling.

  Lifting the soft green cloth, she instructed him to sit back down and carefully pulled the tunic over his head, helping him thread his bandaged arm into the sleeve and then into the sling she made with the extra length of cloth she had brought. Her touch was stunningly hot as he intently watched her every move. It took both of them to get his boots on.

  Finally dressed, Eira went to her bedside table and picked up a silver backed brush made with stiff hair and brought it over. He had never seen such a thing before and he twisted in his seat to see her come behind him.

  Noticing the inquisitive look on his face, she turned his face away from him and lifted his hair out of the tunic. “I’m not about to let you leave looking like you’ve been abed,” she answered and began to brush out the tangles in his thick hair. A smile played upon her face and she began to hum as she worked the brush through.