“You have had one back already,” Lavilia said, from deep in the mist. She was slipping away, and Gideon’s posture clenched, his wings expanding wider.
“Do not think to leave before you explain!” he warned her.
“Ours is a special bond, dark one,” she said, her voice sounding back amplified by the fog. It had a ghostly ring to it that turned Gideon’s blood cold. “Impaling me upon that magnificence between your legs has earned you the privilege of mind melding. We have always had it, you and I, but you have always been too preoccupied to see it. I do not expect you to understand the mysteries of my magic, but please pay attention! You will know when you are in need of your feathers, just as you knew the first time. All you need do is reach me with your thoughts, and your feathers will come back to you. Do not squander them. You have only two left. Think carefully before you summon me, Lord of the Dark, for one of them is life…and death. That is all you get for free. Now, steel yourself and go! And the gods be merciful, my rash young fool…”
Her voice trailed off then, and Gideon dismissed her from his thoughts. Only one thing mattered now, getting past the watchers he was certain massed between the isle and the gateway to Outer Darkness. There was only one way to do it, and that was by employing the element of surprise. He would soar into their midst at great speed in hopes of confusing them long enough to get past their number. Already aroused, the velocity wreaking havoc upon his penis as the wind attacked his feathers would be unbearable of itself, not to mention the tenderness of the wound that needed more time than he could spare it to mend.
Spreading his wings, Gideon leaped into the air and surged up out of the stubborn mist that cloaked the rune caster’s isle into the night sky. Lavilia hadn’t exaggerated. It was a gauntlet, two lines of watchers flanking the way to the phallic stones that marked the Outer Darkness gate. He counted eight, no ten of the winged creatures, snake lightning crackling between their outstretched hands.
Thunderbolts ripped through the sky. Gideon spiraled above them. More lightning speared down, exploding in the crossfire as he sidled in and out among them. There was only one way to enter the dark world. One had to pass between the columns. He could not go over or around them, which meant Gideon had to risk the lightning bolts at close range to achieve it. His cock was on fire, the weight of his motion bearing down upon his wound dizzying. He’d nearly made it halfway dodging the watchers’ missiles when one glanced off his wounded wing, wrenching a cry like nothing human from his parched throat, and he spun off momentarily to regain his strength, trying to draw their fire away from the gate. Several did leave the gauntlet line flying after him. Enraged, Gideon struck them feetfirst, sending them spiraling off out of control. He was clearly beyond caring.
He was nearly to the gate when he heard it, a woman’s shrill voice—Rhiannon’s voice—calling his name. Was he imagining it? Was his desperate need to find her causing cruel hallucinations? It came again, so loud and shrill it pierced his soul. His heart leapt. No, it wasn’t a hallucination. Amplified by the fog, her voice was echoing from beyond the Outer Darkness gate, and he streaked through the air dodging missile after missile toward the tall phallic stones that marked the entrance to the dark unknown and careened through the gate, feathers smoking.
Lightning bolts glanced off the columns Gideon passed through, but no watchers followed. Gideon gave the display only passing notice to be certain the tales of watchers being barred were true. Searching for some sign of Rhiannon, he strained through the eerie half-light of perpetual night that existed in Outer Darkness. It took him a moment to become accustomed to the atmosphere. Then he saw it, her head breaking the surface of the water, her arms flailing wildly. Scarcely thinking, he dove into the lake, seized her in his arms, and soared skyward with her cradled against his hammering heart, and the thick bulk of his aroused penis. His wings, still hissing and crackling from submersion in the icy water of the lake, trailed steam now instead of smoke. It felt so soothing, he groaned, but it was almost a subconscious outburst. Nothing mattered then but his Rhiannon. He had her in his arms again, and he flew straight for the shoreline and set her down in a marshy tangle of reeds and rushes at the edge of what could only be quicksand from the way it belched and undulated, set ajar by their untimely presence.
His hands roamed over her body frantically, searching, begging for reassurance that she was sound. What met them was soft, trembling flesh; hard, firm breasts; and nipples like two rigid acorns against his trembling palms. Fire raced through his loins, warming his flesh beneath the torn eelskin suit clinging cold and wet to his body.
Rhiannon threw her arms around his neck. “I do not swim well in deep water,” she sobbed. “I tried to reason with the ferryman to take me back, but he disappeared—boat and all—and I fell into the water!”
“They gave you to the ferryman?” Gideon seethed. “The whoresons! There is no return from the ferryman’s punt.”
“He didn’t want to take me without a tribute, but they made him. He was not happy, believe me!”
Gideon swallowed dry. “The ferryman is Death’s alter ego, Rhiannon,” he said. “You are fortunate to be alive. That you are my soul mate is probably why you still draw breath. We are…old adversaries, the ferryman and I, and on several occasions…friendly enemies.”
“Does he rule this place, then?” Rhiannon queried.
“No,” Gideon returned, “would that he did.” He clouded suddenly. “If that were the case I might have reasoned with him.”
“Who is the keeper here, then?”
“An entity you do not want to meet,” Gideon told her. “A great horned satyr, half man, half goat, in the manner of a faun, who metes out hideous tortures upon those whom the gods banish here. He is called Ravelle. Never say his name, for to speak it thrice will summon him and open a pit of eternal fire.” All color drained from her face, and he quickly added, “But you needn’t fear. We rest here only till the watchers tire of waiting. Then we will leave this place forsaken by the gods and find some corner of this world that will accept us.”
“You’re bleeding,” Rhiannon cried, stroking his bloodied wings.
Even the faintest touch to wings already charged with the curse of sexual arousal was more than Gideon could bear despite the pain ripping through those wounded appendages. The last thing he needed was a distraction now, but those hands…those gentle hands stroking, smoothing, sliding over aching, throbbing tissue and sexually charged feathers were weaving their magic, and he fell back in the snarl of tangled weeds and let her minister to him.
It was a bad position, for the weight of his wings held him down, but he scarcely thought about anything then but the ravenous lust her fingers ignited. This was hardly wise in such a dangerous place, where he needed all his wits about him, but the curse was running rampant in him then, compounded by the libidinous need her touch had unleashed.
He groaned. “I have bled before,” he said, “and I will bleed again. I will not die of the injuries. The gods would not grant me that blessing. I will rally and mend to live and bleed another day as long as there are watchers to make certain of it.”
“You haven’t begged me to stop,” she murmured, still straightening bent feathers.
Gideon shrugged, and loosed a bitter laugh. “It is too late to stop now, my love,” he said. “If you would have me clearheaded enough to get us out of this, make me come….”
Rhiannon wiped the tears from her cheeks, then began opening Gideon’s eel skin. The look of her, so terrified, still trembling from her ordeal in the water, touched him so deeply he reached and pulled her into his arms. Burying his hands in her hair, he took her lips in a tender kiss, tasting the salt of her tears, and deepened it, coaxing her tongue into his mouth. Rhiannon melted against him, clinging to him for dear life as he stroked and caressed her. How completely she responded to the tenderness she had evoked in him, despite the volatile emotions the curse brought to bear. How totally his she was, an extension of himself, the love in her p
alpable as he fed from her sweet essence, tasting her deeply, laving the soft insides of her cheeks and underside of her pointed tongue. She was giving him all of herself—all of her passion, all of her very soul in that deep, penetrating kiss.
Beyond the point of no return, Gideon tugged at the eelskin suit until it gave, releasing his throbbing cock. Rhiannon gripped his shaft, fondling the soft skin, like satin, stretched over hot steel, the purple veins throbbing a steady rhythm. Free of its restraints, his engorged penis mushroomed into a gargantuan erection, an anxious force to be reckoned with. She gasped, and he swallowed the sound, taking it deep inside him, savoring the hum like a starving beggar at a banquet.
They’d been stripped of everything but each other—distilled into something pure. She was part of him now, as she never had been before, so totally that they seemed to breathe each other’s breath and their hearts seemed to beat as one. This was the power of a passion that transcended lust, a power that commanded need, desire, and longing. It was what Gideon had been searching for since time out of mind, a love that knew no bounds, the innocent abandon of one yielding to a single kiss.
Rhiannon’s cool hand riding his shaft made his heart race. Being made love to lying on his back was a luxury he had never afforded himself. For one thing, the weight of his body upon the traitorous wings alone created such a lustful onslaught of sexual energy it bordered on bestial. For another, it made rising awkward, especially when wounded. He longed for the carved-out niche in the cave that was no more, where he’d slept standing, longed for the soothing mineral spring, and the soft, peaceful twilight steeped in velvet darkness of a life that seemed to have belonged to someone else. Only once before in all his eons abandoned by the gods had he lain thus, and ever since he’d longed for the sweet agony the position promised. It was only fitting that he know such bittersweet ecstasy in Rhiannon’s arms. This was hardly the time or place, however, but longing cancelled common sense, and he groaned as she straddled him, guiding his magnificence to the folds of her entrance, where she hovered, her gentle hands gripping his bare shoulders.
He could feel the crackle of her passion through her fingertips as the hands slid lower, her palms pressing against the hard pucker of his sensitive nipples. If he let himself, he could come in a heartbeat, but no, this was something to be savored, something to be prolonged, where he teetered upon the edge of sanity before letting go and opening up these long locked floodgates that would empty him completely. Yes, sanity was involved, for with the privilege of such a dangerous coupling for him came a visit to the brink of sheer madness, which is what gripped him now, as he arched himself against the moist nether lips that tortured him with their exquisite promise.
Just when he thought he could bear no more, she took him inside her one fold at a time, gliding on her juices. Gideon shut his eyes, imagining the dark mystery of her sex as it gripped him, plunging him deeper inside her until she’d taken him from mushroom tip to the root of his thick hardness. Grinding her clitoris against the base of his shaft, Rhiannon threw her head back, and her long hair cascaded down her back, teasing his thighs. Her undulations became more urgent as she rocked back and forth, taking him deeper and deeper into her velvet mystery—deeper than he’d ever gone before, until her womb, the very seat of her sexuality, caressed the sensitive head of his cock.
Groaning her name, Gideon reached for her breasts and cupped them, his thumbs grazing her tall, hard nipples. When had her shift fallen away? Slowly, he slid his hands along her sides, following the curvaceous indentation of her waist and the full, soft mounds of her hips as she straddled him. Tightening his grip, he raised and lowered her on his shaft. The motion put pressure on his wings, and a riot of drenching fire ripped through his loins. He’d forgotten the intensity of such a climax. It rippled through his body like a firestorm, wave upon wave of pulsating heat that threatened to consume him in an orgasmic explosion as she milked him dry.
How silky hot she was inside as her tightness gripped his penis, the thick folds of her sex expanding and contracting with each throb as she came. He could feel her juices release. He could feel their wetness flowing into his come as she released again. She touched his wings and his hips jerked forward, thrusting his penis into the pulsating depths of her again and again. It was as if his body had become a machine over which he had no control, an unstoppable mechanism of runaway energy pistoning into her, triggering multiple orgasms in them both that knew no bounds.
Yes, he had forgotten the exquisite agony, the unworldly ecstasy of coupling with a woman on his back. The forbidden position for one winged as he was. The posture that transcended mortal or immortal love and made it a passion fit only for the gods. This was something to which he was not entitled, something for which he would pay dearly as decreed by the terms of the curse that was his perpetual torment. But for this brief blink in time’s eye, as he lay helpless in Rhiannon’s sultry embrace riddled with carnal euphoria, he knew something worth dying for…a purity of sexual abandon like no other, and he wanted more, so much more.
It seemed to go on forever before they lay in each other’s arms, sated at last. It would be so easy to fall asleep as he was, lying on his back with his soul mate in his arms, to wake and doze, and take her again and again in that forbidden position. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept. It seemed an eternity ago. The pain of the weight of his sexually charged wings notwithstanding, he longed—just once—to lie thus and sleep. The notion had plagued him like a splinter under his skin since time out of mind, for he had never done. It was time.
The mysterious perpetual darkness was closing in upon them. Only the marsh lights bobbing innocently on the mire shone through the blackness. All was still around them, and there wasn’t a soul or animal to be seen. That in itself was suspect, but Gideon didn’t care. He’d begun to doze when Rhiannon’s soft voice broke the silence.
“I don’t like this place, Gideon,” she murmured. “It frightens me. Do you think the watchers will have gone by now?”
“Not likely,” Gideon said, settling her closer in the crook of his arm. “I do not like this place any more than you do, but I like the prospect of lightning bolts even less. They are inevitable on the other side of that gateway back there, but I need to heal the wounds I have before I beg for more. Rest, Rhiannon, while we have the opportunity; then we will take our chances with the watchers.”
She sighed, moving in his arms. He was hard again, and trying to ignore it, but the soft music of her gentle voice made an end to that.
“What are those?” she asked, pointing toward the bobbing lights dancing over the breast of the bog.
“Marsh lights,” Gideon said. “Will-o’-the-Wisps they are called in the astral. They are mischief makers—pranksters, whose pranks are not always harmless. I wonder what evil deeds got them banished here.”
Rhiannon got to her feet. “Look, I think they want us to follow….”
Gideon gripped her arm. “No!” he cautioned. “Never follow the marsh lights. They will lead you astray. You see? They work their magic even from their distance. They would seduce you into quicksand! Come…lie with me and stay by me. I haven’t slept, and I need to rest if I’m going to heal. I will try to stay awake, but in case I don’t, you need to stay by me.”
Rhiannon visibly shook off the lure of the marsh lights and rushed into his arms. Gideon groaned as her breasts flattened against his bare chest, and her pubic mound leaned into his erection. Sleep was a myth while her soft, eager flesh was pressed against his hardness. He would reach for her again and again before the strange, dark morning, eclipsing night and day, cast its murky spell.
18
We should have interfered, the vaguely remembered voice ghosted across Gideon’s mind. If we had, none of this would be.
The other breathed a gusty sigh. It seemed his mantra. He made that rather difficult, he said. And now he pays the price. He could end it in a trice were he to let the girl go.
The first voice took a defensiv
e tone. He will never do that.
He is tested soon. Then we shall see. He has lost much, and he has just made a decision that will cost him even more.
The first speaker, still defensive, said, He still has one question left and two feathers to redeem.
He does, said the other. Let us hope he uses them wisely. He has never stood at this crossroads before….
Gideon stirred with a groan. His thick member was swollen with arousal, and the pain of sleeping in the coveted position had taken its toll. Agonizing waves of excruciating pain rushed through his limbs, his wings, his sex. The effect was dizzying. White pinpoints of blinding light starred his vision. When his eyes finally focused, all that met them was a bleak black fog.
He groped for Rhiannon, but she was not in his arms, and he called out her name. The sound echoed back at him slurred and distorted. There came no reply, and a riveting barrage of cold chills gripped his spine, knitting the bones rigid. He called out again, but still no answer came, and he tried to struggle erect, finally realizing the folly of living his fantasy. It was next to impossible on the first attempt, for all his extraordinary strength. Sleeping on his back had all but crippled him.
The desperation of his third unanswered call set him in motion. Grinding his teeth as he ground out a bestial roar, he surged to his feet only to be jerked back down to his knees in the snarl of scrub and vines and nettles that had been his bed. He was tethered. Groping his throat, he found the cause. A thick iron band was clamped around his neck. From it, a heavy chain stretched into the fog and disappeared.
Something had hold of the other end of the chain, for it was in motion, going taut then slack, as if whatever hand had custody of it was demonstrating its power. Gideon’s first instinct was to grab the chain and wrest it from his captor, but the minute his fist clamped around the links, smoke rose from his grip, and the stench of burnt flesh—his flesh—rushed up his nostrils. He dropped it, soothing his burned fingers.
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