"You are not alone with that desire. I feel that I too will have to simply allow myself to be shuffled about by Mother Mearth's will.”
She cocked a brow at the quaint turn of phrase, but said, "Are you going to show me your wings?" At his immediate stiffening, she managed to assume the answer was not affirmative. "Don't be edgy with me, Fade. I'll have to see them sometime. Unless you intend to walk around with armor on all the time?"
His tension eased a little. "Life at court is not pretty. The only time I'm not in armor is at functions.”
"Do you go to bed in it?" she asked, her voice shocked. Perhaps twenty-first century Earth had spoiled her for whatever-the-hell century it was back on Mearth.
"No. I sleep nude.”
"Again, with the terse tone. Christ, Fade, chill. Unless you fancy sleeping on my sofa, which I doubt because I'm at least a head shorter than you and I wouldn't want to sleep on it, then you'll have to share my bed. And that isn't an overture. That's simply an invitation for a good night's sleep.”
"You trust me enough?"
She grinned. "I'm pretty tough. I lived in one of the hardest cities in America, so I'm able to handle myself. And you, if you do anything I don't want you to.”
"Well, if it wasn't for whatever your aunt made you take to suppress your Elven heritage, you'd be burning up alongside me with the mating heat. I don't think you'll entirely escape from it so any touch will be welcomed by you, I'm sure.”
"Arrogant. I'll have to watch out for that.”
"Not arrogant. Learned. How did your aunt give you the suppressors?"
"I don't have a clue. But she baked a lot. And every week, I had a basketful of cookies or cakes on my kitchen work top. I'm figuring that's how she did it.” A frown puckered her brow as she recalled that phase in her adolescence. It wasn’t a period she often thought of, because mostly she was ashamed. Ashamed she’d been foolish enough to fall into the trap of wanting to be the prettiest, skinniest girl at school. A thought process that had seen her drop down to skin and bone.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized that that was the time May started her baking frenzy. Not a week had passed without Heather binging on the cakes and then… pouring the contents of her stomach down the toilet bowl in repentance for daring to allow anything to pass through her lips.
Christ that had been a hellish time. She was glad it was over with and that she was perfectly content with the way she looked now.
That meant before her anorexia and bulimia phase –she snorted at how trite that sounded- her aunt had somehow dosed her up with suppressors. That came as no real surprise though - May had always been crafty.
"When was the last time she baked you any?"
"A few months before she died. She had to be hospitalized.”
"Did she have any extra features? Or anything that would have been suspicious in this world?"
"You mean the ears?" At his nod, she shook her head. "No. Nothing.”
He grimaced, his features twisting in revulsion. "She must have had them removed. That is some sacrifice, Heather. If you loved your aunt before, you should be aware of her utter devotion. To do something of that nature. . . . Mother Mearth. . . . The pain. It would have been daily.” At her look of confusion, which was slowly loading with hurt, he quickly said, "Our ears are very sensitive. The operation itself would have been agonizing. The healing process would have been long and drawn out and even when the incisions had healed, there would have been discomfort. She must have loved you deeply to make such an act to protect you. Fully grown as she was, there was no way of hiding them save to have them removed. Mearth be damned, she must have been some woman.”
"She was. Auntie May was my lodestone. Without her, nothing made sense. It's why I moved here. I needed to get away and be my own person. In New York, as enormous as the city is, she'd made it her own.” She whispered, "I never realized what she'd done for me.”
"Why would you? You didn't know. You weren't to know, Heather.” He sighed. "When did she die? I'm not sure I understand your time periods, but a year is a long time, yes? In Mearth, we would call these annes.”
"My French is shaky, but they call a year, année. Maybe there's some connection? If so, yes.”
Fade nodded. "That's a long time to go without a suppressant, Heather. You might be susceptible to the mating heat in ways neither of us can imagine. We should be prepared.”
"Okay.” The word was trite, but it was all she was capable of. Brusquely now, because she was upset, she continued, "Come on, I'm shattered. If you want to sleep tonight then you'll come now. I'm not having you waking me up at dawn, because you're trying to get in to bed. I'm a grouch if I don't get my eight hours.”
"I'm warned. I'll come now, but I don't think you're ready to see my wings. And, I'll warn you. I'll be getting up early. I want to touch base with Mearth again. I can't believe that the three we've tried so far haven't worked. It isn't as simple as your mother thought. I imagined we'd have a choice of places and time periods, but it seems not. We'll just have to take our chances with wherever we land.”
"If you're right, then I guess we could be bound faster than either of us imagined.”
"I'd say so.” He jumped upright and his spritely pace was incredible, considering the weight of his armor, but from what he'd said, he was accustomed to it. Fade reached for her hand and tucked her fingers between his own. It was an obvious attempt at comfort and she accepted it willingly.
Heather led him to the staircase and while it was a tight fit, she refused to relinquish the connection and they walked awkwardly up the stairs and towards her makeshift bedroom. Once inside the hodge-podge, she murmured, "I need to see them, Fade. I know the idea makes you uncomfortable, but I think. . . . It's crazy. But I think I've seen them in a dream.”
His eyes narrowed. "That would be crazy.” His head tilted to the side as he studied her. "Do you have visions?"
"Visions? I wouldn't say so. Not so that I'd realize it anyway.”
"Perhaps these dreams are visions, but you simply don't realize it. When we return to Mearth, we shall meet with your mother's shaman. The shaman will help you to understand your abilities and capabilities. I would hazard a guess that you are a seer.” He sighed. "Nothing is ever simple, is it?"
Before she could even ask a question, he began to move. His arms contorting in peculiar ways to remove the armor from his torso.
"Forgive the lack of grace,” he panted a few seconds later. "I have a squire who aids me.”
"Can I help?" she asked, noting his sweaty face, which was bright red from exertion.
He hesitated, obviously not wanting her in such close contact with his wings, but he eventually nodded. "Aye. You can help. Please,” he added, obviously realizing he'd been rude. Again.
Heather walked over to him and because of the burst of exercise, could scent him. The pure essence of man. She'd never been one of those women who liked sweaty men. Anything but. After a session at the gym, all of her boyfriends had had to shower before she'd go within a foot of them. But God, with Fade it was like the sweetest, purest aftershave she'd ever known. It filled her nostrils, lightened her head until she felt almost faint with the deliciousness of it.
Gulping back a groan, she grabbed the metal plate and tugged upwards. It was a taut fit, but with her providing upward assistance and Fade fidgeting and wriggling about inside the vest, they managed to free him.
Beneath the plate, he wore a linen shift. Standing behind him as she was, Heather could easily see the bulges of something that certainly wasn't on her own back.
His hands crossed at his hips as he gathered the shift and lifted it over head, baring a sodden expanse of feathers.
Chapter Six
For a moment, Heather could only stare.
She'd never seen anything like it before. Never. Ever.
It was in no way like the way the world imagined an angel. But at the same time, it was nothing like a bird.
As she watch
ed, the wings spread and the feathers flexed. She jumped back in surprise at the action and gasped as she took a note of the breadth.
"Fucking hell.” Even from her position at his back, she saw that he stiffened and she was quick to continue, with words that were honestly praising, "They're beautiful.”
And they were.
Heather couldn't deny that they were weird. Because she'd never seen anything weirder. But at the same time, there was an innate grace, a gentle beauty in the shape of the wings. The way the feathers met and settled, the way they'd folded to tuck neatly into his back.
They quivered at her words, in what she could only assume was a subconscious pleasure. Something that Fade would never have admitted to, but which his wings did for him.
The feathers were black and gold. The same gold as his eyes. There were thick, almost gnarled muscles at his upper shoulder and a ridge of something followed the line of his back and this acted as the root of the wings.
That area wasn't pretty. The muscles and the required bone structure was more functional than attractive. But from them, came this incredible plumage. Something which triggered a memory. . . . a memory of a dream.
His supposition that she was a seer- something she hadn't even replied to, because she'd thought him a little crazy- began to settle in her brain and flourish.
She'd seen these wings before. In a dream and she didn't know when or why. But she recognized them.
They had the same formation as those of a bird's, but these were at least six foot wide on each side. Their size was monstrous and while the shape was relatively normal, they had sharp tips on the upper and lower curves. Just like his ears, they were cuffed with a thick, heavy silver. At the tips of each cuff was a heavy cabochon. They were obviously expensive gems, but they were in colors she'd never before seen. Blue-green, the same color as a Mediterranean sea on the upper side. Yellow-orange, the same color as the sun on the bottom.
The top layer of feathers was a pitch black. Like his hair. Then underneath, there was a softer, fluffier layer of gold. These layers of color continued in the same vein from top to bottom.
Unable to help herself, she stepped closer to the mass of feathers and the earlier scent of sweating man bombarded her senses in a way she hadn't imagined possible. At her proximity, they bristled almost as though they weren't accustomed to anyone being so close to them.
As his essence flooded her entire being, this time she groaned. He immediately spun around and there was a defensive look on his face, a frown on his brow and tightening his mouth. But as he studied her, the look disappeared and was replaced with one of surprise. And then pleasure.
"Your eyes,” he whispered.
Her voice was loaded with gravel as she spoke, "What about them?"
"They're Elven now.”
"What do you mean?"
"Look in the mirror.” She was dazed by the power of his essence on her senses and allowed him to lead her to a small, dressing table where a tiny mirror sat.
She wasn't sure how many times she'd done it that day, but for the final time of that particular run of twenty-four hours, Heather fainted.
The whites of her eyes had turned into a silver so bright, it had seemed molten.
The irises, the usual icy-blue, had grown even whiter until the pinprick of a pupil seemed to be the only color within her gaze.
As her mind rejected the sight of mercury-shot eyes, she heard Fade's incredulous whisper, "You're aroused.”
Her last, aware realization was that he caught her in his arms, before she could tumble to the ground.
And then, her conscious mind slept the sleep of self-protection.
It was either that, or finally feel the dagger-like thrusts of insanity.
So, this is my world.
My real world.
Heather sat cross-legged on the hallway floor. As she stared through the portal into this peculiar place that was her birthright, a peculiar swathe of emotions curled throughout her mind.
Mostly, she felt numb.
Seeing Mearth, seeing that everything that had occurred between Fade and herself as well as her mother's notes were in fact real and that this wasn't some lengthy dream, inspired surprisingly little emotion.
Heather stared at it, trying to puzzle it out, but her thoughts were on the man who still lay in her bed, in the spare room.
After last night's debacle, she'd tried to avoid Fade as much as was physically possible. She knew he thought the distance she was trying to place between them, was down to repulsion. Or revulsion. But it wasn't. It was humiliation.
She was strong. Had had to be strong. New York didn't breed delicate wallflowers, especially not the neighborhood in which she'd been raised.
Heather could down a man with a few kicks and a punch. She'd even taught self-defense down the local community hall. She'd dealt with being an orphan, even if that wasn't the case- she'd had to lead her life believing her parents to be dead- and then, she'd lost her aunt. She'd managed. Coped. Regrouped and had moved on.
So why was she turning into some kind of delicate lily that snapped at every turn?
From his suit of armor alone, she knew Fade was a warrior. Warriors needed strong women. Women who could organize a feast with one hand and with the other, rule the kingdom. They didn't need fluttering females, who vomited and fainted at every turn.
It didn't matter that the situation she found herself in was rather stressful. And unusual was an understatement. But still. There were limits.
She'd awoken, perhaps an hour after she'd fainted and her head had whooshed with the power of the situation, so much so that she'd felt a little woozy. Ashamed at that, she'd taken a moment to analyze the situation like the calm, rational woman she usually was and had registered that even the strongest would have felt dazzled by Heather's position.
Fade had wrapped her in his wings.
His smell, the pure essence of him had been powerful before, when there had been a couple of feet between them. At that distance, it had been like being punched in the face. Pheromones. Every single inhalation had been loaded with them until her pussy had started to ache with need.
He'd been resting half-on and half-off her body. His leg had hooked over her hip to keep the two of them close together. The gesture of being wrapped within those great limbs was obviously one of protection. And the very idea had made her aching pussy start to quiver hungrily.
In the pitch black, surrounded by his scent, the diaphanous wash of his breath on her skin and the heat of their two bodies pulsing in the tiny crevice his wings had carved out for them, her mother's prediction had come to fruition.
But not on Fade's part. On her own.
The mating heat had strummed through her blood until she'd been aware of every nerve ending sizzling and twitching with it. It was like a fever, but not. In fact, it was worse. There was no sweaty skin and pain with this heat. It was a dry one and it felt as though there was a fire flowing through her veins. Her flesh prickled and itched. Her pussy felt unbearably empty, the inner muscles clenching and releasing as moisture pooled there, waiting for Fade, readying itself for his invasion. The pace of her breathing had soared and her heart pulsed as though she'd run a marathon.
In such close confines, it would have been impossible to ignore such physiological differences, even asleep. And Fade's groggy muttering of her name, had Heather tumbling into a panic and her legs and arms had flailed, seeking release.
He'd yelped but immediately rolled over to free her. When she'd switched on the light, guilt had assailed her as a few feathers fluttered on the bed. Their onyx shade almost glittering against the crystal white sheets.
Spying it, feeling a desperate hunger course through her body as well as feeling ashamed for her melodrama, she'd run off.
He'd stayed in the bedroom and feeling agitated, Heather had continued where he'd left off. She'd picked up the doorknob and gone to work. Attaching and detaching, screwing and unscrewing. Until eventually, her body calmed. It wa
s only now, with the door opening to another universe, that her body began to pulse again with the mating heat. The subtle reminder that the consummation of their relationship was the key, the passport as it were, to crossing the threshold into this new world.
And what a world.
Her pulsing pussy took a backstop as her eyes took in this new universe, which seemed so like Earth and yet, wasn't.
The sky was overhead and filled with fluffy clouds. But the sky itself was malachite in color with Russian green clouds floating merrily overhead. The plants on the ground, where Earth had grass, were tufted cerulean blue. Rather than stalks, these were fronds. They didn't grow up, but hung down from a thick white stalk.
In the distance, there were hills. But these weren't rounded hills. They were similar to triangular prisms. Like fat versions of the Flatiron building in NYC. They were fat at the bottom and grew thinner as they reached the summit of the hill.
Close to her was a market scene. The people were like Fade but their coloring was different. Long ears and thin faces, burly bodies thick with muscle. In the thousand-strong crowd, not one person seemed to be over or underweight. They were all slim. But with muscles. The hues of their skin ranged from an almost magenta pink to a faint blue. There were people with what Heather considered human coloring, but they possessed peculiarly shaded eyes or hair, which varied insofar as the rainbow varied. Purple hair with golden eyes. Green highlighted blond hair with freaky-ass, ruby red eyes.
Everyone's ears were loaded down with the cuffs and Heather determined to ask Fade if they were an indicator of maturity, because everyone seemed to have the same age. The only easily spotted differences were between the young and the adults and that was down to size. Everyone else looked to be stuck at thirty-two.
Their clothes were a mixture of old-fashions and completely eye-opening garments. Like the woman who walked with breeches that bared her behind or the woman who bared her breasts and yet, had swathes of fabric in a skirt that dropped to the ground. It was like a porn star's version of a ball gown. Then there were the others who kept their private parts covered for the most part, showing just the one leg from toe to groin with a hint of some multicolored pubic hair or one arm from finger to shoulder that swept down to show one breast. Every single female at the market, from stall holder to visitor bared something. The men displayed nothing. Typical chauvinists. They wore ancient fashions- breeches and shirts, or long tailored pantaloons with greatcoat's. Wealth was displayed in the richness and the cut of the cloth and the females also wore a lot of jewels.
Dark Throne, The Page 8