by C. L. Wilson
Ellie felt the power concentrate in his hands, fed from the inner spring within him. His pale hands grew luminous as the energies gathered in anticipation of release.
“A breeze is a soft, sinuous pattern, with very little disturbance in the threads.” His fingers flicked out, and thin filaments of white energy flowed out in lazily undulating lines. When the weave touched the stilled portion of the river, the water’s surface rippled in response.
“Did you feel how I released the Air?”
“It felt like a sigh.”
“Aiyah. Small Water weaves feel like laughter. Small Fire feels like a blush. Your mind instinctively knows the patterns, you simply must learn how to weave them at will.” With his hands still touching hers, he called Water and once more stilled the pond. “Now you try to ripple the water’s surface.”
Ellie took a breath, clenched her jaw, and tried to call the Air to fill her.
“Do not fight for it. You want to summon the Air, not overpower it. Draw it to you. Breathe it in.” His fingers stroked hers.
She tried to do as he said, but nothing happened.
“Keep trying,” Rain insisted. “Imagine the wind blowing past you. When learning to call magic, it helps to imagine the element in its natural state.”
Ellie concentrated. Once again Rain murmured his encouragement. She imagined a breeze blowing across her face and through her hair. She imagined herself breathing the Air into her body until her lungs filled, imagined breathing it back out across the river, making the water ripple. Again, nothing happened.
“I can’t do it.”
“You’re still fighting your magic. Relax, shei’tani. Let it fill you.” His hands moved down to her waist. “Breathe,” he whispered in her ear.
She dragged a deep breath into her lungs.
“Good. Now feel the magic gather within you.” He stroked her belly, making tight heat curl within her.
Hunger was welling up inside her far faster than magic, and suddenly all she could think about was carnal weaves and the hard heat of Rain’s body pressed against her back.
“Let the magic flow throughout your body until it becomes as much a part of you as your own flesh and blood.” Rain’s hands stroked upward on either side of her rib cage, brushing against the sides of her breasts in a way that made her breath catch in her throat.
She almost moaned aloud. Dear gods, please let me complete this exercise before I leap upon him and demand a different kind of lesson.
“And now,” Rain said, “release it.”
Flames shot from her fingertips. Water sizzled, and the river’s surface rippled.
There was a small silence. “Well, shei’tani, you do wield Fire, after all.”
Ellie refused to look at him. “That wasn’t Air. I thought I called Air.”
“You did. I felt it gather in you, but you obviously released Fire instead. I must have put the idea in your mind when I told you that Fire feels like a blush.”
No, Ellie thought. He’d put the idea in her mind when he was running his hands all over her body and breathing in her ear.
“Or,” Rain said, “I put the idea in your mind when I was stroking you.”
She swallowed. “I thought you said you couldn’t read my mind.”
He laughed softly against her cheek. “That’s not what I’m reading.” His hands cupped her breasts through the warm, corseted silk of her new gown, and his thumbs brushed across the tight, sensitive peaks of her breasts.
Tongues of flame seared her. Ellysetta gasped. “Rain…”
“I think we are done with our first lesson, and I did promise to reward us both.” His voice dropped to a husky murmur and his lips tracked tingling kisses down her throat. The Air weave around them dispersed, and the warm summer breeze swirled over them, fragrant with the scent of daisies and the verdant freshness of the glade. He lowered her to the soft, thick grass and leaned over her. His long, dark hair draped down around them like veils of ebony silk. Warmth infused the pale perfection of his face, melting all remnants of cold aloofness, leaving stark, burning beauty, unshielded need, and the fiery intensity of his eyes.
His hand trailed up her arm, the fingers light, dancing across her skin from elbow to shoulder, around the bend, then down to brush the soft curve of her breast beneath the saffron silk of her gown. The pad of his finger traced a spiral of increasingly small circles on the silk, traveling a scintillating path up the gentle swell. Anticipation tightened in her belly with each completed circle.
«Ku shalah aiyah to nei, shei’tani,» he whispered in her mind. Bid me yes or no. Each word was a caress as erotic as the sweet torment of his circling finger.
Never in her life had any man stirred her senses, not even the most celebrated Dazzles of the court over whom so many other young Celierian maidens sighed. No man until Rain. And with him, it was as if all the longing of the ages had been stored up inside her, waiting for his arrival to break free. One look, one touch, one whisper of his voice, and Ellysetta, who had never known the slightest desire for any man before him, went up in flames. Already she was aching for him with the same fierce passion that had fueled her weave last night.
Bid him yes or no, he asked. As if she could ever—would ever—give any possible answer but one.
“Aiyah.” Consent emerged as a thready whisper, barely audible. The hunger was so strong, she could scarcely breathe. She lifted her hands to his hair, filled her palms with black silk, wished she were brave enough to reach for more.
“You have no idea the beauty that fills my eyes when I look upon you.” With infinite care, he drew back the edges of her bodice to bare the soft fullness of her breasts. His fingers traced the contours of the small globes, then cupped them gently, thumbs whispering over pink nipples. The peaks leapt instantly to attention. His gaze flicked up, burning with lavender fire, locking with hers in a look so deep it shook her to her core. «You dazzle me, Ellysetta.»
Her mouth went dry. Liquid fire gathered in a rush of desire.
His gaze dropped to her lips. His mouth followed, pressing nibbling kisses. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips, teasing, tasting. The warm, moist strokes made her gasp in delight, and he deepened the kiss, exploring the secrets of her mouth, laying claim to them. He took her breath into his lungs and gave her back his own.
Still his fingers circled her breast, teasing, tormenting. Her hips shifted restlessly, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, clinging tight. Her back arched, pressing her breast more fully against his palm in a silent plea. «Rain…Rain, please.»
“I heard your thoughts last night when you spun your Spirit weave,” he whispered. “I heard what you said. I felt each word like a brand on my skin.” His lips found the pulse point on her throat and pressed a kiss there.
She shivered as the wicked warmth of his tongue stroked the hollow of her throat. For once, the mention of her disastrous weave did not embarrass her. All she could think of were the feelings infusing her body, the wild need rising inside her. “What did I say?”
“You said, ‘I want.’” His lips tracked up her throat, tracing a fiery path across the soft skin.
Oh, yes, she wanted. Him and no other. She always had. She always would.
“‘I need.’”
He took her hand and guided it to his own chest. Earth magic tingled in electric arcs. Black leather vanished. The burning heat of pale, luminous Fey flesh filled her palms. She ran her hands over his chest, relearning every curve and rock-hard muscle she had discovered last night, testing the eager leap of his flat nipples as her nails drew lightly across them.
“‘I ache.’”
Slowly—far too slowly—he drew back. The silk of his hair whispered across her skin. Cooler air rushed in where his warmth had been, sending a fresh flood of tingling sensation sweeping across her exposed skin. Her breasts felt swollen, the nipples taut and begging as his hands continued their teasing erotic play.
“‘I burn.’”
Keeping his
eyes locked with hers, he bent his head to her breast, and despite the flags of heat that flooded her cheeks, she couldn’t look away. She watched him take her in his mouth. Oh, gods. Her lashes fluttered down as her eyes rolled back in exquisite pleasure. Her hands came up to clutch his shoulders, holding him fast as he worked all manner of enchantment that needed no aid of magic.
She was on fire. Living flame beneath his hands.
«Burn with me.» He sang in vivid tones that reverberated through her being. Incandescent notes of dazzling hues, so vivid each was a sensory explosion. Tairen song. His song. Resonating in her soul.
Undulating waves of Spirit burst from his hands, flying out in spiraling, rapidly accelerating weaves that spun away reality and replaced it with a flawless illusion of the two of them lying together in a lush riverside glade, surrounded by the rainbow-tinted mists of a dozen spectacular waterfalls. Gone were her saffron dress and his black leathers. Their bodies were naked and twined together, and there was no guilt, no stern Celierian modesty, no shame or regret to their passion.
She feasted on the sight of his body, so pale, so perfect, sinewed with ropes of lean, defined muscle beneath luminous skin. She stroked his flesh and breathed in the rich aroma of magic and Rain, a sensory memory she would never forget.
He was everything she’d ever dreamed of—every hope, every wish, every secret prayer she had ever whispered to the gods. A fierce, relentless warrior, bred for battle. A deadly defender, willing to sacrifice his immortal life to protect those in his care. A noble hero, a passionate lover. And when he looked at her with such intensity and devotion, he made her feel as if she, simple, plain Ellysetta Baristani, was more dazzling than the sun, more beautiful than every star in the heavens.
When she was with him like this, she could almost feel the retreat of the ominous shadows that had haunted her all her life.
In the Spirit weave that bound them, his body moved upon hers, slid into hers. She felt her own body stretch to accommodate the thick, burning length of him, the muscles clasping him tight, drawing him in deeper. He filled her utterly and perfectly, as if some long-absent part of her had finally found its place and made her complete.
Slowly, teasingly, he began to move. A long, leisurely withdrawal that made her moan a protest, a quick, surging plunge that made her gasp. “Rain!”
He laughed, loving the feel of her, the wild abandon of her response. Both in his weave and in his arms, the electric arc of passion leapt from her flesh to his, a rush of sensation and emotion that built between them with harmonic intensity. For all her innocence and tight-laced Celierian upbringing, she could not deny her hunger for him, nor stifle her body’s overwhelming response. For him there was no greater joy than watching her bright, verdant eyes cloud with pleasure and feeling the rippling shudders of her body as a climax seized her. His naked chest pressed against hers. The soft fullness of her breasts was crushed against him. Skin to skin, he could feel what he did to her, both within the weave and without, and nothing—not even the thrill of soaring the freedom of the skies—had ever felt so magnificent.
Each thrust of his hips echoed the melody of his song. Pleasure and torment swelled in heightening waves. Even though he held the weave, each touch, each gasp, each shuddering explosion felt vivid and real, shaking him to the core of his soul.
He took her mouth as his Spirit body drove her to one last, powerful climax. His own control shattered, and his body clenched taut. Fierce shudders swept over him as passion exploded in blinding waves.
Together they lay there, breathless, dazed, their bodies still quaking with tremor after tremor until the wild beating of their hearts finally slowed. Above them, the summer sky filled their eyes with a bright, clear, cloudless blue, and the Great Sun blazed with searing intensity.
Kolis Manza drew privacy wards around his bedchamber at the Inn of the Blue Pony and removed the black Mage blade from its sheath at the small of his back. On the table beside him lay a vial of blood from one of the dead whores, her severed finger, and a small silver dish. Kolis speared the finger on the dagger’s sharp point, drizzled the blood over both blade and finger, then set the grisly offering on the floor with a grimace.
He’d much rather open the gateway without the paraphernalia, but that required such an immense blast of Azrahn that every Fey within a five-mile radius would come running to find and slay the summoner. Though Kolis longed for the day the Mages could cease their clandestine activities and rule openly, he was too much a realist to fancy a forty-to-one fight between himself and the Fey.
Stepping back, well clear of the silver dish, he muttered the words of the Feraz witchspell he’d long ago committed to memory: “Terkaz, Blood Drinker, slake your thirst. Frathmir, Flesh Eater, feed your hunger. Boraz, Bone Grinder, mill your dust. Choutarre, Soul Taker, claim your due.” He took another long step back and completed the invocation. “Guardians of the Well, I summon you. Accept this offering and grant safe passage through your domain.”
Within the silver dish, the finger and the pooled blood began to smolder. A small black pinprick formed in the air above. Dark shadows swept out of the tiny opening, hissing and circling around the offering. Demons. The incorporeal forms of the Guardians of the Well of Souls swirled and then swooped upon the offering like ravening beasts, demon fangs clicking, demon mouths slurping. In seconds the bloody finger was gone, flesh, blood, and bone utterly consumed, the black dagger drained of one of its captive souls. And behind the spot where the offering had been gaped an expanding dark hole in space, a gateway into a black nothingness that flickered with red lights.
The Well of Souls lay open, and Kolis felt the now-familiar tingling weakness in his limbs as trickles of the pure, untapped power of the Well escaped into the living world. He was not worried that the Fey would sense it. Tests over the years had proven they could not. Demons could, of course, but then demons were captive spirits summoned from the Well of Souls. If a doorway to the Well opened on the other side of the world, demons would know.
As he approached the gateway, Kolis glanced back to verify that the oilskin pouch containing a second offering lay on the nightstand where he’d left it for one of his umagi to activate when he returned. As the Eld had learned over the years, the Guardians were capricious, and without the offering and Feraz witchspells, exits from the Well never opened precisely where they were supposed to.
Retrieving his dagger from the floor, Kolis stepped through the gateway into the blackness, then turned to murmur a Feraz witch-word. Behind him, the doorway collapsed upon itself, and all light from the outer world winked out. Utter blackness enveloped him, snuggling close like a cold lover. He stood for several moments to let his eyes adjust to the dark. The jewel in the pommel of his dagger glowed like a red beacon in the darkness, casting a circle of dim light around him, illuminating a path through the shadowy realm.
He held the glowing dagger high and summoned the sweet coolness of Azrahn. His eyes closed in brief pleasure as the dark power swept through him. Azrahn, the second mystic, the soul magic, the unmaker, the most powerful of all six magics. The Fey feared and shunned it. They were foolish and shortsighted. The Elden Mages, on the other hand, embraced and mastered Azrahn, and they would triumph because of it.
Kolis reached out with Azrahn and guided himself through the Well towards Eld. The journey would not take long. Three bells at the most.
Ellysetta and Rain were in the air over Celieria City, circling round for their descent when the debilitating weakness swept over Ellysetta. She slumped in the saddle, only the leather restraining straps holding her in place while her fingers clutched feebly for a handhold. Like the deadly venom of an ice spider, the paralyzing cold sapped all strength from her body and left her limbs shivering helplessly. Her heart pounded with low, sluggish thuds, each beat an aching blow against the frozen drum of her chest.
Even in tairen form Rain sensed her emotions, because his wings suddenly spread wide to slow their flight and his great tairen head twist
ed around so he could fix one glowing, pupilless eye upon her. «Ellysetta? What is it? What is wrong?»
Already the icy feeling had diminished and strength was returning to her limbs. «I’m fine,» she assured him. «It’s nothing. Just another ghost treading on my grave.»
«That seemed much worse than before.»
With the knot of fear still lodged in her throat, she couldn’t lie. «It was.» Much worse, in fact, as if some previously existing buffer had been peeled away so the frightening sensation could access her more directly.
Rain’s tairen face took on an expression she could only call grim. «Hold on, shei’tani.» He waited just long enough for her fingers to tighten on the saddle; then his wings tucked in and he plummeted the remaining distance directly towards the small, bricked garden at the back of her family’s home. He Changed in midair while she, with a little cry of surprise, slipped down a slide of Air into the waiting arms of her quintet.
“I want twenty-five-fold shields around this house all hours of the day—and around her whenever she goes out,” Rain commanded the quintet as he strode the short distance to her side. “The wandering soul attacked her again.” To Ellysetta, he added in an equally unequivocal command, “You will tell us whenever you feel this thing again. Something is hunting you, shei’tani, and my instincts tell me these wandering souls of yours are somehow related.”
“All right.” She met his fierce gaze and wondered how much of her fear showed on her face. Always before, she’d dismissed the shivery feelings as frightening but inconsequential episodes—nothing nearly as troubling or terrifying as her nightmares or seizures. But after last night’s terrible dream, she couldn’t hide behind that self-deception anymore.
You’ll kill them, girl. You’ll kill them all. Gooseflesh prickled Ellie’s skin as the Shadow Man’s mockingly triumphant declaration echoed in her ears.