by Holly Bargo
Corinne’s mouth opened to ask for more detail, but closed without speaking because the details really didn’t matter at that point. She had no idea how to get home even if she could. So, she nodded her acceptance and replied, “I’ll write a letter today.”
Giving her a sympathetic smile while the Erlking looked out a nearby window, Oriel said, “You are the youngest of us to have been claimed and with probably the most to have lived for. If you wish to write a letter to your family every so often, I shall ensure it is delivered. It is the least we can do.”
“Thank you,” Corinne murmured, thinking that, yes, considering she’d been ripped from her happy, simple lifestyle and her family, it was the least they could do.
The Erlking flashed her a glowering stare. Absorbed in her own resentful musing, she did not see it. Oriel rose from her seat and joined her mate by the window. She took his large hand in her small, delicate one and whispered into his mind, Have pity on her. She did not ask to be mated, abducted, transformed, and then abandoned among strangers.
Your compassion is your most beautiful trait, my beloved, he whispered along the mating bond as his hand curled around hers.
Not feeling hungry, Corinne excused herself and left the room.
“I’ll have a tray sent to her quarters,” Oriel said to no one in particular.
“After we have finished,” the Erlking said as he drew his mate into his embrace.
She melted against him and sighed as he stroked her back and cupped her round posterior. He released her hand and wound her hair around his fist to pull her head back. Submitting to his dominance with easy delight, she opened her mouth for him, an invitation he accepted with predatory glee. As he ravished her mouth, he pulled her skirt up and walked her back toward the table. His lips did not leave hers when he lifted her onto the table and moved between her knees. Oriel clung to his shoulders and sighed as he stroked the satiny skin of her inner thighs, her skirt ruched over her hips like colorful waves. She mewled when he probed the slick delicate tissues at her core and mewled again when he jerked open the fall of his breeches to release the thick, long length of his erection. They both groaned as he sank into her body. She whimpered a little when he withdrew and then clutched at him when he pushed back in. Soon he established a deep, commanding rhythm that drove them both to climax without mercy.
Knees shaking with the weakness of spent passion, Gus braced his weight on his hands, palms flat on the table. He took great shuddering breaths as he pressed languid, still hungry kisses to his mate’s slender neck and shoulder. Slowly, he sank to his knees and directed his tongue to the work of cleaning the evidence of their passion from between her thighs. His ministrations soon had her keening as another orgasm swept through her.
No bee’s honey ever tasted so sweet.
With the cries and grunts of passion fading with distance, Corinne walked slowly along the path she had learned led to the library. As Luthhir taught her, she laid her palm on the stone wall next to the door frame and murmured a polite thank-you in the powerful-sounding language the halfling told her was the Old or High Tongue of the ancients. When he’d mentioned that one of those ancients had mated her, she had scoffed until Oriel confirmed it with the evidence of ancient scrolls.
A current of warm air swirled around her, a physical acceptance of her gratitude for leading her to her destination without detour. She patted the wall and crossed the threshold into the library. At one of the three desks, she found thick sheets of heavy paper, already sharpened quills, and a pot of black ink. She dipped the point into the ink and began with the customary salutation: “Dear Mom and Dad.”
She had no idea what to write after that.
Deciding what details to convey and what her parents would believe took hours of careful pondering before committing the words to precious paper, because, yes, she did now live in a preindustrial world where such things as paper cost a lot of money. She knew history and its inconveniences. She’d nearly declared herself as a history major until one of the professors had discouraged it: “If you want to make a living doing something other than teaching history, then don’t choose history. Business executives consider history only slightly more useful than philosophy or fine art, which is to say not at all.”
So, she’d gone with English and found that the more lucrative choice would have been accounting. Too bad her mathematical skills ranged somewhere between dismal and nonexistent.
“Everyone thinks that girls who major in the humanities are looking for an MRS,” her brother Peter commented when she bemoaned the paucity of paid internships for English majors.
“I’m not looking for a husband,” she’d retorted and slapped his arm.
The modern world, she had learned, did not appreciate those whose skills and interests lay outside science, technology, engineering, and math. In the castle’s immense library, she looked at the tall bookstacks, wooden shelves gleaming, their burdens carefully tended. Perhaps living in a world that appreciated an education such as hers made good sense, made a good fit for her.
She wished Uberon would return so she could kick his ass. Or at least chew him out. He deserved nothing less for dumping her on Oriel and Gus, who yet inspired unreasoning fear. He was one seriously scary dude. The word dude in her thoughts made her chuckle. The Erlking whose nickname was Gus—she still didn’t now if that was short for Augustus or Augustine or something else—definitely gave out those “do not mess with me” vibes and had the muscles and weapons to enforce them. Uberon, she thought, did not have quite the hefty brawn as the Erlking, although his body exhibited no less than physical perfection on a somewhat leaner scale. In fact, she thought, not one of the fae whom she had encountered displayed anything less than perfect physical fitness and a sort of agelessness that at first glance appeared youthful, but at second glance was not. Looking into their eyes, meeting those ageless gazes, she readily believed that such folk lived centuries, if not millennia.
A Navy SEAL’s thousand-yard stare had nothing on these people. She knew, because one of her brothers was a SEAL. And she had a cousin who’d gone into the Army to become—eventually—a Ranger. The extended family boasted two Green Berets, another SEAL, and one in the Air Force pararescue command.
With a sniff of self-pity, she folded the paper after assuring herself that the ink had dried. Using the Erlking’s wax, she sealed the letter.
“I’ll ensure its delivery, my lady,” Luthhir’s high voice piped up, startling her.
“I thought I was alone.”
“You were,” he said. “But I would be remiss in my duties if I did not keep watch over you.”
Corinne pressed her lips together in a thin line before the request to be left alone—really alone—escaped her. Luthhir did not deserve her ire; he was only obeying his boss’ orders. She inhaled and focused on releasing her annoyance on the exhale.
“Thank you, Luthhir. I’ll head for the lily garden now, if no one minds.”
“Let the garden soothe you, my lady.”
She handed him the letter and rose to her feet. She followed him out of the library and then took the familiar path that led to the lily garden, except the castle deposited her elsewhere. The sharp scent of pine filled her nostrils. A chill breeze bit through the thin silk of her dress.
“Good afternoon, child,” came a smooth, masculine tenor that sounded as though it emanated from a much larger-than-human chest.
Startled once again, Corinne gasped and whirled about. Then she gaped, jaw working with every word sticking in her throat. Gleaming like a pearl with subtle hints of color glinting over its milky hide, the unicorn walked around her as though taking her measure.
“Uberon cannot be faulted for his work,” the beast murmured.
“What do you mean?” she asked, voice trembling even as his comment goaded her into reply.
“We cautioned him against attempting this on his own, but he insisted. We underestimated his skill and power. That could be dangerous, very dangerous.” I
ts silvery eyes flared green like the flash of color in an opal.
“Who’s we?”
The unicorn ignored her question and took a step toward her. She took a step backward.
“Allow me to give you a gift,” the unicorn said as its heavy neck arched and its head bowed so that the lethal tip of his spiral ivory horn pointed at Corinne’s torso.
She glanced behind her and took another careful step back. She raised a hand, slowly so as not to spook the dangerous beast, and said, “Um, that’s really generous of you, but you need not give me anything.”
The unicorn took a step forward. Corinne stepped backward again and yelped when something sharp pricked her behind the right shoulder blade.
“Stand still, child,” came a velvety command in a deep, dark voice as the white unicorn minced forward and placed the point of its horn just beneath her left clavicle. “It’s discourteous to refuse a gift.”
“Er … what is this gift?” she squeaked and hated her voice for the indignity. She glanced back to see the midnight bulk of a black unicorn whose horn poked through the fabric of her dress. Where in the hell had those come from? How had they penetrated the castle’s defensive walls? Pinned between the beasts’ razor-pointed horns, she did not demand answers: she felt it best not to annoy them.
The white unicorn answered her question: “Uberon’s transformation quelled you. We’re going to unlock your power.”
“You’re going to what?”
Rather than answer with words, the unicorns pierced her flesh with their horns. Impaled, Corinne screamed as agony swept through her body, burning as though fire consumed her from within. As one, the unicorns pulled their horns from her flesh. Free from the skewering, the woman collapsed in an ungraceful heap. The white unicorn then lowered its dripping horn and touched her with its bloodied tip. Light flashed and pulsed over Corinne’s body. The wounds closed, front and back, filling with intricate seals of opal and silver.
“I’ll stand guard until she wakes,” the black unicorn volunteered. “Won’t Uberon—that insufferable, arrogant fool—be surprised?”
The dawn swift chuckled and turned on his heels to melt into the pine forest’s gloom.
When Corinne’s eyes fluttered open the dew had settled and soaked her clothes. With a groan, she picked herself off the ground and pressed the heels of her palm to her forehead.
“Follow me and I shall show you the herb for your headache.”
Corinne shrieked and swirled about, her bleary eyes finally landing on the ebony shadow of a … yes, damn it … unicorn.
“Quit that!” she snapped and stamped her foot like a child. “I am tired of people sneaking up on me.”
The beast tilted its elegantly chiseled head to one side and blinked its fiery eyes. “People, hm? Well, it’s nice to know you don’t consider us dumb beasts.”
“Oh, please,” she muttered and rubbed her eyes. “After what I’ve been through these past weeks—or has it been months?—there’s little I’d not believe any more. Talking unicorns is the least of my problems.”
The beast’s curved ears pinned back. It took a step forward and leveled the lethal point of its spiral horn at her midsection. “Consider your words carefully, girl, when speaking to a swift.”
She slapped the horn as though to bat it out of her way. “If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it by now.” She fisted her damp skirts and shook the material. “Ugh. If you’ll point me in the direction of the Erlking’s castle, I’ll leave you to your dignity.”
The midnight swift’s annoyance vanished and it chuckled. Swinging the horn away from her, it drew alongside her. “Mount, girl. I shall return you to the Erlking’s castle.”
“Damn good thing I grew up riding horses,” she muttered as she gathered her skirts in one fist and grabbed a hank of mane at the unicorn’s withers. She swung her leg and leaped. The unicorn grunted when she landed heavily on its back. Lips curling in a nasty little smile as she scooted into place, she said, “You could have helped, you know.”
“Insolent girl.”
“Snooty swift.” She knew better than to insult the majestic beast by calling it a horse.
With a snort, the midnight swift launched into a smooth gallop, all consideration of the herb to treat her headache having faded. With old skill, Corinne moved with the smooth rocking of the fleet beast’s stride as its cloven hooves skimmed over a landscape that almost looked familiar. However, she did not recognize many of the flowers and plants they passed. Nor did she fail to notice the bright silvery glow of the twin moons overhead.
The question of how the Erlking’s sentient castle had directed her to a distant clearing in the forest miles from its stone and mortar stuttered against the weary resignation that she was not meant to know everything because some things simply could not be explained. They just were. Like her magic.
She now felt its resurgence within her, bright and hot and icy and wild.
How she had missed it!
Her delighted laughter rang with triumph as the midnight swift carried her back to the castle.
“The magic returns at a cost, girl,” the unicorn cautioned.
“I don’t care! It’s back!” With a laugh of delight, she flung up an arm and released a shower of bright sparks. Who needed charcoal, sulfur, and potassium nitrate? She was her own personal sparkler.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
His comment triggered a question she did not voice: What price?
The great beast slowed to a dignified walk and then halted at the tall rise of steps leading to the Erlking’s imposing front portal. Having never seen the castle from the outside, Corinne gasped in awe.
“It’s immense,” she whispered.
“Aye. What else do you expect from a mountain?”
She snapped her jaws shut to prevent anything rude or idiotic from spewing forth. Legs shaking, she slid off and landed on the pristine gravel with a grunt of pain. The instant she lifted her hand from the unicorn’s hide, it shot forward and raced away with blinding speed on soundless hooves.
“How does he do that?” she wondered aloud, her voice a whisper. With no answer forthcoming, she gathered her still damp and very wrinkled skirts in her hands and climbed up the stairs. The muscles in her legs protested at every step.
“I have gotten so out of shape,” she muttered to herself.
One of the great doors swung open on well-oiled hinges at her approach. Corinne looked up and gulped at her host’s fierce expression.
“Where have you been, girl?”
Her temper snapped. “Your castle spat me out yonder in the forest where your unicorns—unicorns!—played fun and games with me until they decided to return me. I’m frickin’ hungry, sore, and tired. Unless you’re going to offer me a hot bath, supper, and a bedtime story, I’ll get out of your way now.”
The Erlking’s eyes widened at the young woman’s impertinence, then narrowed as she swept past him. His teeth clicked audibly as he fumed for a moment. Then he growled in a language Corinne had learned to recognize as the High Tongue, but did not understand beyond a few key phrases. A musty groan shivered through the great stone edifice in response.
“The castle will see you to your quarters,” the Erlking growled and stomped away.
Corinne almost turned and ran after him, but then decided she’d not enjoy the exercise in futility. Her host had already disappeared into the castle’s depths and it would doubtlessly lead her back to her chambers regardless of how many wrong turns she took, deliberately or not. She pinched the bridge of her nose and hoped that Luthhir would have something for the headache that throbbed inside her skull.
That fucking unicorn reneged on its offer of relief.
CHAPTER 8
She awoke in a sweat, her body pulsing with need and her nightgown twisted around her torso. With a grunt, Corinne rolled out of bed and padded across the room to the small table where Luthhir had left a pitcher of water and glass as he always did. She pou
red some water, took a long, slow gulp, and set the empty tumbler back on the table before taking the time to rearrange her nightgown properly around her body. When the cloth once again draped as it should, she could not make herself return to the bed and the all too vivid dreams of her passionate night with Uberon. Instead, she crawled onto the padded bench that served as a window seat and leaned her sweat-dampened forehead against the cool glass. Her breath fogged the pane as she exhaled.
“This isn’t fair,” she muttered and plucked at the loose bodice of the nightgown, borrowed from Oriel like all her clothing. The damp cloth clung to her clammy skin, which didn’t improve her sour mood. “I am so frickin’ tired of wearing borrowed clothing.”
She cast a disgruntled glance at the dark hearth as the chilly air bit into her skin. She knew she should not complain about her accommodations; after all, her hosts deserved no blame for having taken care of her for all this time. Uberon had dumped her on their doorstep; their generosity deserved nothing but gratitude. But she was sick and tired of being grateful for circumstances over which she had no control. And she was cold, damn it.
With a little growl, she flicked her fingers at the hearth and fire burst into flame. She gasped, surprised by the response of her magic. Corinne’s lips curled in a satisfied smile. Apparently, the unicorn hadn’t lied when it spoke of unlocking her magic. With another exertion of focused will, she forced air through the damp fabric of her nightgown and dried it. A hint of light breaking through the window distracted her for a moment.
Dawn.
Well, there’s no use in trying to go back to sleep now.
She sat in front of the hearth and held out her hands to the cheery fire’s warmth to wait just a little while longer before she dressed for the day.
Luthhir gaped when he entered her room to find his mistress already dressed and poring over a book from her perch beside the tall window.
“Good morning, my lady,” the halfling nonetheless greeted her with customary politeness.