The door opened behind us, and Rhys looked in. Doyle growled at him. Rhys said, "You screamed?" His face was serious. There was a gun in his hand, held next to his leg, not pointed but there.
Doyle growled, "Get out!"
"I leave at the princess's order, not yours, sire." He shrugged. "Sorry. You having a good time, Merry, or..." He made a vague motion with the gun.
"I'm... I'm not sure." My voice came out breathy. The feel of Doyle pressed tight and firm against me was exciting, even the promise of violence was exciting, but only if it was the promise of it, a game.
His hands on my thighs were shaking, his entire body quivering with the effort not to finish what he'd started. I touched his face gently. He startled as if I'd hurt him, then turned, looked at me. The look in his eyes was barely human. It was like looking into the eyes of a tiger, beautiful, neutral, hungry.
"Are we having fun here, Doyle, or are you going to eat me?" My voice was a little steadier, firmer.
"This first time I would not trust myself to put my mouth to such tender places."
It took me a second to realize that he had misunderstood me. "I don't mean eat me in the euphemistic sense, Doyle. I mean, am I food?" My voice sounded utterly calm now, ordinary. Pinned to the bed by his body, his eyes still animalistic and wild, and I sounded like I was in the office, talking business.
He blinked and I saw the confusion in his eyes. I realized that I was asking him to think too deeply. He'd given himself over to a piece of himself that he rarely let out. That part didn't think like a person.
He did something with his legs that pressed him tighter against me. It made me cry out, but not in pain. "Do you want this?" His voice was almost normal, breathy, but almost normal.
I searched his face, tried to read something there that would comfort me. There was a glimpse of him in the eyes, a sliver of Doyle left behind. I took a deep breath, and said, "Yes."
"You heard her. Get out." His voice began to fall into the growl again, every word lower and lower.
"You sure, Merry?" Rhys asked.
I'd almost forgotten him standing there. I nodded. "I'm sure."
"So we just close the door and ignore the noise and trust that you'll be all right?"
I stared into Doyle's eyes and found nothing but need, a need like nothing I'd ever seen in any man. It went beyond desire and became a true need, like food, or water. For him, tonight, this was need; if I turned from him now, we might come together as lovers, but he'd never let himself go this far again. He might close this part of himself away forever, and it would be a little death.
I'd endured that little death for years, dying by inches on the shores of the human sea. Doyle had found me and brought me back to faerie. He'd brought back all those parts of myself I'd had to leave behind to pass for human, to pass for lesser fey. If I turned from him now, would he ever find this piece of himself again?
"I'll be all right, Rhys," I said, but I wasn't looking at him, I was looking at Doyle.
"You sure?"
Doyle turned and spoke in a voice that was almost too low and animal to understand. "You heard her. Now get out."
Rhys gave a small bow and shut the door behind him. Doyle turned those eyes back to me. He growled more than spoke, "You want this?" He was giving me one last chance to say no. But his body ground against mine, his fingers digging into my thighs, as he said it. His mind and mouth were trying to give me a way out, although his body didn't want to.
I had to close my eyes as I shuddered under the press of him. He growled against my face, and the sound traveled through his body, vibrating along mine, as if the sound could travel places that his body hadn't touched yet.
Even as his body ground into mine, forced small noises from my throat, he growled, "Do you want this?"
"I want this."
One of his hands slid from my thigh to the side of my panties. The silk tore with a wet sound like skin being cut. My body jerked as he stripped the silk away and pressed the rough material of his jeans against my naked body. He ground himself against me until I cried out, half in pleasure, half in pain.
He scooted me onto the bed just enough so that he could tear at his pants. The belt opened, the button, the zipper, everything slid down until I saw him nude for the first time. He was long and thick, and perfect. He slid a finger inside of me. It made me cry out, but that wasn't why he'd done it. When he found me wet and open, he pushed himself inside me, and even wet, he had to work himself in. I was screaming underneath him before he'd managed to get himself all inside me. He seemed to fill me up, every inch, and I writhed underneath, just from the feel of him stiff and large inside me.
Then he began to drag himself out of me, and push himself into me, and the small waves of pleasure began. I watched the dark length of him sliding in and out of my white, white flesh, and the sight alone made me cry out.
My skin began to glow like I'd swallowed the moon, and his dark skin gleamed in answer, filled with all the colors that had been in his eyes. It was as if he were still black water reflecting the glow of the moon, and I was the moon. The bright dancing colors flowed under his skin, and the room brightened, brightened, flickering as if we both burned with colored flame. We cast shadows on the wall, the ceiling, as if we lay at the center of some great light, some great flame, and we became that light, that fire, that heat.
It was as if our skins melted into each other and I felt those dancing lights flow across my skin. I sank into his dark glow as he was swallowed by my white shine, and somewhere in all of that, he brought me screaming, screaming, screaming, drowning in pleasure that was so intense it was like pain. I heard him cry out, heard that bell-like howl, but in that one moment I didn't care. He could have ripped my throat out and I'd have gone with a smile.
I came to myself with Doyle collapsed on top of me, his breathing labored, his back covered in a sheen of sweat and blood. I raised my hands and found blood on my white skin, glowing like neon against the fading glow. In that last moment when I hadn't been aware, I'd bloodied his back. I felt the first stinging trickle of blood and found his teeth marks in my shoulder, bleeding, hurting a little, but not too much, not yet. Nothing could hurt too much with Doyle's body still on top of mine, him still inside me, as we both relearned how to breathe, how to be in our own bodies again.
His first panting words were, "Did I hurt you?"
I touched my bloody fingers into the bite on my shoulder, mixed the neon glows together like mixing paint, and held up my fingers before his face. "I think I should be asking you the same question."
He put a hand back to touch the blood on his back, as if he hadn't felt it until that moment. He propped himself up on one elbow and stared at the blood on his hands. Then he threw back his head and laughed, laughed until he collapsed on top of me again, and when he finished laughing, he cried.
Chapter 19
We lay entwined together on a bed of Doyle's hair. It was like having fur rubbing the length of my bare body. My head was cradled in the curve of his shoulder. His body was like warm muscled silk. I traced my fingers along his waist, over the curve of his hip, an idle gesture, not exactly sexual. More to know that I could touch him. We'd been quietly touching each other for several minutes. His one hand was trapped underneath my body, curved up around my back, holding me close, but not too close. He wanted room to run his free hand down my body, and he wanted to give me room to touch him. He wanted the feel of hands on his body. It was as if he wasn't merely starved for sex, but starved for touch. I knew that humans could become touch-starved. Infants will die from lack of enough touch, even if every other need is met. But I hadn't known it of the sidhe, especially the unmovable object known as the Queen's Darkness.
But he lay beside me, smiling, his fingers running over my stomach and tracing the edge of my belly button.
I caught a glimpse of the mirrored bureau behind his head. My blouse hung across the middle of the mirror, as if flung there.
He caught me looking be
hind him. He brought his hand up to my face, tracing the edge of my cheek. "What do you see?"
I smiled at him. "I was just wondering how we managed to get my blouse on the mirror."
He turned his head as much as he could with both his own weight and mine on his hair. He had a very wide smile when he turned back. "Have you looked for your bra?"
I gave him wide eyes and started to prop myself up to see the rest of the bureau over his body. He held me down with one gentle hand on my shoulder. "Behind you."
I fell back, still in the circle of his arm. My green lace bra, which had matched both my blouse and my panties, was hanging forlornly from the philodendron plant that sat on the black lacquered armoire in the corner. It hung like a badly chosen Christmas decoration.
I shook my head, half laughing. "I don't remember being in that much of a hurry."
He curved his free hand over my waist, down my hip, drawing closer to me as he pulled me in against his body. "I was in a hurry. I wanted to see you naked. I wanted to feel the touch of you on my bare skin." He pressed that bare skin along the length of my body. Just the strength in his arms made me shiver, but the feel of him growing larger against my body was almost an overwhelming thing.
I slid my hands over the smooth tightness of his buttocks and drew him in tighter against me. He moved his own hands down my body to cup my buttocks and pressed our bodies together until I had to wonder if it hurt him to be shoved so hard against the unyielding front of my body. As he grew, the length of him pressed into my stomach, and it was softer, more yielding. He drove himself against my flesh, and I cried out.
I felt the prickling rush of magic a second before the voice filled the room. "Well, isn't this a pretty sight?"
We both rolled over to see the Queen of Air and Darkness, Andais, my aunt, Doyle's keeper, sitting on the foot of her own bed watching us.
Chapter 20
The queen wore an elaborate black ball gown, with black satin gleaming in the candlelight, black ribbons to hold back the flounces, black satin gloves to cover her white arms, black straps over pale shoulders. Her black hair was piled atop her head with trails of curls artfully framing her face and slender neck. Her lips were the color of fresh blood, her tricolored grey eyes had been kohl-lined so that they seemed enormous in her slender face.
Seeing her dressed to the nines was nothing new. Andais was fond of parties, and any excuse would do. What was new was the fact that the bed behind her was empty. The queen never slept alone.
We stayed half-frozen, staring back at those eyes. Doyle squeezed my arm, and I spoke without really thinking. "Your Majesty, how good of you to call, though unexpected." My voice was neutral, or as neutral as I could get it. It was considered polite to make some sign first before popping in like this. You never knew what people might be doing.
"Are you criticizing me, niece?" Her voice was very cold, almost angry. I hadn't done anything to anger her, not that I knew of at least.
I settled myself a little more comfortably against Doyle's body. I wished for a robe, but knew that covering up when she'd been nothing but polite would imply that I didn't like, or trust, the Queen. The fact that it was true was a matter for my own worries, not hers.
"I meant no criticism, Aunt Andais. I was merely stating a fact. We did not expect your call tonight."
"It is not night, niece, it is morning, just not yet dawn. I see you have slept no more than I."
"I, like you, aunt, have had better things to do than sleep."
She touched the full skirt of her ball dress. "Yes, another party." She didn't look happy about it.
I wanted to ask if the party had not gone to her liking, but didn't dare. It was too personal a question to ask the queen, and she was too easily offended.
She took a deep breath that made the front of her gown shift, almost as if it wasn't tight enough around her body, a bustier without a boost. If you weren't too well endowed, you could wear those gowns that seemed to just float around your body. For me, it would have been an embarrassment waiting to happen. Nudity on purpose is very different from falling out of your dress by accident.
She turned those dramatic eyes to us. The unhappy look changed, narrowed, to one I knew all too well. Malice.
"You're bleeding, my Darkness."
I glanced down at Doyle and realized he was still mostly on his side, turned toward me, which gave her a view of his back and the fingernail marks on his dark skin.
"Yes, my queen," he said in his perfectly neutral, perfectly careful voice.
"Who has harmed my Darkness?" But her eyes were already on me, and it was a very unfriendly gaze.
"I do not see it as harm, my Queen," Doyle said.
Her eyes flicked down to him, then back to me. "You've been a busy girl, Meredith."
I pushed up from Doyle, so that I was more or less sitting upright. "I thought you wished me to be a very busy girl, Aunt Andais."
"I don't know if I've seen your bare breasts before, Meredith. They are a little large for a sidhe, but very nice." Her eyes didn't hold lust, or kindness, only a dangerous light. All that she'd said so far could be mistaken for politeness. She'd never seen my breasts bare, so she should compliment them; but only if I was trying to be attractive, which I was not. I just happened to have no clothes on. I did not feel the least bit luscious around my aunt, and there was more to it than just being heterosexual, much more.
"And you, my Darkness, it's been so many centuries since I saw you nude that I can't remember. Is there some reason you have your back to me? Is there some reason you hide yourself from my sight? Is there some... aberration that I don't remember that spoils all that darkness?"
She was within her rights to compliment him, but asking if he was deformed, demanding he flaunt himself to her, that was impolite. If it had been almost anyone else, I'd have told her to go to hell.
"There is nothing spoiled here, Aunt Andais," I said, and I knew my tone wasn't neutral enough. I'd lost the knack of keeping my voice in line over the years I'd been away from the court. I was going to have to relearn, and quickly.
She gave me very cold eyes. "I was not talking to you, Princess Meredith. I was speaking to my Darkness."
She'd used my title; not niece, or just my name, but my title. It was not a good sign.
Doyle squeezed my arm again, tighter this time, as if telling me to behave. He answered Andais, but not in words. He rolled onto his back with his knees bent so his thigh hid him from her view, then he lowered the leg closest to her, slowly, like a curtain coming down.
There was heat in her eyes now, real heat, real need. "My, my, Darkness, you have been keeping secrets."
He turned and looked at her. "Nothing you couldn't have discovered at any time in the last thousand years." Now it was his voice that was not neutral. It was just a slight change in tone, a mild inflection of reproof, but I'd never heard him lose even that much control in front of Andais.
It was my turn to lay a warning hand on his stomach, just a touch to remind him who we were speaking to. I don't think my face showed the fear that was curling along my spine.
King Taranis might not hurt me for fear of Andais, but Andais might hurt me in a fit. She might regret it later, but dead is dead.
The look she gave Doyle was enough to tighten my hand against his skin, just a light digging of nails. It made his body react, and I hoped I'd done enough to remind him to tread lightly.
"Have a care, Darkness, or I will grow distracted and forget why I called."
"We await your news, Queen Andais," I said.
She looked at me then, some of the heat going from her eyes, replaced by puzzlement and, underneath, tiredness. Andais wasn't usually this easy to read, I think because she didn't have to be careful around anyone. "The Nameless is free."
Doyle spilled his legs to the floor and sat up. Suddenly it didn't matter that he was nude, nobody cared. The Nameless was the worst of both courts, Seelie and Unseelie. It was the last great spell that the two courts
had cooperated on. They had stripped themselves of everything too awful, too hungry, to allow us to live in this new country. Nobody had demanded it of the sidhe, but we didn't want to be forced out of the last country that would have us, so we'd sacrificed some of what we were in order to become more... human. Some said that the Nameless was what caused us to begin to fade, but that wasn't true. The sidhe had been fading for centuries. The Nameless was just a necessary evil. So we didn't turn America into another battlefield.
"Did you set it free, my queen?" Doyle asked.
"Of course not," she said.
"Then who?" he asked.
"I could tell you a pretty story, but in the end, the answer is, simply, I don't know." It was obvious she didn't like saying it, and equally obvious that she was speaking the truth. She stripped off one of the black gloves in an abrupt movement and began to run it over and over through her hands.
"There are very few beings in faerie who could do such a thing," Doyle said.
"Don't you think I know that?" she snapped.
"What would you have us do here, my queen?"
"I don't know, but the last hint we had of it, it was traveling west."
"Do you believe it will come here?" he asked.
"It is unlikely," she said, slapping the glove against her arm. "But the Nameless is nearly unstoppable. It is everything we have given up, and that was a great deal of wielding power. If it was sent for Meredith, then you would need all the preparation time you could manage."
"Do you truly think it was loosed to hunt the princess?"
"If it had merely been set free, it would have ravaged the countryside by now. But it has not." She stood, giving us a view of the nearly naked back of the dress. She turned back to us with an abrupt gesture. "It vanished from our sight, all of our sights, very quickly. We cannot track it, which means that the thing is getting some very highly placed help."
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