Rogue’s Possession

by Jeffe Kennedy

  He nodded. “You’ll find that the cat will have its own agenda. One that will likely grow more defined over time. But it will retain something of your interests too. You may remember more of the things that the cat witnesses because you are interested.”

  “Thus the Dog arriving to witness my practice. Because you wanted to know what I was doing.”

  “Yes.” He flashed me a wicked grin, full of teeth. “We are both interested in you.”

  “Fuck me if I know why,” I groused.

  “That too.”

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “So, does the Dog take you over? Just inside?”

  Rogue shook his head, abruptly somber. “Not since it took flesh. I can sense its rise, but that internal-only possession only occurs until it gains enough power to take flesh. Once it can have that, it rarely settles for less.”

  I shivered, queasy. “What gives it power?”

  He raised his eyebrow, on the left side, making the thorns of black shift and realign. “Among other things, you do.”

  “How?”

  “If I knew that, my Gwynn, I would not be in the position I’m in.”

  “What position is that?”

  He stalked over to me and wrapped his hand around my throat. Gentle, but implacable. My pulse suddenly pounded, in fear or arousal, I wasn’t certain. “Enslaved to you, powerful Gwynn.”

  “I thought you wanted me to be your slave.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Was I? Once I had been. Once I’d thought the world fell into orderly patterns.

  “Is that enough for you to think about for now?”

  “Definitely,” I breathed.

  “Thus endeth the lesson.”

  In response to an invisible signal, Larch and his assistants trotted in, assembling the little dining table and feast for two. Rogue handed me into my chair with a courtly gesture and settled himself opposite me.

  The food was again delicious—all of my favorites—and I ate voraciously, surprised at my hunger. Though, upon reflection, I hadn’t eaten much at Falcon’s awful luncheon, and my cat-induced workout had been more intense than I’d ever do alone. We ate in silence, aside from comments about the meal, each absorbed with our own thoughts. That companionable, domestic feel returned. I could become accustomed to this schedule, the intimate evening ritual Rogue was slowly creating.

  And this, my friends, was how water wore down rock.

  He’d even arranged for dessert—a confection that tasted amazingly close to chocolate. I gobbled it up, humming my approval and licking my fingers to enjoy the last bits of it. I felt Rogue’s gaze on me and glanced up to see his eyes hot, molten chromium. My breath caught in my throat as the longing throbbed between us.

  I looked away first. Then stood, for once wishing I could fiddle with the dishes.

  “Gwynn—”

  “No.” I stopped him. “Don’t even ask again. Where’s this damn nightgown? Let’s get this over with.”

  “On the bed.”

  It hadn’t been before, but that meant nothing. Knowing what I’d see, feeling that sense of dreamlike haze settle over me, I moved over to it.

  And there it was, draped over the black coverlet, streaming pale lace, nearly white, but with icy blue hints of highlights. I remembered it well from my dreams. Even though Rogue had watched me, in that dream I’d stripped naked and slipped on the confection of lace. The bodice had dropped low over my breasts, hugging the curves so that the lacy swirls just barely covered my nipples, the lace falling in streamers down my legs, tantalizing with what it revealed and hid.

  “Will you put it on?” Rogue asked, from just behind me.

  In the dream he’d ordered me to and I’d obeyed, trembling with desire for more. It was notable that this time he asked. Maybe. No sign of the green silk sash either—the one for tying my wrists to the headboard. I knew full well that he’d sent the dream to me, knew every detail. Perhaps he didn’t know I’d woken in such a state of arousal that I’d masturbated with his blazing visage in my mind, coming within moments.

  “I really don’t think so.” But my voice trembled.

  He stroked a hand down my arm. “It would greatly please me.”

  “It doesn’t meet the criteria.” I grasped at logical straws, alarmed at how much I wanted to please him. “One slip of those streamers of skirt and all my bits are publicly accessible. No way. There are no panties.”

  “No. No panties. But I can make a concession.”

  The gown shimmered and the skirt was full silk. No slits or see-through lace. From probably about the pubic bone down. It would still cling to my torso and hips revealingly.

  “More silk. Less lace. In fact—no lace.”

  He obliged and now the nightgown shimmered in all-translucent silk. It would still be low-cut as all hell, but at least I would be less exposed. The fabric was awfully thin, but he could touch me through the cotton nearly as easily.

  “I suppose I can live with that,” I allowed, hoping this wasn’t a mistake.

  “Agreed, with one condition.”

  Here it came.

  “I want to see you in the nightgown as it originally was—only to look. Then I’ll change it to this.”

  I stared fixedly at the gown, which now drifted back to its initial lacy, streamerish state. “Why torment yourself?”

  He bushed my hair over my shoulder and traced the nape of my neck with a warm caress. “If I can’t have you, I can at least look. And there are other benefits to finding ways to enjoy this privation you are determined to put us through.”

  “You could go elsewhere.”

  “Alas—that is not true.”

  “Why not?”

  “Perhaps I simply don’t wish to. Put on the gown as it is, lovely Gwynn. Let me see you,” he coaxed, sending liquid pulls down my spine with each stroked of his hand on my nape.

  I snatched up the gown, turned to face him and brandished it. “You better to hope to hell I don’t regret this.”

  He held up his hands in mock surrender, smiling in vast amusement. “I don’t have to hope. I’ll make certain of it.”

  “Okay. I agree—if I can change into it behind the screen, which means no peeking, and you change it when I ask you to.”

  “I need it in this form to see well enough to do the repairs on your wounds. Particularly Falcon’s mark. After that, I’ll change it when you say.”

  I agreed to that and went behind the screen, wondering where the hell my spine had gone. I found this charming and teasing Rogue ever so much more difficult to resist. Resolutely, trying very hard not to be the giddy bride on her wedding night, I yanked off the dress and slid on the nightgown.

  It was heaven, fitting me perfectly, like a second skin of sex. I looked down at myself knowing what I’d see, what I’d already seen in that dream—my breasts, nearly naked, with the hard pink nipples pushing at the lace.

  And marked with unsightly bruises and scabs. No wonder Rogue was so het up to fix me up.

  I wouldn’t be sorry, frankly, to lose the vestiges of Falcon’s teeth, faint though they were. They still worried at me, a harsh reminder of a number of things I’d prefer to forget.

  “My Gwynn—are you coming out?”

  I sighed. Braced myself. Walked out.

  He’d surrounded the bed with brightly lit candles—all the better to see you with—and lounged back against the headboard, clad only in his navy silk pajama trousers. The hungry wolf, indeed. His hair spilled over his naked chest and shoulders, a cape of night, and his eyes were the blue of that last moment of twilight before true darkness. They consumed me, ravenous, covetous.

  Unaccountably, I blushed, the hot flush rising from my breasts to my cheeks.

  “Turn around.” His voice sounded gruff, nearly inhuman. “Slowly.”

  Though that hadn’t really been part of the deal, I did, obliging him.

  “Lift up your hair and do it again.�
�

  Mesmerized by the moment, I did, gathering up the heavy fall of my hair from the back of my neck, and raising it, my nipples high and tight against the lace. When I faced him again, he’d gone eerily still, a snake in the coiled moment before it strikes. I froze, as any prey animal will.

  “Oh, devastating Gwynn,” he finally breathed, coming to life again. “You undo me. Come to me.”

  I hesitated.

  “Just for the healing,” he offered, gentle, harmless. He stood up from the bed and gestured for me to lie on it. “Healing first.”

  I skirted him, sensing his amusement at my cowardice, and settled myself on the coverlet, resisting the urge to yank up the lace higher over my bosom. I tensed when Rogue climbed over me, straddling me without touching, on all fours. His hair slid down to tickle my exposed skin in sundry places.

  “Hold on to the headboard.”

  “Why?”

  He tsked. “So suspicious. I need you to hold still. Shall I tie you?”

  Suddenly green silk ribbons appeared, wrapped around the carved slats of the bed, ends dangling invitingly. The sight of them drove a hot spike into my groin and I closed my eyes.

  Rogue stroked my cheek. “You want me to.”

  I opened my eyes to find him studying me, inhaling me. Seeing things in me I never wanted anyone to see. But it didn’t matter that he accepted this about me, embraced it. I couldn’t allow myself to be helpless with him. Maybe ever. “I can’t.”

  “Not yet.”

  I didn’t answer, but I couldn’t look away.

  He nodded, understanding. “Grasp the headboard then. And hold still.”

  I reached up and held on, willing myself to be still. This, too, had been part of my lessons. I possessed a self-control my previous self would have envied. Never mind the price to my sanity.

  With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Rogue sucked a finger into his mouth and set it on one of the bruises. I steeled myself from responding to the touch, clamping down on a moan of pleasure. One after another, he erased the scabs and bruises, as if Photoshopping me. Each time he touched my skin, it was as if an electric spark passed between us. My whole body throbbed for more.

  For the last, he cupped my left breast, eyes unfocused and intent. My flesh tingled, rousing to his magic moving deep in the tissues, bringing them to snapping life. His thumb passed over my excruciatingly tight nipple and I couldn’t hold back my moaning response.

  “There.” He said it quietly, with satisfaction and a hint of something deeper. He met my eyes. “Perfect.”

  “If you can heal, why didn’t you do it before, back at your castle. Why did you bring in Lady Healer?”

  “It’s not my forte.” He trailed a hand down my waist, his gaze following. “I can only do small things.”

  “Who knew there were limits to your many powers?”

  With a rueful smile, he caressed my hip. “Lately it seems there are too many limits.”

  His hand touched my naked thigh, where a barely-there streamer had fallen away. My sex pulsed, hot and desperate to be touched. Dangerous.

  “Change the gown. Now.”

  He smiled, but didn’t move. His fingers were no longer hot on my skin, however, but were shielded by the slight barrier of silk. “As you wish, my Gwynn. The fabric is not as soft as your skin, but I can feel you through it. Touch you as I wish. And now, let’s have our kiss.”

  “Oh no.” I whispered it, mainly to myself. He had me so on edge, I felt like I could come from just the touch of his lips.

  “Oh yes.” His hand moved on my thigh, sliding up. “I’ve been waiting for this moment since midnight last night. That is my torment.”

  The little egg timer, absurd in its perkiness, appeared to hang in midair.

  “And this, passionate Gwynn, is yours.”

  The timer flipped over and his mouth descended on mine.

  His hand splayed over my sex, pushing the fragile silk into my folds and drenching it instantly. I cried out and he drank it in, deftly stoking my arousal to unbearable heights. Knowing full well he could touch me all night if he desired, I gave myself up to it, drowning in the kiss, spreading my thighs so he could push those long, silk-sheathed fingers into me.

  With a skull-shattering crash, I climaxed, even in my frenzy of desire, careful to feed it back into him. No lightning. No wayward magic.

  Only the ferocious outpouring of longing I could not allow myself to release in any other way.

  He drank my cries of pleasure like a man dying of thirst, coaxing out every last drop as the final sands slipped to signal time over.

  * * *

  In the morning, he was gone when I awoke. I should have been relieved, but found I kind of missed him. I might have touched the sheets to feel for his warmth. At least I was able to use my magic chamber pot in peace and pull a robe over my stained nightgown before Starling saw it and got ideas.

  Oddly, Rogue hadn’t pressed me for more, following our interlude. He’d simply doused the candles with a thought and bid me to sleep well, stroking my hair until I fell asleep.

  And now I started to feel selfish for not returning the pleasure he gave me. Which felt all twisted and wrong, because I hadn’t asked for this, or for him to be exclusive to me. I supposed that was why I was willing to put on that sexy gown and let him look. Throw the guy a bone or something. Nothing to do with the fact that no one had ever looked at me with that kind of desire. It was a heady thing.

  I hadn’t missed, though, that he said that perhaps he didn’t wish to go elsewhere. “Perhaps,” indeed. Somehow that, along with that tantalizing remark about being enslaved to me, made me think he didn’t have much choice either.

  Automatically, I drifted over to my workbench to record some of these very interesting findings but was thwarted by the empty space. Oh, right.

  “Everything is packed.” Starling said, bustling cheerfully in. “The horses are ready and your riding habit is laid out there. As soon as you change, I’ll pack up your nightclothes and we can get going!”

  I glanced at Rogue’s massive bed.

  “Oh, Lord Rogue said he’d take care of that.”

  Ha. I was just sure he would.

  “He’ll meet us tonight.”

  “Are we camping? Or staying somewhere?” Snuggling with Rogue in the equivalent of the Faerie sleeping bag might be a little much for my steadily eroding self-control.

  Starling shrugged and handed me my hairbrush. “I don’t know. Larch has the direction. Apparently Lord Rogue has something for you to see. Do you want me to braid your hair or will you leave it loose?”

  I took the brush and obediently set to work. “I’ll leave it loose. How did, um, Rogue seem this morning?”

  “Seem?” she teased me. “He seemed his usual imperious, irritable self. You, however, you seem all kinds of satisfied and happy.”

  I threw the hairbrush at her and she caught it neatly.

  “Except for that lingering bit of temper,” she remarked.

  I quickly changed clothes into the emerald green riding habit that was part of the original wardrobe Blackbird and Starling had outfitted me with. Attempts to poof away the nightgown got me as far as I had with the earrings—absolutely nowhere. How he managed to make this stuff resistant to my magic was a mystery. And something I would really love to know how to do.

  Instead, I folded up the gown inside the robe and handed it to Starling in a pile neat enough that hopefully she wouldn’t feel the need to redo it.

  I looked all satisfied and happy, huh? Go figure.

  Outside the tent, they all waited for me. And by all, I mean Felicity, with Darling perched atop his riding pad, tail high with anticipation, fat mice rolling in his thoughts, plus Starling, Larch, and about forty human soldiers mounted on horses too, and a solid contingent of Brownies and dragonfly girls, all on foot. Never mind the baggage train.

  “Geez—suddenly I have a massive entourage?”

  “Lord Rogue provides for your protection, La
dy Sorceress,” Larch informed me in a formal tone. I glanced over the ranks of human men and saw that Officer Liam led them. He saluted me but did not meet my eyes. Was this some new game of Rogue’s? Time would tell on that. “And here is the item my lady sorceress requested.”

  Larch handed me a velvet bag. I knew from the feel of it that it must be the dragon’s blood. It almost pulled on my magic, the way endothermic reactions create cold by drawing energy from the substrate around them. I wished a deep pocket into my skirt and tucked it in there.

  “Ever efficient, Larch.” I studied him. “Did you take something for yourself?”

  I swore he flushed, which looked odd on blueberry skin. He purpled.

  “I did, my lady sorceress. Would you like to see?”

  “Not necessarily. I’m just curious what the stolid and serious Larch would take from that great collage of knickknacks.”

  He didn’t tease well. Just glowered at me, brows furrowed while he dug in his little tunic. The thing fit closely enough over his little round body that I would have said he carried nothing. But he fished out an object bigger than his fist and held it up for me to see. One of those jeweled pear thingies. There had been a number of them, piled in a cauldron. They were pretty, but it surprised me that the practical Brownie had selected something so...frivolous.

  “A gift for a pretty Brownie back home?”

  He cocked his head at me. “She would have to be lovely indeed, to rate a dragon’s egg.”

  I peered at it. “Is that a euphemism or can this actually hatch a dragon?” It didn’t look organic in the least. Of course, dragons seemed the exception to many of the magical rules, so what did I know?

  “Whether it hatches or no is up to the bearer, the legends say.”

  “And you’re going to take a crack at it.” I grinned at him. “I love that.”

  He shuffled his feet.

  “I have more, right?”

  “Yes, my lady sorceress—three more.”

  “When you get a chance, would you get one out for me? I want to experi—play with it.”

  He bowed.

  I swung up into Felicity’s simple saddle, suffering grumbles from Darling about being crowded and the nasty bag smelling like ass. A fine comment from someone who regularly licked his, I thought back at him, which shut him up. But I also added a buffer envelope of air around the bag.